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Chard deNiord, poetry judge
"Interrogating Sheep" is full of lively, musical language that flows rapidly down the page with electric logic and illogic that limns both wakeful and oneiric imagery in its vain but amusing "interrogation" of personified insomnia--inspiring sheep.
"Elevator Moscow" unfolds a steamy, concise anecdote that employs the tongue as both a linguistic and erotic tool, that rescues one minute in a foreign language and arouses silently the next in a deep kiss. This is a deceptively simple, effective poem.
"Foxes Have Many Tricks" reminds its human reader of the inherently wily intelligence of foxes. A poem that employs a list and fugue strategy, "Foxes Have Many Tricks" entertains its reader with hyperbolic but engaging examples of the fox's infamous resourcefulness in its hunting tactics and elusive escapes.
Interrogating Sheep
by Candace R. Curran
Eyes crank the awning
crack the egg of morning
to start the chase like cat to string for shanghaied dreams a loser's race
to snag the ragged hem of dream
to stab horizon's shape shift form
and overturn the driver hag
that shoots back arrows poison dipped
calling for a judgment shift
to rise and shine and leave it
peace displaced in pillows
the shadow of a headboard and the dream
to elbow rise and leave it
a cold length and breadth of bed
the rough-cut size of coffin
and just give in or up I guess
shearing sheep or getting rest let go
Jung's foresight or foreclosure
and embrace instead an ennui bail
and walk a backwards plank of crumbs
from whatever business this dream business thinks it has to do with me
Elevator, Moscow, 1984
by Kathleen Pell
too many vodkas
have talked me
into the elevator
with Sasha who speaks
no english but kisses
like nobody's business
suddenly it stalls between
floors head spinning I think
he has done this on purpose
but he yells
something in yugoslavian
to the woman yelling
something in russian
from the unseen end
of the speaker
by the time
the elevator
regains its composure
I have lost all
of mine and my lips
are tender and I think I know
all there is to know
about the inside
of his mouth
and the taste of him
on my tongue
Privacy
by Anna Blackburn
It was weeks before she saw the couple
who had taken the apartment downstairs.
But she began to notice a man on the street
who would smile without looking at her.
Then a girl appeared on the porch, asking,
had she seen a Tarot deck? She knew
their names from the box on the porch.
And came to crave the muffled sound
of television through the floor, a lull
between the fights. These usually started
with sharp voices after dinner and ended
around midnight in moans. In the morning
a consort of birds in oaks around the house
woke them all. Coffee brewing, a fried egg
scent through the vents, and then the front door.
Their greenish drapes were always closed.
She never bothered with curtains, preferring
natural light to privacy. One day, she came
home in the rain to find clothes she’d forgotten
on the line folded neatly in a basket outside
her door. At first she was puzzled about
the missing clothespins, but discovered them
later that evening when the rain stopped,
with her underthings, untouched on the line.
Turnaround
by Candace R. Curran
Lightning lit a cigarette
launched a rickety handrail that
frazzled and frayed and swung in the air
like a broken trapeze
She tossed the match
scattering pot-luck buckshot
crack shots posting search and rescue
the sky a billboard of near-misses
We were sulking in the car
a spat niching scars scoring
heavy on the metal a black keys only
choreography
I was sitting night-shift Shiva
no more chitchat no more happy horse shit a lightening rod testing loss with a
tuned fork her fine fur standing
rattling Thunder not to be undone
he iron-cast a cartoon
frying pan in the face
and well didn't we deserve it
a wake-up call to our lucky stars all
tipsy-turvy in their spun-glass constellation hanging by guard rails wires loose
ready to let go when
Lightning stubbed her cigarette
staggered off to bed she said
she'd had enough and now
well Hell hadn't we all
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