Monthly Archives: July 2008

7/30/08 – Shijin


Dasha, Faith, Eli

Shijin – Six voices, six lives, one performance! Since 2004, this Connecticut-New York-area poetry performance troupe has given shows featuring a 30 minute seamless reading where one poem tucks into the one that follows it – as if they were written as one.


Mar, Alice Anne, Robin




A Poem by Robin Sampson: —————–

A poem by Dasha Walters:

The Good Samaritan The Morning Report
Wanting salvation
she shows her soft underbelly.
He reaches for his weapon
takes the mother knife
stabs it in
twists it then tells her
you did this to yourself
I just want to help

An hour goes by as I wait for you
listening to the familiar sounds
of muffled shouts, cries
slamming doors and shattered glass
you trip on your way out the front door
stumble down the steps
hurry to my waiting car
I put pedal to the floor
keep my eyes fixed on the road
away from the unfortunate mess
of bruises, blood, tears
turn up the radio against
the soft staccato of your crying.

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Posted by on July 30, 2008 in * A Few Poems, * Past Features


7/23/2008 Jai Chakrabarti

Jai Chakrabarti

Jai Chakrabarti is a writer of poetry, fiction, and algorithms. Born in Kolkata, India, his work has appeared in Barrow Street, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Parse:Alchemy, Rattapallax, Spindle, Symposium, as well as, from India, The Statesman and Festival. Jai has featured at readings in SUNY Buffalo, the Indian Institute for Advanced Study, Nuyorican Poet’s Café, the Bowery Poetry Club, Bar 13, and many other poetry and performance venues in the tri-state area. He lives in Brooklyn.

The first time you met my mother
she wore a conch shell around her face,
spoke through the ocean’s mouth.
On her hip, the eyes of Kali clanked
like bedroom keys.

All evening I drooled for you
the secrets of war. I needed you
armed in the face of my mother’s
kung fu.

How little I knew your own
magic. You carried a Shango
wand blessed one hair at a time,
blew through the tender inside
of the Shango body: a woman
balancing lightning on upraised

I huddled while you talked,
stroked inside my jacket,
felt the hot breath of another
hidden dove. Each time
mother asked you a question,
something so simple—

your favorite song, or how dearly
you’d sacrifice—

a needle passed close
to the lungs of my dove,
and as tightly as I held her
was it ever enough to stop
the thousand murders of you?

Tell me of the chariot
you rode to meet her. The rocks
that starved you along the way.

Each night I peel the feathers
of the dead. So many
I uncover not for pleasure
but to see what pierced
the skin, to kiss each open wound.
There a sculpture in the bones,
a story to send to hell.
Precipice: a story of growing
or the echo of a woman falling.

A maze with a boy clacking
his knees in fear, his school tie
heavy like a tongue in a nervous
kiss as two divinities burn
sleep from his eyes and whisper
two versions for one beginning.

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Posted by on July 23, 2008 in * A Few Poems, * Past Features


7/16/08 Jane Ormerod

Jane Ormerod

Jane Ormerod

“Jane’s poems–discontinuous, imagistic, chant-like, wide-ranging in its references, sonically dense–challenge more traditional ways of putting a poem together.” (Jee Leong Koh, 2008) Born on the south coast of England, Jane Ormerod moved from London to New York City in 2004. Jane’s work appears in numerous print and online journals and anthologies including A Cautionary Tale: Seven New York Performing Poets (Uphook Press, 2008), 21 Stars Review, eratio postmodern poetry, failbetter,Ginosko, Night Train, Whatever Literary Journal, and Word Riot. A spoken word CD, Nashville Invades Manhattan, was released in 2007 and a chapbook is forthcoming from Modern Metrics. She is a regular on the New York City poetry and spoken word circuit. Further afield, she has performed in Canada, The Netherlands, England and Germany, on radio and cable television, and in eight states across the US. Her website is




Taxi Ride

I can’t sleep nights I have to be here, there, you know thump

It rains long hours sometimes longer

Sometimes more and more

Can’t you see how my body is tight?

For us to polish one single shoe together could be enough thump

And I won’t tell the Secret Service the sun

Rose in the wrong direction every day last week

I won’t thump tell thump anyone even you

Because it’s like clinking china with sweaty hands

The sun, tightness, darktime thump

(Animals and streets, there is no difference

Blood, adults, children, popcorn

All the same)

And I won’t thump

Leave thump



Believe in one delighted angel only thump

I am a sewer

I like funny with problems

When I was a boy, I cried behind the sofa thump

I am a sewer

I can say things twice thump

I am a manhole

I can differentiate between the barks of grey and brindle dogs

Chew the boiled eggs in my pocket

Gut the mackerel skin skies

I am again for rent

Do you hear me? thump again thump

Do you want to? Do you want want wish to move from here?

Now? Right now? So stick out that hand

You know I used to sleep through nights

I ran through woodland groves

The mosquitoes left me thump well thump alone


First published in Dirt, issue 2.5, 2006


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Posted by on July 16, 2008 in * A Few Poems, * Past Features


7/9/08 Open Mike with workshop!

Faith Vicinanza, poet, photographer, information tech manager by day, and creative writing teacher by night, will lead a WNPS writing workshop on Wednesday July 9th.

Leaving the normal workshop approach behind, Ms. Vicinanza will use the open mike as a “workshop opportunity” using writing prompts. She will weave 5 to 10 minute writing exercises into the open mike at approximately every third poet, depending on how the mood strikes her.

Prime Your Writing Pump with this unusual evening of sort of workshop, definitely poetry reading fun.

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Posted by on July 9, 2008 in * Past Workshops


7/02/08 – Mark Stricker

Mark Stricker is co-editor of the online journal nanomajority. His chapbook “There are language in my sleep again, filling up my body.” was published by Auxilium Press in 2008. His poems have appeared in Sidereality, Muse Apprentice Guild, Tin Lustre Mobile, Word/For Word, Fell Swoop, Royal Vagrant Review, and Perihelion. He lives in Hamden, Connecticut.
Read a poem

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Posted by on July 2, 2008 in * Past Features

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