Monthly Archives: April 2009

4/29/09 – Alison Moncrief

Poetry by Alison D. Moncrief has appeared in Images, Soul Fountain, Caduceus, and The Connecticut River Review among others. She has earned multiple degrees – a Master’s degree in English Lit from the University of St. Andrews in Scotland, and by now, an MFA in poetry from New York University and has taught at the Foote School in New Haven, and as part of the EWP program at NYU. She lives in East Rock with her husband Andy Bromage and with “two cats in the yard.”
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Posted by on April 29, 2009 in * Past Features


4/22/09 – Chris Brandt

Chris Brandt is a writer and political activist. Also a translator, carpenter, furniture designer, theatre worker. He teaches poetry at Fordham University. His poems and essays have been published in magazines, journals, and anthologies, including Off the Cuffs: Poetry by and About the Police (Soft Skull, edited by Jackie Sheeler); Lateral (Barcelona); El signo del gorrion (Valladolid); Liqueur 44 (Paris); La Jornada (Mexico); Phati’tude, Appearances; The Unbearables; National Poetry Magazine of the Lower East Side and the anthology Crimes of the Beats. His translations of Cuban fiction have been published in The New Yorker and by Seven Stories Press, and his translations of two volumes of Carmen Valle’s poetry by the Instituto de Cultura Puertorriqueña. Seven Stories published his translation of Clara Nieto’s Masters of War, a history of U.S. interventions in Latin America. Translations of contemporary Cuban poetry will be included in a University of California Berkeley anthology to be published this year.

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Posted by on April 22, 2009 in * Past Features


4/15/09 Rose Drew

Rose Drew

Classic Example

An arcing rainbow of a bruise,
pulsing purple-yellow-red
rising to salute this failure
in choice in men,
alcohol as mental-health management,
careers. Does she gaze into her rum&cokes for answers,
does she startle when her teenaged boss disrupts her thoughts
of music and of angry men
and landlords banging on the door for quiet
She has not pressed charges
refuses orders of protection
and puts him on the phone to speak for her,
unable to explain
why she is unimportant

She circles round the backyard with the shopping cart,
wishing for a decent car
and knowing he will never let her have one

He’s in charge,
and shows who’s boss
and bosses her until she’s just too drunk
to care
he does not care

Folded in upon herself
an origami girl of paper plates and paper cups
sadness drowned with hate and shame
at fevered skin
pulsing, purpled, welting
unredeemed by fan or alcoholic coma

where in dreamless desperation
she fends him off forever.

© 2003 rose drew
previously published in 2003 by
Palimpsest: Yale Literary& Arts Magazine.

Rose Drew is a bio-anthropologist who works with human skeletons. She is currently living in York England in (never-ending) pursuit of a PhD. Her day job consists of interpreting lifestyle and behavior from skeletal remains; but at night she can be found reading her poems anywhere there’s a myk and a gathering of people. She has been told her poetry is “too dark”, whatever that means. She has been published in anthologies, journals, newsprint, books. Rose has been hosting a poetry open myk either in CT or York for over 6 years: where else can you give running commentary and a monologue every single month?


Posted by on April 15, 2009 in * A Few Poems, * Past Features


4/8/09 – LISA STARR + CT Slam Team Slam


Slam Mistress: Faith
Lisa Starr, Rhode Island’s poet laureate, moved to Block Island in 1986 and never wanted to leave. An inn-keeper (the Hygeia House), a mother, a basketball coach and a champion of fun and freedom of speech, her family, and poetry, she’s a two-time Rhode Island poetry fellowship winner, a former college instructor, waitress with 2 full-length collections of poetry : Days of Dogs and Driftwood (1993) and This Place Here (2001), and her individual works appear in journals and publications around the country. Starr is the founder of the Block Island Poetry Project.
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Posted by on April 8, 2009 in * Past Features


4/1/09 – Robert Riche + April Fools Open Myk

April is National Poetry Month!
SO — Come and be foolish at our April Fool’s Day open myk!
For Allen Ginsberg: 50 Years After

Allen, it’s been 50 years now, and so I can tell you,
I never liked Howl.
I saw you hopeless, beat
down by your own illusions,
hallucinating a yellow paper rose
twisted on a clothes hanger
in an abandoned furnished room,
while I was living
the best years of my life,
a Communist, an activist,
a subversive,
opposed to all the shit, same as you,
but not disappointed, not in despair.
I anticipated it. The revolution!
I was making it, the revolution.
Even though I never did anything
but hand out leaflets in front of Bloomingdale’s.
But here’s the story, Allen, I’m no longer a Communist.
I lost my way in the light that failed.
And that’s why I’m writing this. It’s a confession.
I’m no longer anything,
though I get sentimental over Alger Hiss.
And the Rosenbergs whose little boys were orphaned.
But that’s neither here nor there.
I’m in the dark. I’m paranoid, too.
Allen, they’re working on flooding Manhattan
with melting ice.
Kids used to play cops and robbers
with water pistols. Now it’s AK 47’s.
They can’t wait to grow up and play
cops and crack addicts.
In the army, female recruits show their tits,
then sic dogs on nude prisoners of war.
I’m sick, Allen. When they listen in on my phone now,
they don’t hear anything but dirty conversations
I have with women whose names I find in the phone book.
They want to know what books I’m reading.
If they asked me I’d tell them Das Kapital,
in German, but they see from my library card
it’s mostly videos – stuff like
National Velvet and Andy Hardy Gets A Date.
I’m ashamed.
I have a flat-screen television. You don’t know
what that is. I don’t, either, except it costs more.
The newscasters all say the same things.
I write them indignant letters.
They ignore me. It’s the best I can do, Allen.
Fifty years later.
I fear I will end up sniffing
a yellow paper rose on a clothes hangar.
Perhaps I should emigrate while there’s still time.
I could to go to Vancouver Island.
They have this magical garden there.
Maybe they’d let me
I could sniff the real roses
while pulling weeds.
It’s not a bad idea.
I might find a woodsy place
with nobody around. I could sit on a rock
on a clear night under a full moon,
I’d think of you, and what you said,
and I’d look up at the moon,
and you know what I’d do, Allen? –I’d howl.


Our feature on April 1st is Robert Riche who was WINNER OF THE March 18 SLAM! He is a poet, novelist, award winning playwright and screen writer, a Breadloaf Writer’s Conference Scholar, a National Endowment for the Arts grant recipient etc etc etc. Mr. Riche will read work from his new book of poetry On the Line, by Pudding House and other poems. He has one previous chapbook called Eternity and Other Mundane Matters from Foothills Publishing’s Springfed series, and has published poems in the Alsop Review’s online Magazine, Octavo. If you heard him in the slam – you will know how amazing this guy really is. His credentials are lengthy.

He’s written two novels What Are We Doing in Latin America? (A Novel About Connecticut) and The Vision Thing, (a satire on the Bush dynasty!) His short stories appeared in Commentary and a number of literary magazines. (Click for a sample) His plays (Malcom X – message from the Grassroots, among others), have been performed off-off Broadway in New York, and in regional theaters in Berkeley, Washington, Atlanta, and in Bristol, England. Besides all that — he has had numerous comedy television assignments and sometimes writes about food, wine and travel. He is a recipient of a National Endowment for the Arts grant, a Connecticut Foundation for the Arts grant, Advanced Drama Research grant; a winner of the prestigious Stanley Drama Award, etc etc

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