Check out the animated show Bat out of Hell on Kickstarter!

Rally, Korrektiv, rally!

240583_orig
Take up our struggle to print books;
To you, from failing press we look.
Some cash? It’s yours, so spend it well.
If ye break fifteen grand, that’s swell!
We shall rejoice. By hook or crook
Shall Wiseblood last.

Rain on the Wing

Poet_Ted_HughesDCP_2068

The gold of Mexico is at the airport, the sticks
Of Cortes in my basement. We are free

To call the words of wisdom what a fool
Would warn us against. Ignore the rusty hook.

I don’t farm and history is a field I walk
With icons and trinkets in hand, lures and bobs.

The grey coat of heather and haggard face of coal
Conspire patterns in acres of mud-born puddles…

The myth of the trout I never caught is the net
I never set. It pulses with muscles, gills, scales

And the rainbow memory of a river – caught
Instead. We could have never been friends —

I never learned to fish and Cancer dried out
Between the stinging constellations. Religion

Was kissing the claws of my secret cowardice,
Letting Christ off the hook and stilling the plow

While foolhardy farmers, who know better than me,
Take their tools to the city – asking,

“Where’s the rain?” The hawk and wolf ask too,
And find their answer in the tombs

That false spring makes of fallen boughs
And rocks pushed around by thaw and freeze.

Blood between your teeth, you took wing one day,
Despite the rain, because of the blood,

And never looked down, not even once:
What Cortes had between the pages I’d never have.

What Montezuma wanted, crossed sticks
And shiny stones and savannahs spreading out

Beneath us, I could never break.
But the river broke the trout that broke

The river.

Everyone’s a…

How does a comedian know there’s no God?

Because it’s funnier that way.

Birthday poem: “Son of a Gun”

When I was young, my verse was true
My derringer shot derring-do
I livened up the “I love you”
And so I wed at .22

Time passed, my love made bold to state
“You’re like a slug that’s put on weight
But there’s still hope you will be great
Despite your age of .38”

Now when I talk of love – amor
I hear my love begin to snore
I have become a larger bore
Here at the gauge of .44

Five Tanka for Creation

800px-Flammarion

Ὅταν οὖν τι σῶμα κατὰ μηδὲν ἐξαλλάττηται
τῶν προϋπαρχόντων, ἡσυχάζειν αὐτό φαμεν…. -Galen

1
Photosynthesis
Before there was anything
To kiss or embrace,
Before our bed was warm with
Your soil or my seed — hunger.

2
Caress of plasma,
Hydrogen and helium —
Touches my face as
My giddy hands graze your thighs,
Heaven’s dizzying columns.

3
Tectonic spangle
Of plates on the lithosphere;
Your soft surf of breasts
Against my trembling shoreline;
You alone, tsunami’s love.

4
The original
Hertzsprung-Russell diagram,
This random order
Constellates your dark features;
Your fuse burns a comet’s tail.

5
Trout scales, clade branches,
Ascend in rainbow patterns —
Your body pulses
Shallows beneath coral cliffs;
Your eyes glitter dark, seaward.

6
Eukaryotic—
The foundation of all flesh,
Dante’s (h)O-M-O
Draws me to your deepest earth —
Creative, an act of love.

7
The cool part of day,
A sort of post-coital
Tristesse setting in;
For you walk in my garden—
So perfect, so incomplete.

Easter 2017

I asked my mother, “What is love?”
And she said, “Sacrifice.
Lay down your will, forget yourself
And your service will suffice
To gain precisely what you give — 
The pearl without a price.”

I asked my father, “What is love?”
And he replied, “Desire.
Gird up your will, seek what is good
Obtain what you admire.
For heaven is a gift that’s given
To those who dare aspire.”

I asked my child, “What is love?”
And she thought it was a test
And so she answered, “God is love.”
And her account was best.
The Son laid down, and then raised up
So that we might be blessed.

Everybody! Everybody! Part One: Alanna Boudreau

Korrektiv Press hardly seems like a real thing any more, and yet…poetry contests! SO. While I writhe under the feverish desire to take off work, buy a bowlful of Adderall, and pound out the zine version of Gaga Confidential in time for the release of Alien: Covenant next week, I will use this nervous energy to post about a few things that are actually happening in the religio-aesthetic sphere.

First up: bluesy chanteusey Alanna Boudreau is doing another album (following the budding Hands in the Land, the blooming Hints & Guesses, and the sap-rising Champion), and she’s looking for funds on Kickstarter. She’s hooked up with a quality producer, it sounds like, and I, for one, am eager to hear the results. But first, she’s gotta get the money: for musicians, for studio time, for production, etc.

So rally, Korrektiv, rally!

A few videos to remind y’all of what she sounds like:

And a personal favorite:

KORREKTIV 2017 POETRY CONTEST WINNERS

Thank you all for participating in this year’s sonnet contest. Suffice it to say everyone was up for the challenge who submitted and suffice it to say that it wasn’t an easy decision to make regarding the winners. (Judges always say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true.)

First, here are the three Honorable Mentions – in no particular order.

Rose Thorn

Within the night’s expiring hour we lie,
Together, still yet sundered as by miles –
Unwitting, was it word or deed that I
Unfolded too ungently, joy defiled?
Tis true, they say: that every blooming rose
Doth hide beneath its blush the piercing thorn –
That every swain who guards the ambling cows
Singeth sorrow to the beckoning morn.
I feed my love upon thy favorite song –
The minstrel says that love is but a game
An easy guest, who bids farewell ere long –
And wonder, hath he entertained such pain?
And in my heart I know: thou’d not have fled
If this in time might I to thee have said.

Poison, “Every Rose Has its Thorn” – By Rebecca Bratten Weiss

****************

oops beer again

This sin I do to you in shame confess
That made thee sure this more than friendship be
And knowing not thy poor heart’s sweet distress
Did’st yet again make light of constancy
If now I can beweep thy outcast state
Mine own love’s strength thus to subside
No prayerful petition could abate
The wilting of what hidden in me lied
You played with me, thus I with thee dids’t play
And from thy catechizing looks I learn’d
By rote the bookish glances that today
Your gull’d heart thinks it has by spending earn’d
Forgive me for bending thy thoughts in pain
O cold conclusion! I did it again

Britney Spears, “Oops!… I Did It Again” – by Roguish O’Leary

************

mercury beer

At dawn when I arise the sun to greet
With forbidding dread its sovereign eye,
And tread my course with ever-failing feet,
My heavy soul doth seem content to die.
I hie me to the glass to there confer
With mine own visage, who cries out perforce
To heaven, and, as weeping boughs of myrrh,
The bitt’rest tears his pleas to thus endorse.
O, Lord, thou knowest well I have kept faith
With thee, this long and empty run of years,
Though weary time hast made of me a wraith,
Love’s ledger sadly fallen in arrears.
And so, I crave a boon from Thee above,
Canst Thou not find me somebody to love?

–Freddie Mercury, “Somebody To Love” – Courtney F.

**************

beatkees

Third Place:

Should I conceal myself ‘neath bluebird wing
As she gives song, and should the bird of dawn
Forsake his office – what a glorious thing!
Alas, he calls. I rise, I blink, I yawn.
I hie myself unto the lavat’ry
To shave. The razor, like ingratitude,
Is cold, and like a sometime friend gone by,
It stings; yet gladsome is my attitude.
Thou thought me once a brave and horsed knight
In habit white, but since discover’d me
A man, no more; an ordinary wight
Who spends not money, but good times with thee.
O be ye blithe and merry, sleepy Jean!
Believe thy daydreams, my homecoming queen!

The Monkees, “Daydream Believer” (written by John Stewart) – Father Richard Libby

*************

ain't no mountain

Second Place:

Recall when I emancipated thee
Thy trust in me thou could’st enumerate
I vowed that day to ever faithful be,
If thou should wist, in somewise be there straight.

Nor wind nor rain nor winters bitter cold
Mayst stop me if you feel yourself travailed
Thou art my destination and my goal
E’en if I’m cabined, cribbed, confined, assailed.
My love lives in the chapter of my bosom
Though miles might keep us both so far apart
If e’er thou need’st a hand to help thy dorsum
To answer in the method of the heart…

No mountain’s high enough, no valle so low
No rill so wide enough to keep me from you.

–“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Marvin Gaye – William Lasseter

**************

can't get no...

First Place:

Alas, no satisfaction cans’t I receive
Though the attempt repeatedly I make
Whilst rambling in horseless carriage, without reprieve
Some gentleman drones counsel I shan’t take
Say I, I cannot find contentedness
Though heartily do I endeavor more
The flashing box promotes dementedness
Of a launderer whose tobacco I abhor
Again, bereft, unsatisfied, I cry
Whilst I bemoan the maid with eyes so fair
Who to answer my entreaty doth deny
Even a fleeting glance with me to share
Cheerfulness eludeth me ever
In delight I shall indulge myself never

-The Rolling Stones “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” – Karen Ullo

Congratulations to All the Winners and Many Thanks for those who participated!

And Happy Shakespeare Day!

p.s. I will be contacting the winners soon to find out where to send their prizes!

‘… Still With You.’

From the Armadio degli Argenti of Blessed John of Fiesole, OP (Fra Angelico), c. 1450

‘… I rose up and am still with you.’

Psalm 139: 18

‘… His Sepulchre Shall Be Glorious.’

From the Armadio degli Argenti of Blessed John of Fiesole, OP (Fra Angelico), c. 1450

In that day the root of Jesse, who stands for an ensign of the people, him the Gentiles shall beseech, and his sepulchre shall be glorious.’

Isaiah 11: 10