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Pictures of [Korrektiv] Poets

Check.

It.

Out.

Three Two One Zero

What the Sky Lacks gets launched, March 11, 2019, at The Bartlett

Blastoff

Spokota Thom

Inlander article on Thom Caraway’s new book from Korrektiv Press

“The first half of the book is written about North Dakota, where Caraway lived for four years while earning his Ph.D. The second half is set in the Lilac City, where the former Spokane poet laureate was raised and now again calls home.” —The Inlander

Caraway in the News

What the Sky Lacks investigates the similarities and differences of disparate places. Between the cold, flat plains of North Dakota and the foothills and rivers of the inland northwest, these poems explore the dynamics of habitation: what it takes to live in a place, to be in a place, and to be from a place.

What the Sky Lacks

What the Sky Lacks: poems by Thom Caraway, new from Korrektiv Press and now available from Amazon; soon from other fine booksellers everywhere.

What the Sky Lacks

Occasional Sonnet

Sonnet for My Daughter on Her Birthday

Let me not admit November’s wild
Transition into winter’s dark, my child,
Could ever turn the light out in your mind
Or cause the love within you to unbind.
Oh no, you woke in autumn’s grip but kept
It at arm’s length until you walked and leapt
Across the calendar of time and thought
And showed me everything you found and brought
From icy mornings to the changing seasons,
From cold conclusions to the warming reasons,
To daughter me to father forth my vision,
To light a fire of love and firm decision
To love you always, always newly prove
That I will stay beside you, never move.

Unto Us a Book

What the Sky Lacks

coming soon

God is in Your Typewriter

God is in Your Typewriter

From the introduction to Anne Sexton, The Complete Poems

My Mother, Urs

My mother, Urs
Is not averse
To what is claimed
To be not worse,

Like apple cores
And wooden floors
And husbands blamed
For broken doors,

But woe betide
The other side
If they, enflamed,
Should try her pride,

For she will cut
Their fattened butt,
Unfurl her famed
Derisive tut,

And bring them low
To eat some crow
Till they be lamed
And in the know.

My Father, Ted

My father, Ted
Can take the lead
From bullets aimed
Straight at his head

And turn them in
To gold and tin
To cure the maimed,
Both friend and kin,

By alchemy
And family tree
And things unnamed
And mystery

Because he knows
The wild rose
Cannot be tamed,
It only grows

With rooted love
And hand and glove
And old age framed
By the sky above.