Saturday, January 31, 2009

February 2009

This month features Channie Greenberg
and Mike Estabrook

Channie Greenberg

The Boss’ Orchestrated Metamorphoses

The Boss’s orchestrated metamorphoses,
Ongoing creation,
Zapped everything into place,
Over days.

Set into motion,
Various catalysts,
Resulting in His Desires,
Effecting broad to specific.
And, concurrently, nonimmediately,

Aboriginal scars traveled internationally,
Under-recognized in regions remanded for romance
For unmanageable fear.

Sages know water vanquishes fire,
Flame blasts earth,
Dirt distorts windy columns,
Gusts displace oceans of truth-birthed passages.
Paper. Scissors. Stone.
Our personal development grows in this way, too.
Watching a Painter

Smooth, short, strokes
Touch clay canvas,
Placing breathing tapestries
Along a tripod form.

My different world’s morning
Smells like cat pee.

Children talk new things,
Older words and laughter,
Bizarre jokes. Their faces
Form strange blooms.

When mental archives yield
Contemporary volumes,
Then page wombs
Birth cerebral monsters.

Foremost libraries weary
Whereas necessity rejects books
Chaff blows over the critical landscape.

When the matador cried for culture,
He meant to paint
Not Sousaphone marches,
Or British verse,
But bona fide flesh.

KJ Hannah (Channie) Greenberg has been published in many journals including The Jerusalem Post, Calligraphy, Hamodia, The Externalist, Doorknobs and Bodypaint, Type-A Moms, Fallopian Falafel Zine, The Clarity of the Night, Joyful! and Tuesday Shorts, Poetica Magazine, Bewildering Stories, The Blue Jew Yorker, AntipodeanSF, and The Mother Magazine.

Mike Estabrook

Trying on Dresses

My wife is trying on dresses
for the dinner-dance we are attending
on Saturday. The black one with
the shiny circle pattern,
good for the cha-cha-cha;
the long sexy skirt perfect
for wide swooping turns in the tango;
the pleated black and white number
that flows exquisitely in the samba;
Robin’s low-cut thin-strap skirt
that makes me want to wrestle her
to the floor right here and now.
And I’m watching her, being careful
not to ogle her, but damn if she
doesn’t look absolutely incredible.
After all these years
I am still overwhelmed by this woman,
she is still the most beautiful woman
I have ever known.

She taps her chest

I go to her, take her gently
in my arms and kiss her hard
yet tenderly.
She allows the kiss
then goes back
to trying on this top
and that top,
this shoe and that shoe.

Even though she is tired
of hearing me say it,
constant as the tides,
sure as the moon,
I cannot help myself.
“You are so beautiful Patti.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she smiles at me.

“The one thing I do know
after all these years together
is that you think I’m beautiful.
I know it in here.” She taps her chest.
“And I need to buy
a new pair of shoes,” she adds
as she sashays out of the room.

Mike Estabrook lives in Acton, MA. His latest project – The Patti Poems, poems (and some prose) are about his wife. This project will be his magnum opus, what he plans to spend the rest of his life on. It is all he cares about, all that is important to him. It has become a bit of an obsession, so far becoming a collection of 21 books.