DAVID FRASER : My Bio for the Next Submission to a Magazine
TAMMY VITALE : Convert
NANCY CHERRY : The Hammer
POETRYREPAIRS v13.06:072
contemporary international poetry - for your reading pleasure,
poetry from new and established poets and essays on writing


All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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David Fraser lives in Nanoose Bay, on Vancouver Island. He is the founder and editor of Ascent Aspirations Magazine, www.ascentaspirations.ca since 1997. His poetry and short fiction have appeared in many journals and anthologies, including Rocksalt, An Anthology of Contemporary BC Poetry. He has published five collections of poetry; Going to the Well, 2004, Running Down the Wind, 2007, No Way Easy, 2010, Caught in My Throat, 2011 and, Paper Boats, 2012 also a collection of short fiction, Dark Side of the Billboard, 2006.

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DAVID FRASER
My Bio for the Next Submission to a Magazine
  Can't say I've ever been a lazy lump, always on the fly, caffeinated without the coffee, ever ready without the batteries. Must be how I'm wired, why my parents thought I was a bad seed, hard to control, reform school material, and don't think they didn't threaten to send me there, even got incorrigible on the blue report card in grade two.   Don't know why I've always got the jumps, can't stop talking during TV shows, a pain in the ass sometimes, making lists, crossing off what's been done, jotting down done-notes as well as to-do's, and just when I've worked all day and sane- brain wants to begin to wind down, wired-brain gets distracted, oh shiny things, shiny things, and I'm started up again, another inspiration, another journey, and I even beat myself up for being lazy, for procrastinating on the not-done things. No flies on me, and always on the fly.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.06:072
I have many things to write unto you but I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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TAMMY VITALE 
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Once her prayers beat the sky with the fear of a caged bird cold beads slipping through fingers like memories. She has forgotten why the woman in blue is forever stepping on the snake. Instead she thinks of the green serpents seen unexpectedly the year she thought of drowning, how water enfolds and covers but the serpents sang to her of the secrets of dry grass the diligence of trees and the warmth of small feathered things with racing hearts so she learned to love the land. Now she places sweet milk in the corners of her yellow kitchen just in case the serpents come ashore makes nests of shredded paper for broken birds with wounded wings and skitters glass beads one by one across the worn and shiny floor while she holds her prayers in the palm of her hand.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.06: 072
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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NANCY CHERRY
The Hammer
There is a hammer lying on the floor of my bedroom I want to pick it up but I don't pick it up because that would be a digression. If I pick up the hammer, it will leave an impression, hammer-shaped, in the rug because it is heavy and has lain there all night. it will look as if the hammer is still there even after I have walked out of the room and put it away in the toolbox. The carpet will not let go of its hammer-shape; it is not grass that will gradually lift itself after a night of heavy sleep. It will only stand up if I run my fingers through the fibers or vacuum; and if I vacuum, I will not stop with the foot-square shape of hammer, but will run through the house vacuuming carpets and no one will remember there was a hammer. Last night I brought the hammer into the bedroom to unstick the window swollen with winter because I was beginning to suffocate as the barometer dropped toward rain. Even now, though I am in the kitchen and it is raining at last, I am thinking about the hammer and what it is doing alone in the bedroom pressing carpet fibers to the floor. It presses silently and does not move in any direction except down. It does not inch toward home but plows through my thoughts with the claw end made for prying and getting things unstuck. And what will I discover inside but another toolbox full of anxious hardware: the screwdrivers, the pliers and directress and an empty space at the back for the hammer.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.06: 072
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DAVID FRASER : My Bio for the Next Submission to a Magazine
TAMMY VITALE : Convert
NANCY CHERRY : The Hammer

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