#216 v15,08:087

VERNON WARING : The Island of Lost Poems
CAROL SHILLIBEER : Indian Apocalypse

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The Island of Lost Poems

There's a unique "Island of Lost Poems" somewhere in Texas, tucked away in a corner of an office, actually on a desk in a poetry editor's home. They are there: the casualties...a handful of poems, a small avalanche of chapbook contest entries, submissions of varying lengths from haiku to epic. They got lost, separated from their envelopes, no SASEs to identify them, no names or addresses on them. They rest stranded in a topsy-turvy pile, unread, untraceable, unclaimed. In a day or two, they will be tossed in a blue and white recycling basket, and then ultimately transported to a shredder. A question remains about these exiled anonymous works as they languish on the "island." Who sired them? One might wonder if there could be a poem by the next e.e. cummings or Bukowski or Nikki Giovanni somewhere in that nameless shapeless hill of hope, perhaps a work of passion and politics - a masterpiece penned in outrage and alienation, a brave new "Howl" just waiting to become the first great poetic anthem of the twenty-first century.

from Winter Miscellany by VERNON WARING, featured poet
POETRYREPAIRS #216 v15,08:087


POETRYREPAIRS #216 v15,08:087

Indian apocalypse

1. on the highway at 70 miles an hour with a child who is fighting to die crumpling the horizon far-sky falls smooth blue cotton rent by fast-moving trees 2. fall fields, green hint of winter's crop clouds in broken columns vault flashing by but still goshawk waits 3. daylight through the off-hinged passenger door rear-view with a twisted neck cracked windshield it doesn't take long for 13-year-old to go down burning 4. just south of here is the creek where Palouse men were hanged kicking water burns white 5. farmers torch what remains of summer in the belief that it will nourish in nearby camas fields western meadowlarks song a yellow-feathered burn 6. edge of the freeway and stop we're both bleeding and your teeth sunk in my arm 7. there will be blue when the first-bird breaks distant cousins will sing night's avian silence 8. one old trail, also known as the I-90 without words just the way the hands and feet move toward communication comfort 9. on the highway oncoming and departing continue you try to meet them head on

from poetryrepairs #212 15,05:057
POETRYREPAIRS #216 v15,08:087

AUTObiographical sketch

CAROL SHILLIBEER. Born of a union between an artist (ethnicity 2c) and a scientist (ethnicity 5b), Carol Shillibeer believes in fertile connections. Multiple ways of thinking, of hearing the world speak: adenosine tri-phosphate is a fundamental life metaphor. Her synaesthesia appear or are forthcoming in Ditch, CV2, Counterexample Poetics, inParentheses, Freefall Magazine, Adroit and others. You can find her at carolshillibeer.com

POETRYREPAIRS #216 v15,08:087

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from Winter Miscellany by VERNON WARING, featured poet

Reading tip: each part of Indian apocalypse is whole, the 9 parts are also one whole.

The autobiographical sketch for Carol Shillibeer. Variations are endless. contents home TOP