Bloomsday Again

 21st Bloomsday

                for Pep

Today your death is

twenty-one years old.

An adult.

Today your death could

walk into a bar in Boston

and order a Sam Adams.

Today your death could

play blackjack at Encore

(which is only five, btw).

Today your death could

rent a car, adopt a child,

be a driver's ed instructor.

Today your death is

a college junior majoring

in grief management.

Today your death is

so big it would need

numeraled candles on its cake.

Today your death will

have just fifteen more

years to live.

‘Care and Management of a New Year’ @ Ink Sweat & Tears

Proud to start the new year with a poem on Ink Sweat & Tears, a poetry site I’ve followed since #52 began, and longed to publish in. Happy 2020!

Care and Management of a New Year

A hearty thank you to Helen Ivory and Kate Birch and, as always, to Jo Bell and her 52 poetry project.

🥂

A version of this poem was longlisted in the 2017 Amaryllis Christmas and New Year Poetry Competition. Thanks also to Stephen Daniels.

'While My Widow Searches the Clouds for a Sign' in Burning House Press

A poem of mine

While My Widow Searches the Clouds for a Sign

was included in the Burning House Press November issue, curated by Mauve Perle Tahat

The whole issue, including my poem, is beautifully illustrated by Moriah M. Mylod.

One Ocean, Two Seas in Firth

I have a very special poem in the first issue of Firth, and I wanted an equally special spot to place the second contributor's copy that Firth urged us to leave "for someone to find, and hopefully to read and enjoy."

From Scotland to Barcelona, from Barcelona to Jamaica Plain. Bon voyage, Firth!!

Visit Firth on facebook.

For the record, the poem is for Keith.

A Lesson in Russian Formalism in Issue #17 of Under the Radar

I'm in wonderful company in Issue #17 of the UK journal Under the Radar.
My poem is "A Lesson in Russian Formalism", on page 23.
Under the photo is a link to buy a copy : )



Under the Radar

Prole 19 Silent Dance

Prole has published my poem, Silent Dance in issue #19. Prole pays royalties, so I'm posting the link here to purchase it, rather than posting the poem.
Prole, Poetry and Prose, Issue 19.
I read it yesterday, Sant Jordi, in the Plaza del Pi, where I was invited to read by the Pintors del Pi. I wrote a translation and read that as well, and that is what I'm posting here.
Silent Dance is yet another poem dedicated to the memory of Pep. Today marks 18 years since that first kiss. I can still hear him singing Aute to me. 143

Esta silenciosa danza

Maldito baile de muertos. Hace
que la lucha por enamorarse
se asemeje a una noche de botellón;

que la tinta desaparezca del papel
para surgir después entre sinapsis
o en medio de alguna tarde;

que un soplo de aire desde un portal
(humo de tabaco negro, insinuación
de cloro) sepa a aquella isla;

que la iluminación de la luna sobre
este sillón tapizado recoja notas de
Aute. Al Alba en falsete tremuloso.

On the Seawall in Rat's Ass Review's Love & Ensuing Madness

Rat's Ass Review has to be one of the best names for a poetry journal ever.

I have a poem in the Love & Ensuing Madness section, described as "a Ladies Getting It On dossier". So, you've been warned.

My poem is called On The Seawall. Clicking on the title link will take you there, but I can't be held responsible if you  never get back.

Permit in My Pocket at SilverBirchPress

I wrote a poem for Silver Birch Press' Learning to Drive series, and they published it, along with a few photos, and the story behind the poem:

Permit in My Pocket by Kymm Coveney

The photo has nothing to do with the poem, but is part of a small anecdote.



Click on the title above or the photo to read it on their wonderful site, where there are plenty of other poems and stories to read.

Asea in Yellow Chair Review

I'm so pleased to debut in Yellow Chair Review with a poem inspired by a prompt about home. I'm also quite tickled to be opposite such a fantastic piece of artwork. There are a few online poetry friends in here as well, and lots of good reading.
My poem, Asea, is on page 131.

"Scavengers" on Writers for Calais Refugees

A poem of mine is up today on this amazing site, Writers for Calais Refugees:

KYMM COVENEY

Scavangers

Full moons charted silver
journeys across two seas

footsteps sunk in waveswept sand
driftwood beached in awkward bends

white stones, seaglass, purple shells
culled in dreamy disregard

laid out like polished teeth,
glazed eyes, two violet shoes.

Go. Spend a while.
View original

Always Doesn’t Seem Like Such a Long Time, After All

His beard, grown as camouflage for a dove,

curves around the smile that widened just for me.

Gentle fingers squeeze hard between my ribs

for the photo, pull me in tight, make me gasp.

Taken, poof, in a rainbow-bursting flash of sunlight.

The Up Side of Lonely

This poem of mine is set in the middle of a beautiful issue of Synaesthesia Magazine.

#6 THUNDER, LIGHTNING went live today. Go visit it.

THUNDER,LIGHTNING: The Up Side of Lonely

Hear that? That's THUNDER, LIGHTNING.... http://t.co/bI4UKxieri
— Synaesthesia Mag (@SynaesthesiaMag) December 4, 2014

Elephant Opera Company

Always loud - coming or going -

we could not get rid of them fast enough.

Neither fashionable nor punctual

- unwieldy, spectacular, lumbering -

they ate up all the adornments

that kept us safely disguised

and then would not leave until

the fat lady sang.

 

English Summer Haiku

My entry to Centre for New Writing twitter poetry "micropoem14" competition.
Read the winning poems here: http://www.staffnet.manchester.ac.uk/news/display/?id=12528

#micropoem14 Lulled by the full moon a sleeping pond turns over. Gray rabbits gather. @newwritingMCR #EnglishSummer #haiku
— Kymm Coveney (@KymmInBarcelona) July 11, 2014

One Heart Breaking

Splinters rasp. Pancreas.

The word cracks

it open.

The surgeon’s voice echoes

months

in a thunderclap

straight down the middle.

Your last sigh, exhaled,

broke it forever.

Yet, listen. Days like today

I can hear it

sounds like pebbles

at the seashore.

 Pep  13/8/66 - 16/6/03

Always for you, Pep.  143

          Answer #14 was also           

Dust

Vase                      full

of once-red roses

years browned, perfectly

dried. Plucked, all twelve of

them, from the very

expensive flower

arrangements

left  in  the

basement

of the

cr

em

at

ori

u

m

Polvo

Florero                       lleno

de rosas, en su día rojas,
volviéndose, hace años, cada
 vez más marrones, perfectamente
secas. Arrancadas, cada
una de las doce, de los
carísimos arreglos
florales dejados
en el sótano
del
cre
m
at
o
ri
o

Virulence

Strings of a violin snap.

Notes squeal the air

a thunderous shade of purple.

Teeth-snapping jaws

spew venom into the iron

scent of evisceration.

A frenzy of claws screech

across the eye of the hurricane,

through rollercoaster ruins.

Broken words take a victory lap,

having ruptured every eardrum.

It's National Poetry Month at home. From a poetry prompt called 'assay'.
Constructive comments, especially from poets, are most welcome.

Friday Morning Pedestrian

Standing  at the light,

huge bus to my right.

 A whoosh to my left.

I jump. His skateboard deftly

 pushed forward against the red.

 Just as a taxi noses ahead

of the bus.

33 words for   who asked what scares us.

Curses, Foiled Again!

Sunday morning’s forecast
promised lightning, droning rain.
I drew back the curtain
with hard-clutched book, to no avail.
Double-crossing weather channel!
Sunshine! Blue skies!
Wherefore art thou washing machine?
Scrubbrush? Mop and pail?


wants a 33-word example of an apostrophe.

Round-Eyed In A Square between Taksim and Catalunya

Honored to have a poem of mine in Solidarity Park today. #occupygezi #resistanbul




http://solidaritypark.wordpress.com/2013/07/09/poem-35-in-solidarity-round-eyed-in-a-square-between-taksim-and-catalunya/


Republished on 13 December 2014 in I Am Not A Silent Poet: