Page 39 of 69

Letter to an Estranged Father

3 October 2023 / Editor

Nonfiction by Angela Kasumova

Recently, on my way to visit a friend, I drove by Kitty’s Restaurant and Lounge in North Reading. Do you remember the time we went there? It was a Saturday, late summer, either in ‘94 or ‘95, and we’d come from Lawrence where we picked up my school uniform. We stopped by Kitty’s for lunch on the way home. It was a throwback spot: dim lighting, torn booths, cigarette smoke. The bathroom was all red tile and red vinyl and red toilets, like something from a horror movie.

We waited a long time for the food to arrive, and when it did, I remember giggling as I looked down at the brownish steak tip gristle sitting in oil placed in front of me. I don’t remember what you or Mom had, but neither was good. It was one of the worst meals we’d ever had. Comically bad.

I think we left without paying.

Despite the badness of the restaurant this memory is a happy one. We laughed and smiled in unity over the awfulness that was Kitty’s.

Not a day goes by where I don’t think about the tragic outcome of our family, my mind filling with “whys” and “what ifs” and “if onlys.” Lately though, I’ve begun widening the lens, allowing a little more light in.

Turns out we had our good moments, like bonding over bad meals.

Angela Kasumova is an emerging writer of creative nonfiction with over a decade of experience working in the fields of mental health and education. She lives with her husband and sons near Boston, Massachusetts. Read her first published piece on The Bluebird Word from June 2023: For Sale: Kawai Upright Piano, $1,250.

Feeding Time

3 October 2023 / Editor

Poetry by Stephen J. Cribari

I hang my poems on the kitchen wall, each one
A balanced meal providing nourishment
From the artist’s pallet of essential food groups:
Danger, beauty, wisdom, insight, rage.

I say I hang these poems as my defense
Against obscurity but truth be told
I’m peckish. I’m just providing for myself.
I nibble here and there and snack and munch
On feelings and thoughts, on metaphor and rhyme,
The fiber and oats and hay and supplements
Of the controlled diet unique to this animal.

My poems: feed buckets hanging in the stall
Of a horse that would bolt given half a chance.

Stephen J Cribari has been writing poetry for over sixty years. In a parallel life he was a criminal defense attorney and law professor. He resides in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Still Life (2020) and Delayed en Route (2022) are published by Lothrop Street Press.

rippling seawater reflecting pink evening sky — Photo by Ben Mack on Pexels.com

Beyond Vision

3 October 2023 / Editor

Poetry by Suzannah Watchorn

Suzannah Watchorn is an English-Irish writer who grew up outside of London, UK. She now lives in the US, where she works as a writing coach and freelance editor. Her poetry and essays are featured or forthcoming in Eunoia Review, Nebulous, Sunspot Literary, Wild Roof Journal and Red Noise Collective.

Lord of Depths

3 October 2023 / Editor

Poetry by Peter T. Cavallaro

I met God in the ocean swell.
Yes, didn’t you hear?
There
in the roar of the surf
standing astride sandbars
I met him.
It happened when I got jolted off-balance
and passed into the dread wall—
heart pounding,
a rush of cold on my face,
the weight of watery worries on my hair.
There was I, alone: descending
spread-eagle
inside the collapsing tube
where sky eclipsed
and sound stood still
and my eyes, kissed by debris, locked shut,
when I felt
my body rise, hoisted
by some muddy clamor—
weightless
care-less
swallowed – a plaything!
tumbling fro
at the whim of breakers,
like clay in their crush.
There
in the press
of that green deep
came God;
in the pit of the sea we met.
And he said:
“Control is your illusion.”
The waters rolled back,
lowering me
onto a carpet of kelp
where
the sun’s rub pierced
my receding aqua-veil.
Stillness – and then roar.

Written underwater

Peter T. Cavallaro is a poet, writer, attorney, adventurer, and nature photographer. He lives in New York.

Class Assignment

3 October 2023 / Editor

Poetry by Margaret D. Stetz

the famous poet gave a reading
at my school
because the English teacher
knew him
attendance was required
his voice was dry and white
what I imagined
certain wine was like
though I’d never tasted any
something you had to
twirl inside a crystal glass
not drink with pleasure
his shirt was Oxford cloth
white and sharply ironed
the reading was
informal
so he’d left the top two buttons open
rolled the cuffs
his shoes were loafers
which I’d only seen on girls
(adults I knew wore lace-up shoes
and uniforms to work)
his hair looked dry cleaned
freshly pressed
when he began to read
he gazed straight
at the first two rows
where young men sat
a group I’d never seen before
(did they travel with the poet
like a set
of matching luggage?)
the young men
also white
not quite as starched
were silent
bobbing heads
to show they understood
the Classical allusions
gliding past me
like a boat along the Styx (the only line I got)
I knew there must be
witty twists and plays on words
because the poet
sometimes slightly raised his eyebrows…
soon I was nodding
face pitched forward
eyelids lowering
I shook myself to stay awake
reciting in my head
the lyrics of a Beatles song
the record that
I couldn’t wait to play again
when I got home

Margaret D. Stetz is the Mae and Robert Carter Professor of Women’s Studies at the University of Delaware, as well as a widely published poet. Read her earlier poem “Robins” from the August 2022 issue of The Bluebird Word.

Glancing Down at the Carnival

3 October 2023 / Editor

Poetry by Robert Nisbet

Leaving a small dark town, hurrying,
we pass a notice, To the Carnival,
swing homeward over a sweep of bridge,
then glance down at the show itself,
in the valley, in its meadow,
a multi-coloured load of sight and sound.

We see and hear, briefly
the motley morrice of copious ribbon
the comedy notes of oompah-oompah
a cone of helter-skelter red
maybe a hurdy-gurdy grinding

We sense . . . maybe
the sketching of likenesses
the telling of fortunes in shadowed tents
and (as in American country fairs)
a bespectacled girl sitting at a card table,
typing poems for the passing crowds . . .

Stay, stay
oompah, oompah
but our car has to race on, race on . . .

Robert Nisbet, a Welsh writer, was for several years an associate lecturer in creative writing at Trinity College, Carmarthen, where he also worked for a while as an adjunct professor for the Central College of Iowa. His poems appear in Robeson, Fitzgerald and Other Heroes (Prolebooks, 2017). Read Robert’s poem “Later” published in The Bluebird Word‘s January 2023 issue.

The Scent

12 August 2023 / Editor

Poetry by Barbara Siegel Carlson

The heart’s fingerprints are everywhere.
Richard jackson

From somewhere in the city
come the colorful pungency
of oils and spices,
the scent of wet stone,
a woman perspiring
in her high heels that click by,
and the smoke a squinty-eyed man
exhales as he taps
his ashes to the ground
a few feet from the doorway
where a raw-cheeked woman sleeps
under a blanket of particles
near a piece of mooncake some pigeons
& sparrows are sharing.

Barbara Siegel Carlson‘s third book of poems What Drifted Here was published by Cherry Grove Collections in 2023. Her previous books are Once in Every Language and Fire Road. A chapbook Between the Hours was published in 2022. She teaches in Boston and lives in Carver, Massachusetts.

jellfish swimming on water — Photo by Tim Mossholder on Pexels.com

deepsea census

12 August 2023 / Editor

Poetry by Kristin Van Tassel

we give you lamp
light that we might
see you transparent
sea cucumber in sheer
pink open blossom 2
miles deep—& see
you yeti crab, pincer
thin arms frost furred,
or you blind lobster,
needle nosed pliers
in open jaw—& you,
comb jelly, trailing
translucent tulle
veins glowing LED
cool, sliding starless
sky 4.5 miles below
our surface—so
quiet, this cold

Kristin Van Tassel lives and teaches in rural Central Kansas. She writes essays and poetry about place, travel, and teaching. Her work has appeared in World Hum, Wanderlust, Whale Road Review, The Land Report, About Place, Porcupine Review, and Ecotone.

photo of birds on concrete wall near city buildings during daytime — Photo by Negative Space on Pexels.com

Birds at Dawn

12 August 2023 / Editor

Poetry by Sarah Das Gupta

A blackbird sings at break of day,
the notes cascading, trickling,
over sunlit tiles.
On the old flint wall
a sparrow chirps, cheekily
to an awakening garden.
A pair of thieving magpies,
black patches over each eye,
chatter like pirates
from the dark yew,
planning a surprise attack
on the treasures of the bird table;
while ring doves coo softly
from an avenue of ancient limes.

Sarah Das Gupta is a retired English teacher from Cambridge, UK. She has had work published in many magazines/journals including Bar Bar, The Bluebird Word, Cosmic Daffodil, Green Ink, Waywords, Shallot, Pure Haiku, Rural Fiction, American Readers Review, Paddle, and others.

silhouette photography of trees near water — Photo by Blaque X on Pexels.com

Fall Sun

12 August 2023 / Editor

Poetry by Sharon Scholl

rises reluctantly through ground mist,
travels on the fringe of the horizon,
sinks into a cloak of early dusk.

I find the last of it in a tiny pool
and savor its remains reduced
from August lake to dim reflection.

Leaves enough remain to catch its light
and send their shadows dancing
with a scatter of dry weeds.

Lingering squashes dangle on shrinking
vines while single pumpkins sit deserted
in a field of empty furrows.

This is the season of farewells
to spring wonders worn and drab,
to the past that fades in memory.

Sharon Scholl is a retired college professor (humanities) who convenes a poetry critique group and maintains a website (freeprintmusic.com) that donates music to small, liberal churches. Her poetry chapbooks, Seasons, Remains, Evensong, are available via Amazon Books. Her poems are current in Third Wednesday and Panoplyzine.

The Bluebird Word

Page 39 of 69

Letter to an Estranged Father

Feeding Time

Beyond Vision

Lord of Depths

Class Assignment

Glancing Down at the Carnival

The Scent

deepsea census

Birds at Dawn

Fall Sun

Recent Posts

Archives

Categories