Archive for the January 2010 Category

Untitled memory

Posted in January 2010, Poetry on January 22, 2010 by Black Coffee Press LIMITED

I remember my kite.
A blue diamond I carried around
all of the time, like a dream
folded into my back pocket;
a good book too good to share
both tattered with wear and tear
worn in like bare feet in the summer.

Its tail was my shadow
echoing down a long corridor
too big and spilling out of me
like youth when it gets too big
for penny loafers and expectations.

I was on my way to class
with footsteps heavy
as the books I was supposed to read,
but you learn to carry it
even when their covers were their only weight
and you learn that real life
is a homework assignment
and you learn
to keep your dream in a back pocket,
folded up, waiting.

I remember my kite
as I pull it from a trunk
of all my youth’s stuff
stuffed into a box in the corner
like a child in “time out.”
It never did see the sun
but from behind a window pane.
It never did find its wind.
And I have yet to fly.

d.m.riggs. is a writer and poet, living in knoxville, tn. he’s badder than bad bad leroy brown. though not necessarily clever.


Baghdad Redux

Posted in January 2010, Poetry on January 21, 2010 by Black Coffee Press LIMITED

I saw Quinn again tonight,
first time in years, sailing the streets,
weaving through people,
collar up, head cocked,
arms like telephone poles sunk
in the pockets of his overcoat,

the brilliant pennants of his long red hair
waving over the stadium
where years ago he took my handoff,
bucked off guard, found the free field,
and heaved like a bison into the end zone.

Tonight, when Quinn wove by me muttering,
I should have handed him the ball.
I should have screamed, “Go, Quinn, go!”
He would have stiff-armed the lamppost,
found the free field again,
left us all in his wake to gawk

as he hit the end zone
and circled the goal posts,
whooping and laughing,
flinging the ball like a spear
over the cross-bar, back to Iraq.

Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, MO. He has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. He has had poems published in or accepted by The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal, Commonweal, Public Republic (Bulgaria), Revival (Ireland), The Istanbul Literary Review (Turkey), Opium 2.0, Rusty Truck, Deuce Coupe, Poetry Super Highway, Pirene’s Fountain (Australia) and other publications.


Posted in January 2010, Poetry on January 20, 2010 by Black Coffee Press LIMITED

I am still paying off

the karma debt,

unrelenting gods bill me

from on high,

all the friends I ever had

are gone, they all

let me down in the end.

Out on the hard road,

the debris I’ve left,

the disasters, so many

wrecks on the highway,

such bloodbaths,

a thousand bridges

burning above hatchets

barely buried, and still

the walls to mend,

still the love for one

who never did love me.

Played the past so often

that today I wager

with empty pockets,

the die cast, the side of

snake eyes tossed,

this morning I wake up again

without redemption,

only a poor boy’s will

to pay his way

and the penniless pride to

keep pressing on—

Phil Lane His poems have appeared in various small magazines and online over the years.  He teaches English and lives in Northern New Jersey.


Posted in January 2010, Poetry on January 19, 2010 by Black Coffee Press LIMITED

The monitor showed 3rd degree block–

a heart rhythm where the atria, the top part

of the heart, beats separately

from the ventricles, the bottom,

like random thoughts,

one thought connecting to another,

the next two or three

escaping the common thread.

The patient was 60 years old,

not a young 60

with kidney and liver disease,

a pacemaker buried inside her chest

like a sunken vessel at sea.  Its engine

refused to spark a beat of the ventricle.

We knew she was dying,

her blood pressure like air in a tire

leaking lower and lower, and lungs filling

with fluid.  When her heart slowed

to 40 beats a minute, her eyes grew wide.

We couldn’t believe her brain received

enough blood to feed her words

Is this the time to pray?”

We answered in unison, “Yes.”

Janice Krasselt Medin is an RN and also has an M.A. in English with Emphasis in Creative Writing from Ohio University.  Her publications include two books of poetry: Remembering the Truth (Temenos Publishing Company, 2006) and Communion of Voices (Big Table Publishing Company, April 2009), a chapbook.   Her poems have appeared in several journals such as Southern Hum, Alimentum (as menu poem), Gander Press Review, Word Riot, Up the Staircase, and many others.  Please note that the books and poems above have been published under the name Janice Krasselt Tatter.  She is now publishing under her new married name Medin.