a note from the poet

Bernard believes expression should not be inhibited by form and reflect honestly, though enjoying a wide scope of appreciation for the many shapes the art provides, it is a personal mandate of his to increase readership for contemporary poetry by encouraging more organically formed and conversational text that reacts to and captures everyday events. He is the founder of two online sites, 'The Ink Blot' and 'The Cartier Street Review' where artists can submit their contemporary art and poetry for publication and feedback.















Bernard Alain has been published and/or featured in a few online journals recently such as the Orange Room Review, Madswirl, Pirene's Fountain, Mississippi Crow Magazine/RiverMuse Press, International Poet, The World Poets Society Electronic Catalog, Bywords, Bywords Quarterly Journal, Smoking Book and others with an upcoming publication in Wood Coin.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

peckers


if
you look it up,
a real woodpecker
is hostile by
nature,
a lack
of social grace
propped up
by tailfeathers,
only stopping
off from time
to time
to poke at dying,
possibly even
dead bark

of course
the local fly-weights,
walking their
pedigrees by
7am, the ones
that never poo
or smell, just
waddle and interrogate
on behalf of
city ordinance,
peck on
heads

like Woody
Woodpecker
reruns
the same o same o
black and white
shtick

amusing
as in a funny kind of way

can't escape
them somedays

Shopping Mall Playland



This is one of Don Schaeffer's most recent posters, the text is hard to read so I have typed it out for you below:

Shopping Mall Playland

even mid-winter light
is rosey and deep
in the place
where shapes
don't challenge

small globular people
roll on orbular color
harmlessness
under mild eyes
floating on
flowing songs.

Diane Recapitulated

Above is a poster selected from the upcoming 'The Notes of a Digital Ghost' collection by Don Schaeffer, the words on the poster are hard to read in this resolution so I have provided the text below:

Diane Recapitulated

So heavy 
when she lifts herself 
from the electric 
legs into a flesh and blood chair. 

"This damn corpus," came 
into my mind from hers. But then 
her face opened at the corners of her broad mouth, 
like a deep Irish red-head. 

And she could dance 
memories of Diane 
next door in our Pennsylvania days, 
before we found paradise.

*Don's blog is listed on the right along with some other favorites.