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.

Monday, February 2, 2009

it was well below zero


when the sun set on English Bay
I was among the narcs, bootleggers, gypsies
pale silhouettes straddling a skyline,
waiting for an indifferent mist from the bay
to rejuvenate dry nostrils,
cleanse the after-scent of dying alleys

there were no gods, no higher bodies
only the random weaves of a mottled sky
queued in thin vermillion strands,
and somewhere in the stillness and dying sunset
empty easels paraded like the last walk before
a crucifiction,
martyrs of a similar kind maybe, beliefs crafted
out of the less holy, the lips of babes
blowing out their own version of the bible

I left my gloves in the lobby this morning,
the bitten knuckles and walk home all too
familiar, sure it was the cry of failed
flight from young robins trapped in nearby
brambles that tingled in my strides, they
could not be reached, they would not survive
the season

when I exited Main resistance was no longer
a factor and chilled skin still fought with warm
blood, purging with tiny spikes

maybe it was the hypes they escorted from the
penthouse of our building this morning or maybe
that things around me have only appeared to change
over the years I don't know, as I exited the
last avenue of a homeward trek and the complex
came into view, a shimmer of plate glass lost
strength to a shroud of aging twigs and insoluble
clouds

a distant bay ebbed
it was well below zero

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.