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  November 2017
volume 14 number 2
-table of contents-
 
  home  
 
  featured poets
  Jonathan Beale
  Marjorie R Becker
  Catherine Berry
  Robert Beveridge
  Bill Cunningham
  Jack Harvey
  Robert S King
  Cynthia Linville
  Genie Nakano
  Jared Pearce
  Margarita Serafimova
  Jeanne Marie Spicuzza
  RK Wallace
  Kelley White
 
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Jack Harvey November 2017
   

 

bio


    Jack D. Harvey’s poetry has appeared in Scrivener, Mind In Motion, The Comstock Review, The Antioch Review, Bay Area Poets’ Coalition, The University of Texas Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal and a number of other on-line and in print poetry magazines over the years, many of which are probably kaput by now, given the high mortality rate of poetry magazines.
    The author has been writing poetry since he was sixteen and lives in a small town near Albany, N.Y. He was born and worked in upstate New York. He is retired from doing whatever he was doing before he retired. He once owned a cat that could whistle "Sweet Adeline", use a knife and fork, and killed a postman.




   

 

Wahn und Wahnsinn

Oh my gosh, girlblond,
drink and be satisfied
in your mini-pants,
striped like a gypsy’s horsecart.
The night,
sans light of heaven’s
scaffolded bulbs,
is a cradle for us both
in this bedland,
and whose transgressing tongue
persuades your child-nipples
in extremis?

Not only mine.

So I fall upon your
coltish form
as the sun in distant ages
fell on another grace,
another innocence.

Sweet is unbounded passion;
gay guiltless girls
strengthen the staff of life
and the thoughtful lover
treads classic ground
as he ascends the post
of honor.
Zeus and Krishna
have made
this visit before
and what they performed
was done again
by others.
Given space and place,
the heaven-sent,
the earth-born,
serve the shrine,
one by one,
content to follow,
while women wonder
when it thunders
why the summer
brings no gods
but only swallows.

copyright 2017 Jack Harvey

   

 

Flight

What a mountain
climber Jorge was!
He climbed to the top
of the birds'
secret hill and
in a minute he was
more bird than man.

His feathers
assembled posthaste
and under them he was
stuffed, just as he was,
just beginning his airy life,
off he flies,
flapping, shaking,
beating, swaying,
a showy feathered thing,
a shape, a destined float
dandled by the winds
and gone gone gone
above the trees,
the mountains,
the landscape of man,
the handicaps of earth.

Beyond the luminous envious angels
the vitality of his wings
carries him on.

Gone forever,
he flies to his tumultuous kin,
welcoming, welcoming,
ringing a set of bells for him
at the darkest distance of eternity.

Brave and proud,
he started and dared
and left us all with the air
we breathe and
the daily bread we eat.

Be satisfied with that.

copyright 2017 Jack Harvey