beehive hum of the machinery will
echo again down the long halls,
the shuttles spinning, this time the threads
woven into a new tapestry to tell all
our days, our hours, the long nights
before the dawn is done and day
crowns straight upon the veiny
sidewalk, asphalt blue, sparkle
glass accidental jewels pressed there
so incidentally and now only noticed
by the keenest eye
the colors go from red to blue-est
black, the inky color of oil blearing
across newsprint
and somewhere is archy still
tapping out stories for mehitabel
while the Yellow Kid tweets
"Hully Gee" and updates his
Facebook status?
stories, like human nature, do not
change: they merely pass from
speaker to speaker, dipping our
pens in the common ink, the
blue-black read all over
used for wrapping paper, kindling,
insulation for our boots, for
the long march--and words
will keep us warm--if we repeat them
fast enough
if we believe them, clear enough, if
we sleep, love, laugh, eat with
word-work, the best and brightest work,
the truest work, in the end
19 October 2010
Poetry Reading, 22nd October 2010, Lola's Tea House, Pelham, NY
I was not able to make this reading due to unforeseen circumstances.....apologies...
Poetry Reading
Lola's Tea House
130 Fifth Avenue
Pelham, NY
Friday, 22nd October 2010
7:30 p.m. - 10:00 p.m.
$5.00 cover / $10.00 food purchase
RSVP 914-738-2100
Poetry Reading
Lola's Tea House
130 Fifth Avenue
Pelham, NY
Friday, 22nd October 2010
7:30 p.m. - 10:00 p.m.
$5.00 cover / $10.00 food purchase
RSVP 914-738-2100
17 October 2010
Now available via Amazon.com!!!!!!! "Blood Beats in Four Square Miles" -- the first anthology of Mount Vernon, NY poets, edited by James "jAFa" Fair.
It's here!!!
http://www.amazon.com/Blood-Beats-Four-Square-Miles/dp/1453778047/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1
http://www.amazon.com/Blood-Beats-Four-Square-Miles/dp/1453778047/ref=pd_rhf_p_t_1
03 October 2010
BOOK LAUNCH!!! "Blood Beats in Four Square Miles" --- the first anthology of Mount Vernon poets!!!!
Book Launch / Reading for "Blood Beats in Four Square Miles" edited by James Fair.
This is the very first anthology to feature the work of Mount Vernon poets.
Date: Sunday 17th October 2010
Time: 3:00 p.m.
Place: AC-BAW Center for the Arts
128 South Fourth Avenue
(between 2nd and 3rd Streets)
Mount Vernon, NY 10550
This event has been listed on Facebook, should anyone like to RSVP and attend!!!!
I, along with a few others, will be reading some poems.
Cheers,
MaryAnn
mccarrafitz@hotmail.com or mmccarrafitzpatrick@gmail.com
24 August 2010
20 August 2010
McCarra/Poetry Now Available via Kindle!!!!!
McCarra/Poetry is now available via Amazon.com's "Kindle Store." Have McCarra/Poetry delivered to you, monthly, for the bargain price of just $1.99!!!! Trial subscriptions available for the undecided amongst you....
Cheers,
MaryAnn
Cheers,
MaryAnn
15 August 2010
Digging His Garden
digging his garden she sees
him planting bulbs, one by one,
in the dark furrows he dug
Tuesday last, after coming from
work and changing his clothes,
his back curved over the earth,
as she washes dishes, one
by one
each of his movements a
sign of faith
that the roots will
feed and the sun shine still
over his handiwork
whispering up to him, trumpeting
out sounds like the pale
honeysuckle emits their warm fug
of scent
she lost him between breakfast and lunch,
it was that simple, their parting, like
the Red Sea, away from each
other, but still she speaks...with each
seed he plants he hears her consonants
and vowels mixed perfectly, as heavy
cream through coffee
and still she does not understand, as
her fingernails grasp at the flagstones
placed with such care
(he has decided, this year, on a
border of red mixed with white)
paltry words an offering poor enough,
but still, all she had
him planting bulbs, one by one,
in the dark furrows he dug
Tuesday last, after coming from
work and changing his clothes,
his back curved over the earth,
as she washes dishes, one
by one
each of his movements a
sign of faith
that the roots will
feed and the sun shine still
over his handiwork
whispering up to him, trumpeting
out sounds like the pale
honeysuckle emits their warm fug
of scent
she lost him between breakfast and lunch,
it was that simple, their parting, like
the Red Sea, away from each
other, but still she speaks...with each
seed he plants he hears her consonants
and vowels mixed perfectly, as heavy
cream through coffee
and still she does not understand, as
her fingernails grasp at the flagstones
placed with such care
(he has decided, this year, on a
border of red mixed with white)
paltry words an offering poor enough,
but still, all she had
Naptime
the perpetual hum of the
air conditioning units block out
the street noise so it seems
the neighbors mime with madly
gesticulating hands, their mouths
moving, but wordless, these
passing members of the play, the
man in black dragging his
bag of cans, the lap dog
cosseted in a stroller colored
candy-pink
storm coming--the sudden dark,
casts the room in shadow, no
need for a weatherman to see
what way the wind blows and
the plink, plink, of the drops
are a rough morse code
repeating, again repeating, here
you are, again, to hear
these same old sounds, each
filed away and stored in
aural memory, the clatter a
relief in the cool quiet of the
bedroom and him just
waking from a nap with a cry
for an embrace, some food, too
air conditioning units block out
the street noise so it seems
the neighbors mime with madly
gesticulating hands, their mouths
moving, but wordless, these
passing members of the play, the
man in black dragging his
bag of cans, the lap dog
cosseted in a stroller colored
candy-pink
storm coming--the sudden dark,
casts the room in shadow, no
need for a weatherman to see
what way the wind blows and
the plink, plink, of the drops
are a rough morse code
repeating, again repeating, here
you are, again, to hear
these same old sounds, each
filed away and stored in
aural memory, the clatter a
relief in the cool quiet of the
bedroom and him just
waking from a nap with a cry
for an embrace, some food, too
August
this is the desert month--the
doctor's office closes, the woman
sits, eyes heavy-lidded, listens
to cricket-hum as flowers turn to
photographs, the leaves curling
away to reveal a limb, a
wink, the shyness of the cerebellum
rounding the corner to come
to a terrible conclusion, hard
won, peeling away the layers, the
seismic shift these actions make
noticed by none but herself, the
artichoke peeled to its center, the
wordplay and sentence structure
broken down, the bones diagrammed
so--here was her heart, her liver
fleshy-fat, here the coils of her
brain-pan, white like pickled fish
caught in a jar
and what remains, of her, in
this desert August?
some fond remembrance, perhaps,
some inkblots, a tear in a
dress of grey lace, a heel broken from a
black shoe, drowsing there in late
afternoon, framing the world
with ten fingers, hoping, still
for water from rock, bread
from the skies
doctor's office closes, the woman
sits, eyes heavy-lidded, listens
to cricket-hum as flowers turn to
photographs, the leaves curling
away to reveal a limb, a
wink, the shyness of the cerebellum
rounding the corner to come
to a terrible conclusion, hard
won, peeling away the layers, the
seismic shift these actions make
noticed by none but herself, the
artichoke peeled to its center, the
wordplay and sentence structure
broken down, the bones diagrammed
so--here was her heart, her liver
fleshy-fat, here the coils of her
brain-pan, white like pickled fish
caught in a jar
and what remains, of her, in
this desert August?
some fond remembrance, perhaps,
some inkblots, a tear in a
dress of grey lace, a heel broken from a
black shoe, drowsing there in late
afternoon, framing the world
with ten fingers, hoping, still
for water from rock, bread
from the skies
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