Fragile Arts Quarterly

http://fragile-arts-quarterly.blogspot.com/

I am beginning with a link because you can download the entire issue for yourself for free and please do so because there is bold art and photography woven among the poems for an enlightening mix. I will happily share a small sample of poems with you:


Sammy
by Wendy Parkin

You don’t care about wearing socks and shoes,
whether the soles of your feet turn black as asphalt.
Grass glued to your sticky fingers doesn’t keep you
from holding up sagging pants falling off your skinny waist.
It doesn’t matter to you
your mom is burning the spaghetti on the stove
because she drank too many Budweiser’s,
the neighbors are sitting on front porches
talking about how dirty you are,
and there isn’t enough money
to buy cigarettes and your first grade class pictures.
It doesn’t matter to you
the school nurse constantly sends you home
because you have head lice, and your clothes stink.
It doesn’t matter to you
adults don’t understand why
you spit on kids at recess for saying you have fleas
and calling you retarded because you don’t talk right.
Right now, happiness to you
is running your little brother over with your bike
in the middle of the street
until you make him scream and cry.
It’s good you’re too young to realize
a little boy should have sheets and pillows on his bed,
a bubble bath every night, and wake to prepared
breakfast every morning; some hot cereal and apple juice.
You don’t realize chocolate ice-cream sandwiches
and flat cans of generic Cola-Bubba for dinner
will rot your teeth until they all go missing.
It’s good you’re too young to realize
what missing is.
It’s good
youth feeds and covers you.


The editors describe Wendy Parkin’s poetry is described as “stark” and that is exactly the term I’d come up with for her poems. She brings to light what is often not spoken of in some neighborhoods but thought about behind closed doors. There is no evidence that anyone will involve themselves in “Sammy’s” life but you can feel the undercurrent of helplessness in watching his life unfold in the poem. Stark, and haunting.



maybe even devils get depressed
by David McLean

maybe even devils get depressed
when screams get quieter
and we seem to be enjoying it,
when anxiety becomes an infinity
of self-congratulation for sensitivity
and self-pity, when people don't really
suffer easily, maybe even devils
get depressed then. after all,
they're only human

I like this one because it’s an unusual take on how devils are portrayed—as human—and as being able to feel sadness/depression. A topsy-turvy turn of events that I find intriguing in that when humanity isn’t suffering so much collectively anymore that devils may become depressed and finally, with a surprise ending of perhaps humans being the devils and angels they create for themselves.


Melinda’s Two Cats
By: Mikki Mous

Melinda's two cats
loiter upon the sidewalk
flipping matchsticks into the street
making catly comments, sleeping in the sun
and generally lending a disreptuable air
to the neighborhood of pristine lawns
and carefully sheared shrubs of no character

I’m including this one because I experienced this sight myself the other day, only at a restaurant crowded with noisy people, the cats were eating anything tossed their way, then sleeping peacefully amidst the noise. I like Mous’s line of “flipping matchsticks into the street” which lends a quirky visual and the words “disreputable air/to the neighborhood of pristine lawns” furthers it along. Among human existence, other worlds continue despite our best efforts, that is what I take away from it.


I hope you enjoyed this small sample and that you’ll check out the journal for yourself, there really are some amazing photos and art alongside the poems, a visual treat in all respects. Please use the link below if you haven’t already done so at the beginning of this post:
http://fragile-arts-quarterly.blogspot.com/

Thanks always for reading, please click in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…