{ else / esque }

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Yesenia Montilla took part in Platano Poetry Café’s poetry series, here:

http://www.jasminnemendez.com/blog/2018/2/22/platano-poetry-series-yeseniamontilla?fbclid=IwAR3qjvrtF-X1AXTLyJSg0b4dCcfk6In-bt6J_pt5XPEVjfc_8JOBR5SFxsE

 

Montilla’s work in {isacoustic*} is here:

https://isacoustic.wordpress.com/2018/02/26/person-yesenia-montilla-two-poems/

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Please check out Kat Giordano’s new book, The Poet Confronts Bukowski’s Ghost, here:

https://www.amazon.com/Poet-Confronts-Bukowskis-Ghost/dp/1732292205

 

Giordano’s work in {isacoustic*} is here:

https://isacoustic.com/2018/07/09/person-kat-giordano-three-poems/

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This Someone I Call Stranger, poetry by James Diaz, is here:

https://www.indolentbooks.com/this-someone-i-call-stranger-by-james-diaz/

 

Diaz has work in {isacoustic*}, here:

https://isacoustic.com/2018/07/12/person-james-diaz-one-poem/

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Andrew and Donora Rihn have work up at The Mantle, here:

https://themantlepoetry.com/?fbclid=IwAR3U3qHhvrwyFRrRTZuCCSwHgjS4s1-yKTUQVIf_fEI4P4wDMGxMskU5860

 

see their work in {isacoustic*} here:

https://isacoustic.com/2018/03/08/donora-a-rihn-and-andrew-rihn-poems/

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David Bankson has a poem on page 58 of Artifact Nouveau, here:

 

you can check out Bankson’s work in {isacoustic*}, here:

https://isacoustic.com/2018/08/24/person-david-bankson-two-poems/

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person David Bankson, two poems

David Bankson lives in Texas. He was finalist in the 2017 Concīs Pith of Prose and Poem contest, and his poetry and microfiction can be found in concis, (b)oink, Thank You for Swallowing, Artifact Nouveau, Riggwelter Press, Five 2 One Magazine, etc.

~

“What Dad Saw at the Reunion”

The blind see paintings
like soft music.
On the back porch

my father is a sightless pine,
receives the blur
of familial body language,

cannot digest
strewn needles
of our visages.

My son’s crayon,
my wife’s painting,
my sister’s makeup

all make vague patterns:
Chimes ring clear
from the front porch,

laughing faces
unfold like origami
in a bell jar,

cardinals land as paint spots,
twirl and alight here
into a whirlpool of colors.

A visual orchestra.
Pine shines aloud, then profound.
The trunk sways

with the colors in his mind,
his ears alive from outside,
the euphonious pine.

~

“The Dark”

The middle of the highway
at noon

The stench of oil lingers
on the air you can feel

the strangeness of neighbors
bore holes through your body.

Hold your hands knuckle-white
and tell the truth of your sameness.

Copper sunlight
crosses intersections;

a couple holds hands
while another scrapes up fury.

The sun sets in silver,
everyone afraid of the dark.

~