Next month, Dr. Robert Fillman who teaches English locally at Kutztown University is hosting what’s called, “May Poetry Retreat 2020,” rescheduled to an online event from springtime, as a single-day retreat through Zoom, sponsored by King's College and Wilkes University. Poets can spend the day generating new material, sharing their work, and talking with other poets. Opt for any (or all) of three creative writing workshops, sign up for a spot at one of two Zoom readings, or spend some quiet time writing. There will be Zoom breakout rooms throughout the day for small group discussion on the side, as preferred. Poets of all experience levels are welcome. When: Saturday, August 1, 2020 Time: 9 am - 3 pm Cost: $15.00 per person To Register: email firstname.lastname@example.org
If required, please enter the Meeting ID 759 062 6042
Below is a sample prose poem from our featured poet:
FELINE PASTORAL, FELINE BLUES
My black and white tuxedo cat stares up at me. His world was once a cane, the hours took turns beating him; hung him like a slab of meat in their abattoirs. Rage cut his tongue in two. Tonight the wind retaliates. The leaves prattle on and on without surcease. Dust hurls itself at passersby. UPS delivers daily
the long insomnia-riddled nights. Clocks grow surly and the Devil leaps from a deviant’s throat. East to west, stove tops hustle, pushing kettles beyond their boiling points. The world’s gone rogue, juggles live bands and hand grenades while it wire walks. Sighs and whispers say all’s ending, yet the clouds still patrol the morning skies, yellow-gray in their gray barges.
Query the sounds a mad woman hears. Query the thoughts her mind shapes, the cries snow makes falling knife-like towards her throat.
What if the fork that nestles in a napkin’s folds ransacked the cloth in which it shelters and thinking for itself just long enough, found a heart in which to thrust itself? What if sunset called and no one came, or the sand on beaches
decried their emptiness…absence of footfall saddening them. Oh sunset your ravens worry me, your chicks are poorly loved. Deafening are the blows dealt the one who receives them. In air silence resonates, holds secrets to the stars and compound interest.
Some believe in the benefits of believing; invest heavily in the concept of an afterlife: standing room only, angels crowding about them, wings stuffed inside Hawaiian shirts; leis caged around their pale white throats.
Oh child of aging bone and fur, oblivious on your cushion. I kneel beside you…starving inmate invited to a banquet. Let’s enter our eternal rest together: ours the chair in which no one’s ever sat, ours the sea in which no protozoan ever swam. No doors lead out that don’t lead in.
No knowledge there of the weather, none of the blues. No shuteye to offer the departing.