A Wilderness of Monkeys
The one you longed for as a child
Wore a red suit with brass buttons.
The organ grinder played while it cavorted.
The woman who loved an infant chimpanzee
Found her soul invaded. She, who allowed everything,
At last called on her friend who lost her face and eyes.
We are blinded by desire offering a tamed heritage
For a wilderness that roots in the simian brain.
How it would be to frolic
Throwing feces at sightseeers,
Picking lice from lovers,
Abandoned to pure want.
The screams of monkeys in a limbic eden
Assigns a furious passion
For anything that is unexpected.
Folk artist Dennis Aiello has been working with Artists Helping Artists in British Columbia for over fifteen years. His work reflects his passion for architecture and he infuses color into everything he does. Dennis works primarily in pencil crayon and oil pastels. He was born in 1940.
Image: House with a Pool, oil pastel, pencil crayon, and felt.
An Interview with Joan Colby
Joan Colby has been published widely in journals such as Atlanta Review, South Dakota Review, Gargoyle, Pinyon, Little Patuxent Review, Spillway, Midwestern Gothic and others. Awards include two Illinois Arts Council Literary Awards and an Illinois Arts Council Fellowship in Literature. She has published twenty-one books including Selected Poems from FutureCycle Press which received the 2013 FutureCycle Prize and Ribcage from Glass Lyre Press which has been awarded the 2015 Kithara Book Prize.
Later in the week her work will be on here, but in the meantime we thought we would share what we learned from her!
On her dresser, a messy shuffle of photographs,
some ginger chocolates, a handkerchief,
a vase with dead flowers, a little earthquake of makeup:
lipstick, blush, a calming mask, an empty brush.
On the wall grandchildren's art and a tiny Union Jack,
And a letter, dated November 1940, that her conversation
Often turns to, rebuilding or reviving a memory
she swears she will not lose track of.
She has some harsh words for God.
She's had enough of good behavior.
He's had enough from her.
She won't be burdened any longer
with either his demands or his favours.
And as I turn to leave she has this left to say,
"Please tell my daughter to stop
all the silly talk about me surviving."
Dickens and Veritas Noir
"But, if noir's founding time frame, the war years 1941 to 1950, represented the 'worst of times' for her, what of Mom's 'best of times'?"
Paul David Atkins
My Mother's Explanation of the Contents of the Canals Bordering State Road 84 West of Fort Lauderdale, Florida in 1968
While Baltimore was burning, and Detroit remained
a charred stump from last summer,
I asked my mother,
What's in those canals, because
I didn't know -
I figured largemouth bass, a gator
a swamped john boat.
To read the rest of "My Mother's Explanation of the Contents of the Canals Bordering State Road 84 West of Fort Lauderdale, Florida in 1968" and other poems by Paul, click here.
Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois
Petra was now a good match for Morris Mordes
just as twitchy
Traveling with her, Mordes put on a protective air
though he was incapable of protecting anyone
not even himself
Petra was so reduced she was
visible only to the black-veiled
who roamed the desert
at the command of her husband
searching for his lost fig tree