Tuesday, June 27, 2017

We will relaunch in July. New #poetry, #fiction, #literaryhistory, #poetryreviews, #writiinglife, & an absurdist #tenminuteplay

The above graphic was created with wordle. As you can see, names are the most used words in our newest issue. Also of note: protesters, father, marmosets, zoo, started, house, bold, to name a few.

Our goal is to continue bringing The Broadkill Review to you via the internet, rather than a pdf download. We hope this switch of medium will allow you to share the BKR with those you love, and those who wish to find your work.

More teases to come.

Saturday, May 6, 2017

From last weekend's reading at the Bethesda Writing Center


From left to right:  Amanda Newell, Sid Gold, Bill Rivera, Laura Bryslawski-Miller, Mary Ann Larkin, Linda Blaskey, Jim Bourey, Sherry Chappelle.

Keep your eyes and ears open for news around the DelMarVa area for literary events and readings. If you are hosting an event or reading, let us know. We can help get the word out.

Sunday, April 30, 2017

Gerry LaFemina's Psalm... the last Sunday in #NationalPoetryMonth

Gerry LaFemina is the director of the Frostburg Center for Creative Writing at Frostburg State University, where he is an associate professor of English, and teaches in Carlow University’s low-residency MFA program.

Psalm

Pity the woman on today’s news who can’t forget anything–pinpoint a date, a year, and she’ll say who she was with, the news of the day.

Pity the woman in the hotel lobby holding her head, her visible cheek streaked.

Pity the victim & the witness.

Pity the perpetrator, too, who even as I write this crumples up his guilt & tosses it into the confessional of St. Stanislaw’s.

I’ve seen them all & kept walking, for what else could I do?

I’ve seen the businessman feeding pigeons & starlings at the corner of Broadway & Wall, tossing them the bread of his sandwich.

I’ve seen the way he looked at Trinity Church across the street but, even now, I can’t describe the expression sculpted into his cheeks.

Then came the sound of bells from its steeple in the melody of a hymn.

Then came the taxi that whisked me away from that drama.

Pity the cabbie & his family in the Ukraine with whom he’s lost all contact.

Imagine his wife holding her forehead half the world away.

Then came her tears so much like all of our tears, like all of our griefs & our happinesses, too.

Then came a cresting wave of sirens like trumpets: one squad car.  Two.  Three.  An ambulance also.

Pity the family & the children in the nearby parochial school asked to pray.

Then came the voices of six year olds in prayer.

I’ve seen those kids playing hopscotch & tag in the courtyard at recess.

          
Imagine to have been that free to laugh.

I’ve seen the ambulances outside the building, a gurney covered by a blank sheet, the EMTs silent.

Then came the sobbing relative consoled by a neighbor.

I’ve been the neighbor, counseled the crying mother of a dead friend.

Imagine me walking with her, her left hand at her forehead, her right hand clutching me, praying or cursing–I couldn’t tell which–in the old language.           


Imagine walking the streets a week later, how good it felt, the hot wind blowing on such a hot day.

Saturday, April 29, 2017

For a tall #poet, Hiram Larew writes short #poetry. "NationalPoetryMonth

Hiram Larew is one of the tallest poets in the greater DC area. Most of his poems are surprisingly short. He won Baltimore's 1999 ARTSCAPE prize for poetry, and for that, recently had his first collection of poems published. 



ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN

You love what's next more than people -
If you could marry tomorrow you would with ribbons
And with a devotion that echoes -
You're so grateful for what's unknown

While your past was likely a big knobby knee
In fact your future will be the roll of town bells -
There's something not here about you

Said most
You’re truly a vine that swirls all the way up
Into the fairy tale sky  
While everyone else is digging

Whatever else happens
You're proving at last how important it is
To cut life in two up the middle.


Friday, April 28, 2017

David P. Kozinski's Scream At Three AM for your daily #NationalPoetryMonth selection

David P. Kozinski received Honorable Mention in Philadelphia Poets’  7th Annual John & Rose Petracca & Family Award. He won the seventh annual Dogfish Head Poetry Prize, which included publication of his chapbook, Loopholes. He conducted a workshop on poetry presentation at the Manayunk-Roxborough Art Center. More than 100 of Kozinski’s poems have appeared in print and online in publications such as Apiary, The Fox Chase Review, glimmertrain.com, Mad Poets Review, Margie and Schuylkill Valley Journal

Scream At Three A.M.

I’m ready to say something as grandiose as,
“I’m worth more dead than alive,”
when a fox shrieks from a nearby field

the one that ran through plum petals
with a bird in its mouth
yesterday morning.

This would be funnier from
a fifteen-year-old face, one without hair
misfiring from nostrils and ear wells,

without the pocks and gray deflations;
from one who has yet to feel the pierce of talons
or sound out the urgency

of a vixen’s scream in the dark,
the gash any mother feels
when a whelp is ripped away.  

Thursday, April 27, 2017

#DE #poet Michael Blaine is a master craftsman of #Senyru & #Haiku #NationalPoetryMonth


Michael Blaine is a poet and public school teacher. He received a 2006 Delaware Division of the Arts Individual Artist Fellowship in Literature and won the Dogfish Head poetry contest for his chapbook Murmur (Bay Oak Press).  Blaine’s poetry and short stories have appeared in journals such as Baltimore Review, G.W. Review, Mid-Atlantic Review, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, Rivendell, HazMat Review, Chesapeake Bay Magazine, and Georgetown Review. He has had tanka, haiku, and senryu published in Frogpond, Modern Haiku, Ribbons, and Lilliput Review.


Senryu and Haiku


lunar eclipse
my wife and baby
breast feeding


more aspirin
the shoveled snow
melts


low cell charge
our argument suddenly
            ends


late bloomers
twisted foliage below
tulip heads


crabapple blossoms
our son searches the front yard
for something stinky


salmon sky
two empty car seats
behind me


Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Shea Garvin's "White Oaks, Los Padres National Forrest" for #NationalPoetryMonth

Shea Garvin works at Works at Sickass Cat Studios, and lives in Portland. 



White Oaks , Los Padres National Forrest

Down and away from the
dreams of giants
old ways California past
Away and across dreams blue and gold
of California now
past hills playing tag with militant orchards and the sun's day's end
rose madder rays past ranches hidden, houses perched towns nestled
dreaming of where they are a waking dream under stars I know from

other angles Tomorrow the ocean a new horizon