Stevieslaw: My poem, As One,

My word poem, As One, was just published by Eclectica. Here is the poem:

As One

Only yesterday, I found
the seeds you bought me,
on a sagging basement
shelf—miraculously dry.

There was no note,
might one have said—
with these, the past and present
exist simultaneously?

There are dozens of packets—
a well deep with flowers to bed,
many with names
and shapes I do not know.

I will plant them as closely
as we were once.
A skein of color so entangled
it dissolves with distance to a singular blaze.

And here is a link to the issue:

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Stevieslaw: Lion’s Breath

My poem, Lion’s Breath, is the spotlight runner up in poetry in the new April/May issue of Ecelectica.  Here is the poem:

Lion’s Breath

At yoga yesterday,
while downward dogging,
our instructor asked us
for five rounds of lion’s breath.

It’s easy—
when you exhale, stick your tongue
out as far as it will go
and with the gruesome face
that pose ensures
make the most godawful
rasping noises.

After two repetitions
I began to laugh.
I thought how wonderful
my father would have found the practice.

I imagined him lion-breathing
on the checkout line at Walmart,
during a sappy love scene
at the local twelve screen,
and at the insomniac’s gin game
under the lights at Century Village.
He’d teach technique to every child
that crossed his path
and one hundred years from today,
his descendants would still be
disrupting kindergarten nap time—
picture the peals of pure joy,
as a room of five-year-olds
discovers lion’s breath.

And here is the link to Eclectica:


Posted in gang gang dance, Humor, poetry | 2 Comments

stevieslaw: Icarus—a new poem

My poem Icarus was just published by The Blue Nib. Here is the poem and the link


“That blue,”

he said again and again,

finger pointed at the dingy hospital wall.

His body trembled

as if he lay on a “magic fingers” bed

on high—on the derangement setting.


Yet, later, he sang

softly, and so sanely,

we hoped he was coming around


“And I was feathered—

he screamed.

And I flew”


They found him walking on the railroad tracks

twelve days ago.

He was clutching what was left

of his Gibson twelve string.

He said his name was Icarus.

God knows what he had dropped.

The docs didn’t.


They waited two weeks,

then warehoused him for the long term.

His parents had means—

so it wasn’t a bad place.

For a while, we’d go to visit.

But, he would just stare at the sky

as if it held an invitation—

a summons to the day

he had flown so high

he had almost touched the sun.


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Stevieslaw: DNA—new poem

My poem DNA was published today on the Linden Avenue Literary Journal.  Here is the poem—followed by the link.




in the dim

and narrow light

of the old lamp

that graces

my basement desk,

I realize

once again

how I’ve come

to resemble you.


In a room made

mysterious by shadow,

I remember how

you would often

prepare dinner

in the uncertain light

of late afternoon,

delaying as long as you

might the incandescence

that left you oddly anxious.


I turn off the lamp

and make my way

across the dusky room,

chuckling at the skill

you passed to me,

of finding my way

in the dark.

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Stevieslaw: Sex Appeal

Pure Slush is producing a seven volume anthology on the deadly sins.  My poem “Sex Appeal” is in Volume 6, Envy, which was just released today.  Here is the Poem:

Sex Appeal


From his early teens

my fast friend Tom

was fluent in woman.

His at-ease-ness

with the fair sex

was so at odds

with my slight


I suspected

a pact with Lucifer


I hung around,

hoped that one or more

budding damsel

might tire of Tom

and find my

tight lipped stammer

and pimpled brows


but never

a nibble.



I wished Tom rickets.

I wished him a misstep

on the subway platform

as the 7th Avenue Express

roared through.

I wished that Zeus

would bolt his too easy

heart and leave

him to smolder

in the schoolyard.



Posted in gang gang dance, Humor, poetry | Tagged , , | 2 Comments

Stevieslaw: My poem on New Verse News

Big day today. Here is my poem on New Verse News:

Slum Lord

You send the beef
in bowling shirts
and shitkicker boots
every Sunday morning
to collect from the perennial poor
in the claptraps
you own on Stone Avenue.

Rumor has it
the hobbled wretch
who begs at the five and dime
offered lip
instead of money
and they showed him out
through a third floor window.

Dad’s mom lived
on the fourth floor of #720.
A refugee from the shtetl
she was well prepared
to live without heat
or running water,
to navigate the teeter-totter stairs
in the half light of a 40 watt bulb,
to coexist with roaches and rats,
the acrid smell of cabbage,
untended garbage,
and the methodical cruelty
that humans without hope
inflict on one another.

I know you.
You have the health
and building people
in your ample hip pocket
and while you might
hire some people to spit
shine your shoes
and some to break legs,
you spend every Sunday night
counting and recounting
the stack of smalls,
the nickels and dimes—
because for you,
a sumptuous view
of the New York skyline
can never compare
to the heft of a roll
of nickels.

And the link:

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Stevieslaw: Karen’s Joseph Cornell poem

My wife, Karen, has her first pubished poem on The Ekphrastic Review today.  It’s in response to a Joseph Cornell box. The link is above. The poem is here:

Utopia Parkway

Joseph Cornell rode the bus from
3708 Utopia Parkway to Flushing, NY
to pick up the train into Manhattan.
I rode that bus many times
to go to school, to the movies,
to shop, to escape.
Would I have noticed him
amongst the other passengers?
Would he have worn an overcoat, a tie?
Would he have shopping bags
to hold the things he found in the city?
Would his theatre tickets be stuffed in his pockets,
or carefully tucked in a book?
Would he have stared at the floor,
or closed his eyes and dreamed?
Would I have approached him,
if I had known who he was
or picked up something he had dropped
and followed him to return it?
Or, would I have stuffed it in my handbag,
taken it home, and put it
in a box?


Posted in gang gang dance, poetry | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments