Month: October 2014

Promises of Fame and Fortune

… Okay, perhaps not fame and fortune, but the admiration of our readers and attendees. That’s pretty good, yeah?

All you have to do is come to the Stone Spiral from 7-9 PM tonight, listen to Dawn Dupler and Billy Foster (good words from good people), and do a little writing or drawing of your own. Show us what you got, St. Louis.

AndersonPP051214

Using words from some of Eve Jones’s poems, May’s Prose|Poem participants were asked to come up with a sticky-note story or poem. The winner: Mary Anderson – “Two-Legged.”

“When You Took Off On I-70 West” – Dawn Dupler

When You Took Off On I-70 West

By Dawn Dupler as first appeared in Blue Earth Review

When you took off on I-70 West my world turned upside down. So I turned the map upside down and shook it fiercely like a New York City snow globe, in hopes of making you fall back to me.

I tipped the map, swirled the map, waved it like a banner—anything I could think of to get you to come tumbling out—but I ended up changing the land mass of North America into the shape of a starfish and messed up a whole lot of lives.

Remember that park ranger at Mount Rushmore who said we made such a cute couple? You can imagine my shock when he and the rest of South Dakota all landed within one square mile of Los Angeles. Thank God they only suffered minor bumps on their heads. Soon I’ll have to tell them how sorry I am for that.

Oh Jesus. What I did to Sara. You know, the waitress at that Little Rock bus stop who always said hello when we lived down there? The one with spiky red hair and hemp sandals, always running late for her shift at Fiddler’s Diner? She and the other friendly folks of Arkansas fell into Vancouver with neither coats nor gloves and I need to make sure they get warm clothing and hot cocoa pronto. I think I really freaked those poor people out, especially Sara who obviously missed work and you yourself heard her say how badly she needed money for rent. God, I’ll have to find some way to apologize to those people.

Hollywood fell into Lake Erie and all the movie stars swam through sludge and dead fish only to be greeted by angry film critics who accused them of phoning in their performances. Remember that stuck-up actor we ran into on our vacation who wore the ridiculous toupee? Bet he’s sorry he wouldn’t take a picture with us. He came out of the water a moss-covered, bald mess. And I have no intention whatsoever to apologize to him.

But remember that mayor of Salina, Kansas? You know, the one who despised every immigrant laboring in heat meant for scorpions—except, of course, his hot, spicy secretary whom he air-conditioned and lunched with regularly in her apartment? Turns out he “air-conditioned” another hot tamale during the nights. Rita. Yeah, that Rita. The one you took up with. She and the mayor landed in a coffee plantation in central Mexico.

But where you landed I still don’t know.

“A Dream of Peaches” – Bill Foster

A Reverie On Peaches

In the caldera of August,

I prepare peaches for winter,

Each perfect beauty plunged into boiling caldron,

Skin, made pale, ashen, loosened by fire,

Protective fuzz floating on troubled surface.

Then plunged into icy bath,

The once-protective layer

Slipping loose from the flesh,

Falling, between thumb and fingers,

Like silk from a youthful frame,

Revealing the sun!

Gloriously bright, gold and garnet,

Burning eyes blind,

A radiant triumph of pleasure and promise,

Ready to rise again

When summer is but a dream to come.

 

 

Peaches. Delicate fruit,

Children of summer’s middle age.

Radiant globes made to blush

By the sun’s loitering gaze.

Coy maidens, when ripe,

Enticing with firm flesh,

Downy cheeks seductively flushed,

Fevered, glowing.

 

 

Temptation is so sweet in summer.

Warm mounds of honey-tart pleasure,

Ready to be palmed, weighed,

Gently pressed, firm yet yielding,

Begging the tempted further,

To bury teeth, lips, face

In the sweet, wet flesh,

Sucking nectar with each bite,

Dripping in rivulets,

Pink-tinged gold,

From fingers and chin,

Lingering, sticky, after the torrent subsides.

 

 

Oh, for the pleasure, the passion, captured, repeated,

When the sun is wan on winter’s frozen watch.

Resurrected amidst the wilderness of frigid white.

They whisper a joyous reminder of warmth and intimacy.

Stolen kisses and impassioned embraces,

Forbidden pleasures, guiltily taken,

In summer fields, woodland hideaways,

On sandy beaches,

In drive-in theaters, back seats,

Humid, sultry, crackling, electric, sweet.

Joy and passion, rich, insistent,

Memories and desires,

Prompted, evoked,

To thaw a frozen heart.

Meet the Readers: October’s Prose/Poem Is Here!

The start of our 2014-2015 season is finally upon us! We’re excited to present Tuesday’s readers:

Dawn Dupler

Dawn’s prose and poetry can be found in Natural Bridge, Paper Nautilus, Chiron Review, Whiskey Island Magazine, Blue Earth Review, and other journals and anthologies. She won first place for poetry in the 2013 Columbia Chapter of the Missouri Writers’ Guild and Honorable Mention in the 2011 James H. Nash Poetry Contest. Her non-fiction book St. Louis in the Civil War was published in 2014.

Bill R. Foster

Bill Foster is a retired faculty member of the University of Missouri, Saint Louis, where he taught writing and literature. In his new life, he is a poet, artist, adventurer, and booze baron.