Cathryn Wilson and David Surette will read their poetry starting at 7 p.m.
Saturday, Nov. 17, in the Continuum for Creativity Lowry's Lodge poetry
series, 863 Main St., Westbrook, Maine. $4 suggested donation.
Portland Press Herald: "The radical spirit of ’75 is alive and well with the
relaunch of Littoral Books" Littoral Books began in 1975 as a women’s
press, founded by self-described “radical feminists” of the gritty Portland
arts scene. Forty-three years later, they’re back. Co-founders Marcia
Brown and Agnes Bushell are at the helm of the press, along with
Bushell’s husband, Jim.
Didn't see this one coming
The Washington Post: The share of adults reading poetry grew by an
astounding 76 percent between 2012 and 2017, according to a newly
released study from the National Endowment for the Arts.
How Doctors Use Poetry
Nautilus: Researchers have demonstrated with functional magnetic
resonance imaging that reciting poetry engages the primary reward
circuitry in the brain. So does music, but poetry elicited a unique
In Verse: Maine Places and People. Poems in the Lewiston Sun Journal.
Edited by Dennis Camire
Deep Water: Maine poems in the Portland Press Herald. Edited by Gibson
Poems from Here with Maine Poet Laureate Stuart Kestenbaum, Fridays
on Maine Public Radio.
Hancock County poet Carl Little: "Poems reveal the extraordinary in the
ordinary in Ellsworth." Ellsworth American.
WERU 89.9 FM Writers Forum streaming archives.
20 Maine Poets Read and Discuss Their Work.
Recently made videos.
The Cafe Review
Maine's longest-running small magazine of poetry and reviews from
Maine poets and others
Online journal of writings from Downeast Maine.
William Hathaway's Poetry Drawer. Not for the faint of art. "Given a
choice between lucky in love or with parking places, it’s startling how many
choose the latter."
The Ghost Story
Paul Guernsey's website of fiction, the paranormal, and well-paying
short story contests.
Reviews, essays, and features on poetry, literature, and the arts.
An interdisciplinary magazine of letters and art. Edited by Susann Cokal.
Events overheard of & etc.
Poetry and books tracked in outback Maine
Peter Kilgore was born, grew up and lived
most of his life in Portland, Maine. He died
in 1992 at the age of 52. This poem is from
a recently discovered manuscript found
among his papers.
untitled (from "Island Poems")
By Peter Kilgore
poems by and/or reviews of poetry, fiction, novel, nonfiction, memoir:
Richard Grossinger - Pluto
Hearts in Suspension
Bazaar of Bad Dreams
Birth of the Imagination - William Carlos Williams
John Holt Willey
University of Maine Press
Taisen Deshimaru Roshi
Simone Paradis Hanson
Summer to Fall
Lewis Turco - Enkidu
Burton Hatlen - Elegies and Valedictions
Caught - Glen Libby - Antonia Small
3 Nations Anthology
One Man's Maine
Tourists in the Known World
William Hathaway - Dawn Chorus
Michael Campagnoli - The Home Stretch
Dave Morrison Welcome Homesick
Brock Clarke - The Price of the Haircut
Paul Guernsey American Ghost
Karie Friedman, Add Water, Add Fire
Surrounded by brick music, the sonic walls are designed
to be invisible. Cumberland Avenue, now bends in a
long arc, dreamed out of unturned stone, I’m on a bike
ride that returns to the point of departure. I would have
never guessed that, of all places, I would try to pedal
back to this. So many ends in the middle distance: a
walk around a dance; promenade west or east, a bay,
islands in the background; a reason to vanish, named
in a name like the oaks of Deering Oaks and gone, like
love as it ends or begins or curves on that long arc.
Jim Smethurst, a graduate of the University of Southern Maine, is a professor
in the W.E.B. Du Bois Department of African-American Studies at
By Jim Smethurst
head bent back from watching
circling raptors float above the river,
my focus gets scattered by mottled clouds
that cover the whole of the sky,
and then I find myself in prayer,
and then in poem
D.W. Brainerd lives on French Island, Old Town,
Maine. His self-made collections of poetry include
Under the Gold Sun and A Turn of the Wheel, and
his reviews of poetry have appeared in Small Press
By D.W. Brainerd
from my high Victorian window
I watch the snow fall
and think about the Queen Anne’s lace
primming the ancient rocks
the payphone in the old Port Hole
on which my best friend used to call me
as I sipped coffee in the briny
when Lance was the grill cool
and they served wonderful food,
as the cheerful yellow and white
ferries departed blasting
Portland with their song
the walls and windows
and hundreds of miles we’ve woven
into the brick streets
the city at night its spine a string of pearls
the dead pearl diver
safely embalmed in the museum
immune from time and memory
caresses and promises
that appear and disappear
in the waves of rain
tears and snow pounding pounding pounding
the shores of my aging heart.
Annie Seikonia is a lifelong resident of Portland, Maine.
(from "Four Songs of Portland," Cafe Review Winter 2017)
By Annie Seikonia
This city which I dreamt has become my labyrinth,
a challenge of grim streets, stolen sugar packets,
warm yellow cubicles of light, exotic prints framed in
antiquity, mannikins like pilgrims on strange and
otherworldly journeys. Drifting through oscillating
streets of whiskey and peaches beneath an obscene
painter's palette, vanishing in waterfront fog,
Portland suggests other cities, lives and destinies
glimpsed, imagined, dreamt, their fictions interwoven
with the gaily painted boats, the white nuns circling
overhead. A lone saxophone gives way to jazz from a bar
and primitive hypnotic beats from a passing car until
another lilac dusk returns just as a provocative piano tune
drifts down from a window somewhere behind the old stone church.
Annie Seikonia is a lifelong resident of Portland, Maine.
(from Fifty Portland Sonnets, 1994)
By Annie Seikonia
October. Stones are sleeping underground.
What can redeem them? A snakeskin found
on land burned clean of puckerbrush and slash?
Desolate tract of wind-sifted ash
and black snags -- silken, glossed with biocide --
where the cast-off only seems to live:
shed skin, translucent, dry, and lightly blown.
But who will redeem them? Chokecherry stones
asleep in the earth and scattered like tears
with an art one’s left no choice but to believe
in, since they may lie dormant for a hundred years
before new burn suffers the life of leaves.
Rick Doyle lives in Bucksport, Maine, where he practices
By Rick Doyle
The sodden silverfish floating supine
atop sugar water in the hummingbird feeder
did not die doing what it loved,
no matter how much fun it is to say so,
nor even what it wanted to do,
but was led, no doubt, to do what it does
by some neural current. I suppose.
Being ever in being, we can never fix
being’s momentary meanings.
A tiny black spider whose abdomen
shines like an exquisite onyx
races across a huge centipede
that curls then uncurls, opens and shuts,
looking for a chink in the armor.
Twisting in its silver bonds, this centipede
does not feel the love. Yet even there
at an end, it is there. What a curse,
this gift of it. All eight eyes, like black pearls
gleaming too small for my eyes to see,
see me and stop still in mid scurry
to watch me with all their might
watch them. While only I think for what
I think cannot think but only knows
what is there just when it’s there.
William Hathaway recently moved back to Maine after several
years fighting battles in Gettysburg, Pa. His recent book is
A Momentary Moment
By William Hathaway
So easy to get it
backwards. In the end
the worries are meaningless.
What really matters is
the breeze, the birdsong,
the diffused light on the
leaves, the spider’s
Dave Morrison lives in Camden, Maine. His most recent
collection is Welcome Homesick.
By Dave Morrison