Public Poetry - Featured Poets

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Public Poetry Spring Series 2020

April 4, May 2, June 6 | 2 PM
Meet our featured poets on Instagram Live!


Saturday, April 4, 2020 | 2 PM
Location: Instagram Live

Josh Burton

This death is Houston / / at its very worst. More worse even, / than at the death of Carl Hampton, that Panther who curved / like a branch at his end.

From: The Worst Houston


Loyce Gayo 

If HEB is sanctuary, / then those low low low prices are scripture. . . . amen.

From: Shopping While Black


Shen Ge

A sea with no edge and no borders / Four corners suddenly serene / Heavens covered full of stars / Eyes down, I am taken aback...

From: Tonight


Yolanda Movsessian

You condensed between worlds / refuse to say goodbye raging / against your heart, useless / organ inflicted / with edema drawn to entropy,...

From: Running into slaughter at the upside down coffee shop


Saturday, May 2, 2020 | 2 PM

Carolyn Dahl

Nostrils wide in elation, the horses’ / chests heave under the stirruped legs / of mini-men who flash their stables’ / silks in the sun and lurch over the speeding/ animals like crayons scribbling color.

From: Why Do They Run


Chibbi Orduña

Hay un fuego adentro/a fire inside / that could only be fueled / by habaneros and carnes asadas/ And yet / I could list the 50 states / in alphabetical order...

From: WHOSE RIGHT? Confession #1


Matthew Riley

These apparitions / arise between mountain rock, / murmuring something / about the start, /something about /the end— / / their foam-white hair /circles...

From: After the Storm


Randall Watson

Yesterday, for instance, on my way to work, I saw / a man in a flannel shirt and bluejeans kneeling. /His shirt was green and it was early morning and one hand/rested on the blackiron stays of a neighbor’s fence, / the other parting them, passing through.

From: YESTERDAY, FOR INSTANCE


Saturday, June 6, 2020 | 2 PM

Natasha Carrizosa

Sum thangs / is hard tuh write down / thangs like pain / an missin' yuh momma / thangs like wonderin' / why gawd take me through / the thangs she do...

From: sum hard thangs


G.A. Iaconc

I’ve missed our calamities, our heave-hos, / the accusations like you didn’t turn /off the stove when the larkspurs and wooden / spatula went aflame.

 


Ryan McMaster

I didn’t go to church one week & I cleaned my car of everything trash & minute. / / I tried to write something, got stuck & cleaned the trunk.

From: Car Home


Kalen Rowe

I feel limey, like the stew of fruits and greens into which I squeeze a whole small tennis ball. I dream I squeeze a squishy emerald between my palms, a sour, bubbly, watering juice spurts into the yellow colander, dripping like rain from icy tin slats.

 


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