July 24-30, 2017: Poetry from Stephen Kopel and E. Martin Pedersen

​Stephen Kopel and E. Martin Pedersen

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​Stephen Kopel
stephen.kopel@live.com

Bio (auto)

Stephen Kopel (San Francisco, California is a teacher, madcappian word warrior with 6-pack abs; in manner, modest; this verseman, however, generates crafted work of a nature zesty with unexpected twists of meaning; author of Spritz, Tender Absurdities & Picnic Poetry; he invests in the "I Take Stock" market assets in kindness, tenacity and straight-talk.

The following work is Copyright © 2017, and owned by ​Stephen Kopel and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


olives are where?

search the spinach!
popeyes shut
shielding a
man of good humor
from a sorbet devotee

bulls bellow
to a key fellow
who unlocks doors only
to ice cream flavors
real or imagined

matadors,
allergic to capes red
and red bedded roses,
sneeze

forcing jets to circle
cabbage patches sewn
on a fatigue of jackets,
zippers, stuck in traffic


Spade

prodded by friend Seed
Ling, most happy when
potted, Ms. Egge plants
two lips next to a
statute repeatedly
violated by gardeners,
high-spirited, who stay
always on the grass
usually squatting and plotting
with nails emeryboarded,
digging up the dirt on
kissers and never
shoveling it back

 

 



E. Martin Pedersen
martinpedersen1255@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

E. Martin Pedersen, a San Franciscan, has lived in Messin, eastern Sicily, for over 35 years. He teaches English at the local university. His poetry has appeared in Alexandria Quarterly, Scarlet Leaf Review, Literary Yard, Ink Sweat & Tears, and others. Martin is a 2011 alum of the Squaw Valley Community of Writers. Visit him on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2017, and owned by E. Martin Pedersen and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

It’s Not Late

It’s not late but it seems like
in the dark room with
only the blue glare of
the silent screen and outside the cars
quiet downstairs they’re not
walking around the house so
much there’s a hum somewhere
with the window open it would be
a fishing boat motor on the glass
mirror that tells me that the lights
are still on over in Italy.


Living 40 Years in Nuclear Fear

The way it could easily go
that I’ve/we’ve always known,
used to be granny’s gone
to a far-off happy place
then our/my time-life said
see this?
this line could be the finish line
whether or not, you would never know
the great white flame
blow torch of hope
resting place of faith
dead end of love.

 


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