JUSTIN TOWNES EARLE ~

 

R E A D   M E

    Da Capo 2026

ALISON KRAUSS TONIGHT ~

 

   2025

SYNNOVE ANKER AURDAL ~

 

R E A D   M E

      Mousse Publishing

      2024

SEMISONIC ALL NIGHT ~

 

Released on: 1998-03-24 Producer: Nick Launay Mixing Engineer: Bob Clearmountain Composer Lyricist: Dan Wilson

THE WESTERN CANON (HAROLD BLOOM) ~

 

W A L T   W H I T M A N' S   B I R T H D A Y

1819, West Hills, N.Y.

 R E A D   M E 

     Mariner 2025

WOMEN PRINTMAKERS ~

 

R E A D   M E

an excellent survey; great gift!

THE BEATLES OWN IT ~

 

Released on: 1968-11-22

Other, Producer: George Martin Composer Lyricist: Paul McCartney Composer Lyricist: John Lennon

THEA MATTHEWS ~

 

Huntsville

ALABAMA, 2021

FOR CHRISTINA NANCE

"Your great grand-daddy was a sharescropper here,"

my gramma would say, "until he disappeared."

Her skin was smooth like dark apple butter,

and her daughter, my mother, would look at me

like I was a whitetail.  The windows would crack,

and I'd be left with keloids and jars of pickled eggs.

The rest of my family were alligators.  I grew up shy.

Bobbing back and forth in my Sunday best,

I didn't talk much.  And when I did, I'd speak

as if my tongue were a sweet potato.

And when I'd sing, I sang making the Lord so proud of me.

I'd feel the Spirit rise within, swaying

my hips and arms like a church fan in one hand,

and frozen strawberry lemonade, in another.

O did I love to sing, and hum hymns in the halls,

and when my sister would say, "Sing, Christian!"

I would! I sure would, knowing my heart would be safe

for long walks away from the forest edge with my sister.

With my eyes hiding behind shelves, I knew to pose,

pay my taxes, write letters, pick passing

blackbirds as lovers.  They'd leave, I'd stay

I can smell anything., The scent of passion seeping

in through a man's skin.  I'd smell the sheets, Old Spice,

what lotion she was wearing.  I can even smell

the white lilacs on the day of my funeral.

To be a whitetail hunter, you must be so still.

I stopped singing the day I went missing.

Supposedly, I'm seen first lying on the lawn.

Supposedly, I'm then seen leaning on the hood of a cop car.

Supposedly, I take off my shoes.

                                                Twelve nights go by.

Somewhere, a whitetail hunter

dressed in camouflage smiles,

one arm around his doe for the trophy picture.

I'm found in the back of a police van.

___________________________

Thea Matthews

Grime

City Lights, 2025

MAKSHYA TOLBERT ~

 

Eastbound

At the end of their lives, the trees,

they tell us, Do not stay where you thin.

Can I speak about thinning?  As a child

I wrote these poems I called A Plant Called Hope.

I loved sick plants and wanted more for them.

I loved my mother and wanted more for her.

I lost the small book then lost my grandmother

then lost her house then almost lost my mother.

Believe me when I say plants and people find

their way. This time, I am eastbound. A stranger

has the grace to ask me, "Are you ready to come

back to Virginia?"  I stop believing in California:

it hurts too much.  Tell me to have my easterly

shoes on.  Tell me east will have me back, if

I love softly. I throw on my transition shoes.

Ask me again if I'm ready to come back

to Virginia.  This time, ask me in front of the trees.

I'll find a place of rest in the middle of things.

____________________________

MaKshya Tolbert

Shade is a place

Penguin 2025

DAVID HENDERSON, POET ~

 

D A V I D   H E N D E R S O N

    photo: No Land, 2019

IMMANUEL WILKINS BLUES BLOOD ~

 

℗ 2024 UMG Recordings, Inc.

DAVID PARK, A PAINTER'S LIFE ~

 

D A V I D   P A R K

    University of California Press

   2012