Thursday, July 31, 2025

HOW TO ~

 


   No One Is Defying Trump          Like Brazil’s President


R E A D   M E














Wednesday, July 30, 2025

ARVIND KRISHNA MEHROTRA ~ "Small Holdings" ~





Arvind Krishna Mehrotra
Small Holdings

_______________

Longhouse, 2025

many-colored
& limited

$20
postpaid
 U.S. orders


We accept Paypal
or check

Please use our email address :

longhousepoetry@gmail.com


Longhouse 

PO Box 2454

West Brattleboro

 Vermont

 05303












THE LIFE OF ROBERT FROST AND HIS POEMS (THE LATEST VERSION) ~

 



R E A D   M E



     Farrar, Straus, Giroux

    2025





Tuesday, July 29, 2025

FATS DOMINO LIVE TONIGHT ~

 




RUTH KRAUSS ~

 



H A P P Y   B I R T H D A Y,   S W E E T H E A R T

Ruth Krauss

Maurice Sendak

Monday, July 28, 2025

DICTEE ~

 

R E A D   M E


Tanam Press

First Third Woman Press

University of California Press

1982, 1995, 2001, 2009, 2022



Sunday, July 27, 2025

MICHAEL OCHS ~

 


Michael Ochs, right, with his brother Phil, the protest singer, in 1968 in Mill Valley, Calif. For a time, Michael served as Phil’s manager. Credit...Alice Ochs/Michael Ochs Archives, via Getty Images


M I C H A E L   O C H S

Top Collector of Rock ’n’ Roll Photos, Dies at 82



CLIFF CARLISLE TONIGHT ~

 




DAVID GIANNINI ~

              



Something Else


Losing a good-luck charm does not mean losing

good luck or that bad luck will occur more

frequently. That is why Husband looked into

the pickle jar, with its lone occupant.  Husband

thought that if he could remove the lid, after

years of having the jar tightly sealed away

in the dark, good luck might befall him in a

charming, if not charmed, way.


"My view is kind of difficult to explain," said

Husband to Wife.


"It's a belief, that's why," said Wife.  Good luck

with it.


Husband and Wife stood in the root cellar as

Husband held the pickle-in-its-jar to the dim

light of a 20-watt bulb.


"I believe the pickle is still in there, dear," said

Husband.


"Yes, I believe he's there, too," said Wife,

"though the jar is so cloudy."


"Let's call him Something Else," said Husband.


"That won't change the fact that he's still our

pickle in the clouds," said Wife.


"No, I suppose not," said Husband, and he

placed the boy-in-the-brine back on the shelf,

and turned out the light.


–––––––––––––––––––––––––

David Giannini

Porous Borders

Spuyten Duyvil, 2017



Saturday, July 26, 2025

Friday, July 25, 2025

Tuesday, July 22, 2025

Monday, July 21, 2025

JOHN PHILLIPS CONCRETE ~






 from CONCRETE

               ___________________________




TELL


The story

begins

where


words end

theirs




THIS


What you do with

your silence

is up to you


What I do with mine

is this




CONCRETE


My voice is

but I don't know what my voice is


Other voices come in I try to

let them speak


but I don't

know where from


I make them up


Sometimes they're people on the street

sometimes people I know


Voices are concrete




SIDETRACKED


Thinking


what I'm

reading


as I'm

writing it



________________________

John Phillips

Concrete

The Bodily Press, 2025




Sunday, July 20, 2025

BIG JOE WILLIAMS TONIGHT ~

 



Milestones Records



POETS ON POETS ~

 


R E A D   M E


      University of Pennsylvania Press

      2022



Friday, July 18, 2025

JUNIOR PARKER TONIGHT ~

 


STEVEN ESPADA DAWSON ~

 





Elegy for the Four Chambers of my Heart


I'm always looking for a mirror

with a family inside it.

If a mirror breaks        which shard

is the family?

                        There are so many

ways to hold yourself

hostage I'm still learning

to love

            my captor.



When You Tell Me You've Grown Afraid


of the dark, it busts every lit bulb

inside me. Please —

put a flashlight in my mouth, Mom.

I will thin

                    my cheeks for you.

Let me light the way.



A River Is A Body Running


The first time I found my brother

overdosed, he looked holy. A thing

not to be touched. Yellow halo of last

night's dinner. His skin, blanched blue

fresco. Patron Saint of Smack. A cop,

flustered tugged up his shorts, plunged

a needle into a pale thigh. He hissed

awake like a soda can. The paramedic

spoke softly in his ear like a lover,

asked him what color yellow and red

make. What is the difference between

a lake and a river? In the corner

I whittle that used syringe into

an instrument only I can play.



Elegy for the Four Chambers of My Mother's Heart


This is an elegy and believe me, it will end

within the small walls of your townhome.


And because I am selfish it ends with your

words and a memory of just you and me


standing above your kitchen sink, pouring

water into an ice cube tray. You tell me


to watch as the water fills up one corner,

then overflows into every empty square.


This, you say, this is how I love you.



_______________________________

Steven Espada Dawson

Late to the Search Party

Scribner 2025



Thursday, July 17, 2025

Wednesday, July 16, 2025

Tuesday, July 15, 2025

THE POSITION OF SPOONS ~

 



R E A D   M E

     Farrar, Straus, Giroux

     2024




Monday, July 14, 2025