POETRY THIS WEEK
Monday, June 15
Monday Night Open Mic
Muddy Cup Open Mic
Tuesday, June 16
Poets' Corner
Emack & Bolio's
Wednesday, June 17
Poetry In The Hood
Flavour Cafe Open Mic
Thursday, June 18
Third Thurs. Poetry Night
Every Other Thurs Artists
Rockhill Bakehouse
Friday, June 19
Joey's Cafe Open Mic
Hudson Opera House
Saturday, June 20
Mudd Poets Poetry Series
Red Fox Books Open Mic

MULTIMEDIA
Albany Poets Podcast
NEW: Podcast #32 - Poets Speak Loud - February 23, 2009
Albany Poets TV
COMING UP: Live Streaming from the Poetry At The UAG
Spoken Word Videos
NEW: Albany Word Fest - April 17-18, 2009
MORE
OTHER:TEN
Issue ten of Albany Poets' art/lit magazine OTHER: is now available.
Online Open Mic
Introducing a brand new way to share your work. Start posting your poetry today!
Upstate Poetry Workshops
Check out our ever-growing list of poetry workshops that are all around upstate New York.
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CELIA BLAND
I have a collection of poetr y published by CavanKerr y Press called Soft Box; and profile of Jean Valentine upcoming in Poets & Writers. I have poems coming out or out in Shenandoah, Borderlands Review, Natural Bridge, Heliotrope, The Alembic, and Prima Matera, and other small magazines. I teach poetry at Bard College.
POEMS
THE MECHANICS OF LOVE
They die with me inside.
On Curly Corners Road, one did that
and I hailed down a Cadillac – two
afro-ed-like-marigolds men
who didn’t say boo.
“Let’s just keep going,”
I whispered
as they gave me a ride
into town.
But I broke down again.
This one here won’t start
with a key.
I stick a screwdriver
into it’s compressor.
That one needs its
clutch popped
so sweet; and that other
catches when two
red wires cross,
when a ballpoint
is stuck so that air
seeps a valve, or either
I got to push,
fingers splayed over the plugs
and coax,
“Come on baby!”
Eureka!
I nurse with pats of gas, gentle
downshifts, but all the time
I keep
sputtering out:
sad clicks
harsh metallic gasps.
CHALK LINE FOR OUR CATECHISM
I. Mathematics
7 was the woman dangerous to 6, even
cannibalistic. She would flatten
his belly into her own brainy linearity.
Only 8, mild-mannered, proportionate
top to bottom, could computer a peace
between them. 7 fell forward
along the number line, searching
with tentacular desire;
odd, odd.
I write her now with a bar across
her middle – a collar, a table
where she sits with a latte
watching lovers on their cell phones:
flat top 5, receptacle 4, and 9,
a sexy Sagittarius.
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