d. ellis phelps's Blog, page 11

Out of the ordinary

image: thanks to unsplash, Kristian Seedorff

Sutra

(C) d.ellis phelps

Light Being

open your eyes; reflect the #light

Photo credit: Elijah Hiett on unsplash

a poem for the day of the dead by Damian Ward Hey

[image error] Photo by Tom Wheatley on Unsplash



​She, sanctity

She, sanctity
repose
she is approached
by holiness
in holiness already she,
holy one of us
servant by will
of wing and flame
in solitude attended
prayer’s inner language
Prayer’s inner silent language
She, unknown by us outside
of prayerful hands
lies in sanctity
interlace repose
by wing and flame attended
Hear her.

She, life
interpose
she is visited
by stillness
in stillness already she,
still one of us
servant by will
of blood and breath
in solitude attended
prayers’ outer language
Prayers’ outer sound of language
She, unknown to us inside,
our prayerful hands
interlace in sanctity
repose lies
angelic with flame attending
Bide her.



[image error] Photo by Joel Filipe on Unsplash

​Damian Ward Hey has had poetry published in several places, including Poetry Pacific, Truck, and Cricket Online Review. His work will appear in the forthcoming anthology, Poets with Masks On (Simms, M., Pub., 2020). He lives on Long Island and is a professor of literature and theory at Molloy College. Read more from Hey here.

Red-tail Over Andover by Jason O’Toole

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I’m not a vegan, but on this day, I was chomping away on a hickory smoke flavored, beef-less jerky. The red-tailed hawk in the maple tree outside my living room window was definitely not vegan. Puffs of fur floated down from the branch as the hawk worked his sharp beak with skill and immense strength, stripping flesh away from the rodent pressed between talon and tree bark.

[image error] Jason O’Toole

I looked through my Nikon binoculars just in time to see the hawk slurp down intestines prior to popping the rest of the eviscerated creature down his throat. He shook twice as he swallowed the last remaining clump, then pecked at the bark around him, not leaving so much as a speck of protein behind.

Genetically, I share more in common with the chipmunk than the hawk. As we are both predators, today’s soy snack notwithstanding, I feel a stronger kinship to the raptor who lives and hunts around our home. I see him prepare for takeoff in the unhurried, deliberative fashion of red-tails, and glide from his perch across the yard.

Moments later he is poised to strike again, his sleek profile a hieroglyphic against a slate sky.

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Observing the ground from a rooftop, he soon spots movement in the grass and attacks.

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In early February of 2020, I first caught a glimpse of this hawk as a juvenile. He crashed into the yard during an early excursion out of the nest.

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Unconcerned about my presence, he bobbled along, exploring hedges and curiously pecked at a tricycle. His light-colored plumage gave him a similar appearance to a juvenile bald eagle. In time, his appearance would change and serve as a camouflage as he would perch in the trees.

The worried chirping, chattering, and screeches of smaller birds and squirrels let me know when the hawk was at work. I would follow these cries to their source and find the hawk staring down at me from a branch or rooftop, and a few times, I found him on the ground tearing into a fresh kill. The hawk came to be as accustomed to my presence as I was to his. He would lock eyes with mine and silently open his beak as if trying to talk.

One morning after a heavy rain, I glanced out the kitchen window to see him looking up at me, as he cooled his legs in standing water. I walked outside and crouched next to him. He moved closer gesturing with a talon as if to beckon. Perhaps he thought I would have a chipmunk to share? After several minutes of us hunkered down in the wet grass staring at each other he flew into a nearby branch.

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His next hunt began, and he let me stand close as a witness.

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It is a comfort to know, that red-tails still fly over Andover. Despite the damage we have done to the hawk’s environment, from clearing the woods for our homes and businesses, to the constant polluting, the hawk thrives.

Knowing this, I think, perhaps then, there is a chance for us all.

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Jason O’Toole is a Rhylsing Award nominated poet, musician, and elder advocate. He is the author of two poetry collections published by the Red Salon, Spear of Stars (2018) and Soulless Heavens (2019). Recent work has appeared in anthologies, and journals including Neologism Poetry Journal, The Scrib Arts Journal, The Wild Word, and Vita Brevis. He is a member of the North Andover, MA Poet Laureate Committee. Visit Jason’s blog here, find him on Twitter @spear_of_stars and find his publications here.

new book: what she holds, a memoir by d. ellis phelps

told in poetic form

what she holds is the story of love and hate, of tender affection and abject fear, of careful attention and violent eruption, of too much and too little. This is the story of a life unfolding in the arms of chaos, the story of healing the past, a past that had bled into the present, the work that stopped the bleeding.

[image error] cover image: I Believe Akene fly by Philippe Chardet

Deep gratitude and thanks to Philippe Chardet for the cover image. The reason this image is perfect for this book is the definition of akène: a small, dry, one-seeded fruit that does not open to release the seed.  The writing of this volume of poetry was a transformative act and a central part of my effort to heal and reconcile a difficult relationship with my father, posthumously. The book’s title refers to the need to let go of grief over the loss and many other traumas involved in this eons-long relationship, one I am sure has lasted lifetimes. The akène seed “cannot” let go in nature but as Chardet’s image title suggests, one can let go metaphysically if one believes. This possibility is at the heart of this writing and thus, makes his art perfect for mine.

Thank you, Phillipe!

I am also ever indebted to the writers and editors who have written blurbs and reviews for this collection: Cindy Huyser, Chella Courington, Jacob Kobina Ayiha Mensah, Martha K. Grant, Robert Okaji, and Leslie Ferguson.

Here is a peek at Jacob Kobina’s kind review in Missouri Baptist University’s lit mag, Fireflies (p. 97):

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If you’d like a signed copy ($12.50), message me here. I’ll happily sign and send.

Here’s a sample to entice you:

gut punching
 
i was
 
thin
 
my pelvis
caving in
 
ribs         like wires
—corseting      my
 
barely there body
—a pale ballet
 
      ~
 
in the fall
of my fourteenth
 
year
 
i shopped for shifts: 
 
dresses      straight
cloth sacks
empire waist
 
i bought six
& chose
 
one       i’d wear
the first day
of high-school:
 
navy blue
& yellow
 
linen
 
yellow
fish-net
 
hose
 
      ~

the first day
the first week
 
came and went
me      bent over
 
bile      coming up
 
letting go
 
      ~
 
my parent’s bed
my hot     hot head
 
my mother
her cool hand
 
my father       
kneeling
 
please
eat something

he said
 
      ~

age eighteen
with freshman

fifteen      a
carat diamond
 
on my left hand
 
my hips      round
my buxom breasts
 
substantial
full of myself
 
not a waif
 
a woman
      ~

you’re getting fat
he said
 
—gut      punching
 
      ~

there were days
(      for years     )
 
when i
 
didn’t
 
eat
 
a thing
 

As always, I appreciate your support of my work in the world.

Namaste,

d

purifying wind: a reading

[image error]Photo by Abhishek Singh on Unsplash



Contributors Reading

Gratitude to these generous contributors to Moon Shadow Sanctuary Press’s most recent release, purifying wind (available as an e-book or in paperback) for these lovely readings of their work. The anthology features forty-three poets from five countries writing on themes varying from dating, to end-of-life, to habitats and habits of the vulture itself, and commenting on ritual, connection, justice and more. Here, twelve poets and I read from the collection, reading their own work and the work of others. In the first video, you will hear d. ellis phelps reading Liz Jacoby and Chella Courington (plus a couple of poems from her new book, what holds her), Lori Bonati, Judith Youngers, Chella Courington reading Linda Simone and Lori Bonati, Jean Hackett, Stuart Gunter, and Jean Ryan. In the subsequent videos and soundtrack, you’ll hear Carol Price, Jennifer Schomberg Kanke, Jason O’Toole, Rohn Bayes and William Blackburn.

Now, I’ll let the poets speak for themselves.

Carol Price reading The Lammergeyer

Jennifer Schomberg Kanke reading In Corn Rows Hidden

Jason O’Toole reading Highway Department Auxillary

Rohn Bayes reading Hwy 190

& William Blackburn reading Picking the Bones

Photo by Glen Carrie on Unsplash

Get your copy of purifying wind here (get an e-book for only $4.99). & as always, thank you for listening!

Namaste,

d

what holds her, a reading & a review

[image error]Photo by Evie S. on Unsplash

I am delighted to share this kind review of my debut collection of poetry, what holds her, by poet, Nicole Metts that was published in Ocotillo Review in Feb, 2020.

Phelps’s deeply philosophical poetry gives incantation of femininity through the sublime eclectic energies of life, of death, and in the realm between. She asks, “who are these guides stretching the wind” as she unravels her journey of “salt” and of “sorrow.”

Nicole Metts

Read the entire review here.

Listen to a reading of the first few poems in the book here:

d. ellis phelps, a reading from what holds her

& get your copy ($14 plus shipping) from Main Street Rag here:

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Once again, thank your for being here and for your generous support of this work in the world. Words matter!

Namaste,

d

wardrobe escapee: what happened?

[image error]Photo by jesse orrico on Unsplash

I know you wonder about it, too…that random pair of shoes dangling over the utility wire on the county road, the wadded pair of jeans on the side of the freeway. In my poem work boot at the dog-leg on ammann road, I make some conjectures about what happened to cause the lone work boot to be there, at the dog-leg, that is.

In case you don’t know where Ammann road happens to be, it’s here:

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Clearly in the middle of nowhere, but that’s where I live. Not nowhere, but close. I had been to a poetry reading in Comfort that night and was taking the “back-way” home to Bulverde (see the green dotted line). & there it was, there where you see the pin dropped on Ammann Road, at the dog-leg, one of many on that winding, scenic road, one you should drive sometime. We affectionately refer to it as the “roller-coaster.” If you do drive it, you’ll see why!

But watch out! For feral hogs, white-tail deer, low-flying great horned owls and well, work-boots!

Anyway, thanks so much to Jeanie Sanders, editor and to Tony Burnett, Kallisto Gaia Press, Managing Editor for choosing my poem and putting together this fantastic anthology!

Also, you’ll hear me make a serious faux pas at the beginning of this video. Emmy Perez is not just a famous poet, she’s THE current 2020 Texas Poet Laureate! My apologies, Emmy.

Get your copy of the Calendar here!

Namaste Y’all!

d

#writingchallenge: the Renga

[image error]Photo by Jad Limcaco on Unsplash



setting up a howl

Just as the coyote makes her call to the pack across the canyon, poet/contributor, Dotty Le Mieux, hears the call and makes her response:

"(Anyone listening?).

In this poet’s response, we are animals, humans, all of us, creatures setting up a howl, making…

...a ring of joyful noise  
to anchor us as ancestors
with stories to tell...

Just as the poet, Ms. Le Mieux makes her call across the canyon, poet/contributor Darlene Logan hears the call & makes her response:

We surrender to this catastrophe of/grace.

Just as poet, Darlene Logan makes her surrender known across the canyon, poet/contributor, Jason O’Toole, hears the call & makes his response, proclaiming his own kind of surrender:

...So, I remain still
as the constellations shift
across a sky
ruled by owls.

This is the exquisite nature of the human relationship with other humans, with other creature-beings, with the planet. These complexities resonate and bounce, move and shape us.

& just as humans call and respond to one another across the canyons that seem to separate, banging pots and pans on porches, singing out to one another from our windows, weaving our worries into words, we as poets hear the call and make our response, transmuting catastrophe into grace.

Call

Call and response is also the nature and the beauty of the Renga form. & this post is a call in itself: to help us bring the Renga issue of fws to fruition by hearing this call and making your response. Our deadline is looming, please do not delay.

Read lines already written by fourteen formidable poets, lines that have shaped the issue and brought us to these canyons. Listen deeply. & respond. Join us in making joyful noise!

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Thank you for reading!

Namaste,

d