The Sunday Poet: Kuoya Dut

Kuoya Dut

I am Kuoya Dut. A junior finance major at Endicott college. I was born in South Sudan and raised and educated in Kenya. I am passionate about writing and fashion design. My hobbies include running, hiking, soccer and playing pool. I have hosted a radio show in the past too.

SEASONAL RIVER

After it pours, after the ever-dry soil

is turned into a mould of mud the

mighty waters of the seasonal river

can be seen snaking down the dry

banks of the laga children playing

in the silt of the riverbeds pulling

their soccer posts out as they beam

in excitement, running around

the waters, frothy at the mouth stealthily

creeping in like a mugger, soon, the current

is a buzzing mass of strong waters, carrying

big branches and boulders underneath.

The Sunday Poet: Ari Alkalay Appel

Poet Ari Appel

Ari Alkalay Appel is a poet and essayist who lives and works in Roxbury. He enjoys cycling and woodworking during his free time. He grew up in Newton, Massachusetts, where he graduated from Newton North High School. He studied at Whitman College in Eastern Washington, where he obtained a degree in Rhetoric Studies. He also studied at the University of Buenos Aires in Argentina.

Manic Mechanic

My brain is flooding with information;

Information circulates through my neuro-circuitry

Like an electrical current.

I am dizzy, my vision is distorted, and

My head pounds at three second intervals.

The world is spinning.

My hands are engaged with tools.

I am twisting a wrench at every moment,

But I do not know what I am fixing.

The bikes pass through my workstand somehow

But my I am focused on the abyss,

The winding gaps in the scrap butyl tubes in a pile

Under my stand, coated with an indescribable white chemical powder

Leftover from their manufacture.

I can't stare at the pile enough;

It seems to provide the only symmetry to my mind's condition

That's where I've gone,

That's what I'll tell my friends and family:

I'm stuck staring endlessly into a pile of scrap butyl.

You may see me look elsewhere, but

You know where I really am.

Somehow, I still get the job done.

The Sunday Poet: Lillian Freedman

 

Poet Lillian Freedman

Lillian Freedman is a nonagenarian who has been interested in poetry all her life. Her favorite poem is 'The Chambered Nautilus' by Oliver Wendell Holmes. It was in 1978 that she wrote her first poem, while on flight to a wedding ceremony and now she is still still at it. She resides in Newton, Ma.

         

The Enabler

He knows there is always

Another arrow in the quiver

And another deer in the forest

He knows you are the deer

And the arrow will go

Straight to your heart

Do you want to be

The deer in his forest

Or is it your time to graze

He's luring his victim

With his engaging way

Feeding the deer with nibbles

And despite his previous betrayals

His lure is his charm

Setting up the inviting deer

For the coup d'etat

All the while indulging

His every whim

Knowing his enabler

Will be there for him.

-Lillian Freedman

The Sunday Poet: Judy Katz-Levine

Judy Katz-Levine

Judy Katz-Levine is an internationally published poet who has authored two full-length collections - Ocarina (SARU) and When The Arms Of Our Dreams Embrace (SARU). Her most recent chapbook is When Performers Swim, The Dice Are Cast (Ahadada). Her poems have appeared recently in Blue Unicorn, Ibbetson St., and Salamander.





 Mississippi John Hurt

I would desire the hands of Mississippi John Hurt, the fingers
just slightly bent and with a touch of arthritis, though he
has spent a life-time caressing that gentle guitar, calling
to his folks you got to travel that lonesome road all by yourself
and the humbleness of his voice, just a touch of a rasp, eyes
that know far more than the eyes of a scholar, glancing up at the
camera
now and then only now and then, it isn't really trains one hears
in the blues guitar, it may be a walk with a grandchild down
by the river, or the grace bestowed after singing “Amazing Grace”
in the church near the homes of cousins getting ready to go out
and toss a baseball to the sky. I would desire, as I age, the fingers
of Mississippi John Hurt, which symbolize a life lived without
greed, without any malice whatsoever, any grab to power, and the
unearthly gentleness in his voice, yes, I would desire that.

- Judy Katz-Levine,