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Published by , 2018-10-05 08:55:50

FFR31

FFR31

Fowl Feathered Review is the disorderly quarterly published on a consistently sporadic basis by Fowlpox Press. Art and
layout: Pâris Paté. Paintings depict sights and scenes from Halifax to Liscomb, Nova Scotia. Editor: Virgil Kay. ISSN:
1929-7238. Published with financial assistance from the Ecum Secum Literary Arts Brain Trust.



Poems by Nichael Cramer

Call

With half light
at someone else’s sheets
--after the music

with the curve of neck
with the wrapping

& stroked shoulder
slow stroked shoulder (with)
your dark hair
(full) like the sea
your fine hair

rolling like the sea
with all that I
am & with out my understanding
& this long back

on which
I find slow line

with my fourth finger
& the flat of my thumb

& feet that disappear below the edge
--off
motionless leg

without understanding the
words which brought you
or the pressing

& lips that dance elsewhere
when you laugh

you have women’s hands

you have women’s hands
small, and noticeably older
than you as your fathers

again, proud with the songs of praise
and holy before their nation

you have some startling heart
fierce at delight
beginning at some sharp wondering

that teaches me new natures

-- that trains my innocence you have
morning’s hair

-- together with night
you have the winter’s eyes

those that clear
set away from you
precise, without name
in crystalline
you find that
alone at which I
ask nothing
at which I
only need speak

So,

I happen to be
Sitting on the step
The point of the tip of the calyx of the waiting bud A foot from
my eye.

And then

It
Opens,
While I watch.
It opens out
The here of its green.
And, there in the dark
In with the leaf
You can just tell
There’s a complete
Poem hiding.
But not now.
Not today.
Instead here,
After spring

after spring,
Of watching
The far side
Of valleys
Rise that green
Day by day
I’ve now
Seen this
Happen

And now

So have
You

Nichael Cramer woodworks, reads, writes, and lives (with his wife Crystal Washburn), in southern Vermont. His poems can be found in
bottlerockets, FrogPond, Ghazal Page, Seven Days and others.

YOU CAN ONLY DRIVE covert operation posing as a Doctors investigating her
GRANDMOTHERS INTO OBSCURITY potluck supper sliding into a untreated boredom arrived in an
TWICE. sinkhole of madness. The six bean open hearse and were unabashedly
salad was quite tasty but not as happy. Their jaunty words of
Hovik Garen good as the type Aunt Gladys sorrow directed to Slugfest can be
dreamed of. Her self-inflicted knee heard on Sunday afternoons from
When Slugfest Beachcomber kissed wound oozed birch and gout. my jacket pocket.
the river he was celebrated and Remember these points. They are
reviled by his stuffed dog. The featured on page twenty of your Interestingly, the Frightful Cyst
handsome realtor disdained the driving exam. never mentioned in this serialized
crude taxidermy inflicted upon his story represents the sweetness of
poodle by a masked stranger who Slugfest served Antonia a drink of freshwater fish, such as those
parked on a solitary road facing Deet-free insect repellent and mentioned in Greek Lexicon for the
the airport. This is where the story sulfuryl chloride mixed with Rabbinic Psychobilly (Failed Plans
almost begins, then takes a tailspin mouth wash, then watched as she Press, 2nd ed., 1986).
into August of next year, when drank it in a single gulp. Within
your cousin gets sick at a feminist seconds she curled up like a dead Eight years later, in the uptown
drum circle. cockroach and lost eyesight. This portion of a small town outside
was before the closing Jamestown, Slugfest dedicated his
Slugfest perceived from his number. life to breaking the resolve of
periphery a flaming iguana. cockroaches through his inability
Through the middle distance Antonia remembered the Frightful to speak. Finally, he reached Nan
leading to echoes of Guam could be Cyst as seen in the discounted Ling. "I am very worried," said his
seen a shimmering image of thrift store ceramic clown in estranged proctologist. "I transfer
Antonia Magdalena. Antonia was a episode seven. "I wish to scrub money to my mother but she still
wonderful fraud with a small jazz the clown in a circular fashion, but won’t tell me where she lives."
group featuring dancing chickens. in 1947,” she opined warmly, still
blind and falling from a parachute "Your mother fixation is a gross
Slide sections of the vernacular devised from paper bags. impudicity!” came the rejoinder
from a box of allergy tablets.
gospel, thought Slugfest. He saw
Mock your reflection in the mirror
his picture in a motion picture and produce this statement three
times: "I comb the river with a
within his mind. This skull is a stale sandwich, and drown your
dreary song.”
skull, stained in lime juice, sitting,
Hovik Garen writes out of guilt . Sorry for this.
but not a song, squishy. His friends
would later nodd appreciatively

and plot a sensitive corporate

takeover. Once again,

photosynthesis commenced as a



So yodel-ee-yolksome! Great by the
crate…It’s the treat you can eat
whether fried, boiled or baked!

v

Urban Haiku

by Peter Saint-Andre

Old woman crossing.
Two thin legs and a walker.
Good it's a long light.

~

Orange city glow
Reflected from clouds above
Bathes the swirling snow.

~

There's no foundation
All the way along the line:
Broadway crazy man.

~

Top-down white Corvette
Blaring down Fifth Avenue.
Six below zero.

~

Fighting traffic noise
Underneath a cherry tree
Practicing bagpipes.

~

Trees as thin as poles
Struggle up through sidewalk holes.
How many will live?

~

Around Columbus,
Like the pigeons overhead,
Taxis keep circling.

~

She has no home but
Her nails are always polished,
Waiting for the bus.

~

Summer in the park:
Homeless men spend warm bright days
Sleeping in the shade.

~

Taxis, trucks, and cars
Intertwine without touching...
A delicate dance.

~

Flapping and whirling
Like a streetwise break dancer,
A pigeon's death-throes.

~

A sea of silver
Clouds below, except the tips
Of two white towers.

~

Deep in her smartphone,
Turning the corner she steps
Deep in wet cement.

~

Countless lonely drops
Joined against their will: mighty
Rivers of traffic.

~

Jotting down
A glowing thought
Phone haiku

~

Downtown dogs
Seven A.M.
Where's the grass?

~

He and she
One umbrella
Bus stop bench
























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