What god or king or demagogue can assure us that every countryman gets fed, that politicians be true their word, that women are afforded equal rights, that smokestacks will eventually die? Pouting about the chapter where love lost its way is the high school teacher whose students will have to go without physical education because the budget was cut to the bone. Those … [Read more...]
Indian Review | Author | Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly. His poetry and interviews have appeared in Nimrod, Portland Review, Kestrel, Cream City Review, Poetry Salzburg, Boston Poetry Magazine, Gertrude, The Bacon Review, and many others. He has published a travel guide, Best Choices In Northern California, and Time Lines, a book of poems.
It can’t be mystical, transformative or comical if it isn’t first and foremost a metaphysical mashup. For example, last night lightning swished across the coal sky’s entire width and lit the lofty horizon with a jolt of instant luminescence. How could I possibly predict thunderstorms clocking in, poised to pelt my coastal city that slick summer night? Then what was … [Read more...]
Too early in autumn for leaves to turn, and boats are still on mum harbor waters. I feel the warmth of an unencumbered sun as it massages my back and shoulder blades. Here at the waterfront retaining wall that bends and curves its way from the head of bustling Fisherman’s Wharf, general contentment rules the day. From the railing I scan down a few yards to the beach … [Read more...]
On the crowded streets of modern Cannery Row visitors from around the world flock like pigeons come to boost their moods amid the candy, curios, ocean spray, hotels, seafood, music and neon signs. In the basement of an indoor boutique bazar wait virtual humanoids locked in time, their presentations recorded, canned. They indoctrinate visitors despite the fact that … [Read more...]
While wandering the French Quarter during Mardi Gras I was a stake in the heart Dixie. Colored beads like hailstones peppered me, and there were drunk revelers sporting masks. I became overwhelmed by claustrophobia, so leaving those revelers to their fine insanity down to the mighty Mississippi I made haste and listened to the paddle wheeler’s steam hiss. At river’s … [Read more...]