Gerry LaFemina: Some Things Just Can’t Be Explained
This is what sasquatch does, leaves
behind only a remnant of itself, some imprint,
a clue. The rest is speculation, the way
the Phantom Grammarian could have been anyone—
Gerry LaFemina: A Slight Misunderstanding
What I heard was that she was interested
in accidents, so I envisioned those frozen moments
(perhaps only milliseconds), the liminal frames
when we realize an event is unavoidable
Virtual Book Launch! “Nightjar” by Michael Simms, w/ Gerry LaFemina, Gail Langstroth, and Sharon Fagan McDermott — Today!
Poet and classical scholar Rachel Hadas notes that the poems “recall the darkly vatic voice of Brecht’s late lyrics. Yet, Simms always sounds like himself: plainspoken, intimate, vulnerable, courageous.”
Gerry LaFemina: Grafton Street, St. Stephen’s Green
church bells call out deliberately
the twelfth hour, thus reminding us
we’re halfway between yesterday
& tomorrow
Gerry LaFemina: Security
My carry-on flagged for protein
bars that might be plastique, & I failed
the swab test, some residue battery acid
or fertilizer on my fingertips.
Gerry LaFemina: Frisbee
Remember how effortlessly those guys caught it behind their backs or else by tapping it first from underneath so it paused in place and spun like a galaxy.
Gerry LaFemina: Collection
In my life I’ve gathered maybe five perfect rocks. It isn’t that they were smooth or handsomely speckled with rare minerals. No, they were often misshapen, pitted, easily forgettable.
Gerry LaFemina: A Room for Space Agers
At a certain age I re-aimed that telescope, first, to look into the window of the young widow across the street, she who made me feel atomic.
Gerry LaFemina: All These Lamps and Yet —
I used to believe in enlightenment, in an age of it coming. I believed, too, in love with a capital L, believed in the upper case abstractions, believed I could list the capitols of Europe where I believed I’d visit. At least I got that last one right.
Gerry LaFemina: Hive Mind
We’ve been talking about the muse up until this point, today—how I don’t believe in such a thing. This stings their sensibilities. The bee in the classroom is a happy distraction.
Vox Populi 