Tag Archives: Carmen Germain

What he claims is
by Carmen Germain

true: death cap rises
after rain in the forest,
pits trap and vipers coil.
So Mondrian decrees
no fellow feeling beyond
geometry, admonishes
“contours of nature
should be tightened.”

What is the tree to Mondrian?
Why does he so despise
the natural world,
deny the red plum growing
outside his window, deride
the willow groves,
close eyes to all that’s wild?

“A drop of sperm spilt
is a masterpiece lost,”
his gorgeously demented theory.
His art a box built to withstand
tough handling, unlike
the flame-red, blood-red rose.

Clear nights the earth’s
a flute of wine,
a near grave waiting
while his Flowering Apple Tree
churns like terrible fish
riled in jacklight.

Image Flowering Apple Tree, by Piet Mondrian, public domain, courtesy es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archivo:Blossoming_apple_tree,_by_Piet_Mondriaan.jpg

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 19, Issue 1.

placesaver2Carmen Germain is the author of These Things I Will Take with Me (Cherry Grove). Recent work has appeared in Poet lore, The Comstock Review, and The Naugatuck Review. She lives in Washington state and northern British Columbia.

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Visit Carmen Germain’s contributors page.

CPR Volume 18, Issue 5 is now online.

Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 5, is now online. Yeah, you heard right…, Issue 5. We’re shifting our new volume year to begin in April starting in 2017. For now, enjoy a special BONUS issue to Volume 18 with new poems by Laura Falsetti, Sara Henning, Elizabeth Onusko, Alyssa Jewell, John A. Nieves, Hayden Saunier, Wendy Drexler, Wendy Taylor Carlisle, Alina Borger, Sarah Carleton, Allyson Jeffredo, Wendy DeGroat, Charlotte Covey, Judith Montgomery, Carmen Germain, and Christopher Citro. Stay tuned later in the month for new reviews by Jeff Whitney and Barbara L. Estrin.

Suit of Happiness
by Carmen Germain

Snap off small pieces
unless you already have some
thrown together in a drawer
where melancholy sunshine and summer flowers
resist the drama of wind and sky.
A painter said every color
harbors its own soul. But consider
the upward thrust of the dark line—
an act of barbarity,

how it taunts shameless reds
laden with lichen drifting
down the aisle toward someone shouting
in a language you don’t understand,
a little bit watered down. Cobwebs
hanging from the walls of a shed,
a poster about a turkey’s Christmas
tacked to the door, a dog barking,
a baby crying, police sirens, a heartbeat—
whereabouts unknown, blissfully unaware.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 18, Issue 5.

placesaver2Carmen Germain is the author of These Things I Will Take with Me (Cherry Grove). Recent work has appeared in Poet lore, The Comstock Review, and The Naugatuck Review. She lives in Washington state and northern British Columbia.

See all items about Carmen Germain

Visit Carmen Germain’s contributors page.