Words

October 2020 | poetry

From time

immemorial

we’ve pressed them

into clay,

or stone,

a coarse brush

of ochre

on cave walls,

engravings

on sarcophagi

and on forgotten

stelae

consumed

by the greedy

jungle;

they’ve flowed

from tributaries

of indigo

on the odd leaf

of skin,

or pulp,

from feathered

quills,

or styli

of steel:

enough pages

to fill the oceans,

letters raised

on the road

rash of billboards,

a forest of graffiti:

the legacy

of pictographs

and glyphs,

cursive and kanji,

cuneiform sagas

and the enigmatic

runes,

Sanskrit scriptures

that whisper across

millennia,

the Aleph

and the Roman

dispersed

through the staccato

music of keys

that sing

through a conduit

of light,

engulfs

the world

to convey

a mere

shadow

of meaning.

Robert René Galván

Robert René Galván, born in San Antonio, resides in New York City where he works as a professional musician and poet. His last collection of poems is entitled, Meteors, published by Lux Nova Press. His poetry was recently featured in Adelaide Literary Magazine, Azahares Literary Magazine, Gyroscope, Hawaii Review, Hispanic Culture Review, Newtown Review, Panoply, Prachya Review, Shoreline of Infinity, Somos en Escrito, Stillwater Review, West Texas Literary Review, and the Winter 2018 issue of UU World. He is a Shortlist Winner Nominee in the 2018 Adelaide Literary Award for Best Poem. Recently, his poems are featured in Puro ChicanX Writers of the 21st Century and in Yellow Medicine Review: A Journal of Indigenous Literature, Art and Thought. His forthcoming books of poetry are Undesirable: Race and Remembrance, Somos en Escrito Foundation Press, and The Shadow of Time, Adelaide Books.

A Man’s Demons

October 2020 | poetry

My stepfather could be kind

when his hidden demons

did not plague decisions I discerned.

A child can only analyze actions,

shadows reflecting the body,

motions to mimic, wrestling

with the waves causing callous

repercussions, creating chameleon

reactions from what my teen-vision

saw. I observed a man whose hands

painted mastery, Michelangelo’s student

touching his canvas, one could feel

a man’s face. I observed a man

whose voice was soulful enough,

a stranger debating marriage would

buy a wedding ring. I observed

when his hands weren’t moving,

when the theater was empty, echoes

rose of tales he kept to himself. Voices

from the demons that plagued him

gave him his vices, filling glasses,

rising temper, spreading anger,

drinking, puffing, smoking, choking

a life, stagnating work promotions,

taking shallow steps towards goals,

a peeled banana softened, blackened,

losing firm grounding around himself.

Maybe the pressure of military life

and death darkened visions from friends

never forgotten. Maybe the pressure

of social behaviors of blended family

caused misery. Maybe the pressure—

coming to his hometown after two-decades,

finding old friends, riding the same street

corners and blocks became his framework

to live. Maybe. I still may love him; his

decisions left my mother in an unmarked grave.

Mervyn R Seivwright

Mervyn R. Seivwright has appeared or has forthcoming published works in AGNI Literary Magazine, The Trinity Review, African American Review, Santa Fe Literary Review, Montana Mouthful Literary Magazine, iō Literary Journal, The Stirling Spoon, The Scribe Literary Journal, Flights Literary Journal, Rigorous Magazine, Prometheus Dreaming Cultural Journal, and Toho Journal. He has received recognition as Second-Runner-Up for Mount Island’s Lucy Terry Prince poetry contest, a Semi-Finalist for the Midwest Review’s Poetry Contest, Z Publishing’s Kentucky’s Best Emerging Poets 2019, and has a poem commissioned by the British Museum, Ipswich, United Kingdom. Mervyn holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Spalding University, Louisville KY. He is from Jamaican heritage, born in London, England while he currently lives in Schopp, Germany.