Stefanie Bennett has published several books of poetry and had poems appear in Dead Snakes, IS&T, The Galway Review, Boston Poetry Magazine. Illya’s Honey, Shot Glass Journal, The Paterson Literary Review, High Coupe, Mad Swirl, and others. Of mixed ancestry [Irish/Italian/Paugussett-Shawnee] she was born in Queensland, Australia. Stefanie’s latest poetry collection “The Vanishing” is published by Walleah Press and available from Walleah and Amazon.
STEALTH
The moon drags like an old stylus.
Earth sounds cackle...
A dropped sparkler going out.
Dark guests afford my open door.
Blue stockinged Blake;
Whitman in worn slippers.
How many titles have tumbled down
From the shelves!
How many mirrors are left to sack!
At least I can forget about reflections
... A silver mouse-like poet
Pocketed
Within the teeth – such
A ghoulish consternation,
The reminder how
Fashion’s destined for us.
WINGS
What
Shall I bring?
What
Should I bring?
My hands are corned
But none-the-less
Empty.
My shoes?
They’re worn.
My cloak...
Scares the scarecrow.
The handkerchief, Then?
It’s the collection
Of sodden
Weeping.
What
Must I bring you?
You who have
Everything
But the herb
Of my
 |
| Photograph by D. H. Allen |
STEALTH
The moon drags like an old stylus.
Earth sounds cackle...
A dropped sparkler going out.
Dark guests afford my open door.
Blue stockinged Blake;
Whitman in worn slippers.
How many titles have tumbled down
From the shelves!
How many mirrors are left to sack!
At least I can forget about reflections
- Am no longer
Afraid in looking back.
I put the midnight sun out to cool
By Winter’s woodpile:
Call forth Phantasm’s cat.
That’s too tall an order. It
Sits, in the peach tree,
Tail flicking
Afraid in looking back.
I put the midnight sun out to cool
By Winter’s woodpile:
Call forth Phantasm’s cat.
That’s too tall an order. It
Sits, in the peach tree,
Tail flicking
... A silver mouse-like poet
Pocketed
Within the teeth – such
A ghoulish consternation,
The reminder how
Fashion’s destined for us.
WINGS
What
Shall I bring?
What
Should I bring?
My hands are corned
But none-the-less
Empty.
My shoes?
They’re worn.
My cloak...
Scares the scarecrow.
The handkerchief, Then?
It’s the collection
Of sodden
Weeping.
What
Must I bring you?
You who have
Everything
But the herb
Of my
Epic
- Father.
EXIT
Downsizing, I watch the livestock
Of my years take hold:
Masked personas, animal,
Tree, and rock.
Should I carriage away
The disposition of
A grandfather clock – its bell
As sure as winter-chill?
The tenanted potpourri urn
Aflutter? Books
With spine
When credit’s due?
Moving’s an unaligned monologue.
Could it be the “fiddler
On the roof’s” in freefall!
The rain, lip-syncing
‘Mariah...!’
(The Poem ‘Exit’ is published in the title
“The Vanishing” Walleah Press 2015)
~Stefanie Bennett
- Father.
EXIT
Downsizing, I watch the livestock
Of my years take hold:
Masked personas, animal,
Tree, and rock.
Should I carriage away
The disposition of
A grandfather clock – its bell
As sure as winter-chill?
The tenanted potpourri urn
Aflutter? Books
With spine
When credit’s due?
Moving’s an unaligned monologue.
Could it be the “fiddler
On the roof’s” in freefall!
The rain, lip-syncing
‘Mariah...!’
(The Poem ‘Exit’ is published in the title
“The Vanishing” Walleah Press 2015)
~Stefanie Bennett
