BIO
John C. Mannone has work in Inscape Literary Journal, Windhover, Drunk Monkeys, Artemis, 2016 Texas Poetry Calendar, Southern Poetry Anthology (NC),Still, Town Creek Poetry, Tupelo Press, Baltimore Review, Pedestal and others. Author of two literary poetry collections—Apocalypse (Alban Lake Publishing, Jul 2015) and Disabled Monsters (The Linnet’s Wings Press, Dec 2015)—he’s the poetry editor for Silver Blade and Abyss & Apex, as well as the guest editor for the 2015 spring issue of Subprimal Poetry Art. He won the 2015 Joy Margrave award for creative nonfiction, the 2015 Tennessee Mountain Writers poetry award, and has been nominated three times for the Pushcart in poetry. He is a professor of physics in east TN. Visit The Art of Poetry:http://jcmannone.wordpress.com
Puchero
Momma had a way with words
when she fashioned our meals
as if they were pieces of poetry.
Her flour-dusted, blue apron
draped over her polka dot dress
as she leaned over the porcelain
stove—blue flames ringing
the bottom of a soup pot. She’d taste,
season and stir the mineral rich
bone broth seething in the caldron.
Fava and lima beans swirled
with dark green escarole
as bones and brisket bumped
with potatoes & carrots. Onions
and celery ribbed the soup
along with acorn squash & yams
that signatured the Argentine
tradition. Corn-on-the-cob
bobbed with bay leaves and herbs.
The lid edged the pot just right,
like her momma taught her
in the old country. And later
she’d teach me the Spanish
and Italian palabras that go with
food, family and poetry. She’d sing
La Traviata while cooking. And
in the same high-pitched voice,
she’d cry out when it was time
for us to come to the table. Pappa & I
smiled as she ladled the brothy stew,
its vapors seeping over the lips
of blue-rimmed bowls, rising to the light
and mixing with her words:
Mangia, mangia tutte le cose.
Eat, eat it all… And we did.
Touch Me With Words
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture
—Pablo Neruda
Since you cannot see,
feel my kisses of poetry
caress your ears. Your breast
holds a heart that pants.
Your lips quiver passion—
I am subsumed by whispers
of words, sensuous words arousing
my heart. I am poured out.
What would be left
of us without these words,
without the moist touch
of syllables
that drip life, flood senses
…drown
the longing?
Toque Me Con Las Palabras
Y el verso cae al alma como pasto el rocío
—Pablo Neruda
Ya que no puedes ver,
sentir mis besos de poesía
acarician tus oídos. Tu pecho
encierra un corazón que aspira.
Tus labios tiemblan pasión-
soy subsumidas por susurrus
de palabras, palabras sensual excitando
mi corazón. Soy derramado.
Lo que habría quedado
de nosotros sin estas palabras,
sin el toque húmedo
de sílabas
que vida por goteo, inundaron los sentidos
…ahogar
el anhelo?
A Psalm of Flowers
After El Vendedor de Alcatraces
—Diego Rivera (1941)
I have put all the lilies of the valley
in my basket, carry them with me.
And you, who have made them all,
are buried in the petals, lost
in the color, in the silk white texture,
in the smell lingering
over them, over me, with fragrance
of prayers brushing your feet.
Author’s note: The painting that inspired the poem is found here: http://images.art.com/images/products/large/10083000/10083437.jpg
