WCW – Lisa Marie Basile

December 16, 2014

Lisa Marie Basile

Lisa Marie Basile

Wednesday, January 7, 2015, 7 p.m.

Williams Center for the Arts
One Williams Plaza, Rutherford NJ

Plus the words of William Carlos Williams
and open readings from the floor

Lisa Marie Basile is the editor of Luna Luna Magazine and the small press Patasola Press. Her poetry and essays can be seen in Best American Poetry, Coldfront, Tin House, PEN American Center, Poets & Artists Magazine, PANK, The Nervous Breakdown, Huffington Post, Thrush Poetry Journal, Poetry Crush, and Prick of the Spindle, among others. She is the author of the chapbooks Andalucia (The Poetry Society of New York) and Triste (Dancing Girl Press) and of the full-length collection Apocryphal (Noctuary Press, 2014). Lisa Marie has edited for Sundress Publications and Weave Magazine. Her work has been nominated for the Best Small Fiction 2015 and the Best American Experimental Writing 2015 anthologies. She was the February 2014 feature poet for Poets & Artists Magazine, and has been named a top contemporary NYC poet to watch in features by The New York Daily News & Relapse Magazine. She is a graduate of The New School’s Masters in Fine Arts program for creative writing.

Contact: John Barrale – john.barrale@gmail.com

today my father came to pray
black denim & brown suede
a little tattoo of something holy
only he isn’t holy
he was raised at church & in fields of flora
in the back seat of the family Ambassador sedan
his eyes the color of that caballero tan
pinching his sister those pretty curls
setting fire to stacks of Playboy magazines.


RWB Workshop Poem of the Week – Dec 10, 2014

December 12, 2014

Richard Greene

Homage to Omar Khayyam

Just before dawn,
a crescent moon and Jupiter
shone in the boundless clarity
of a December sky
like a flag unfurled
over the ramparts
of morning.


Workshop Poem – Nov. 19, 2014

November 21, 2014

Zorida Mohammed


I grew up without perfume,
or at least so I thought, until
I remembered my mother’s tiny bottle of KushKush
and the flowery talc they’d sprinkled
on Dada and Dadee before they were wrapped
in the 40 yards of cotton
so we’d know when they were visiting.

But those were prepubescent days.
When I discovered perfume,
I can’t remember which one,
my innards quaked
as if I’d snagged something
from the ether that surrounded me
but didn’t know it’d been there all the time.

The world outside my door and my neighbor’s door
greeted me with benign kindness,
kinder than my own drowning mother
who needed so much from me
as if I were her right hand,
as if our umbilicus was never cut
and I should have known what she needed.

I was a massive failure
and prayed daily to die as a younger teen
until Krishna, the good cricket player,
and avid limer at the village corner,
and at the Hindu school, picked me.

I thought it was my classmate Sita
he was looking at
until my next door neighbor
placed a folded up copybook page in my hand.
I ran straight to the latrine for privacy.
He liked me and wanted to meet me.

The whole world shifted that day.

The world has always been kinder to me than my mother
until, slowly over the years, I became the fairy God-mother
she never had, and we fell in love, truly and forever.
We even held hands when we walked.

The world never needed anything from me,
save for my eyes, peering
into every nook and crevice of everything
they discovered,
awakening the cells of my marrow.

I dipped in, and out,
as if nature were a stream,
and I a cup, dipping,
always dipping.

*Limer; In Trinidad, a person who gathers or hangs out with others for idle chatter.

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WCW – Robert P. Langdon

November 17, 2014

Robert P. Langdon

Robert P. Langdon

Wednesday, December 3, 2014, 7 p.m.

Williams Center for the Arts
One Williams Plaza, Rutherford NJ

Plus the words of William Carlos Williams
and open readings from the floor

Robert P. Langdon is a poet living in Northern NJ. He has worn many hats over the years, including Director of Sales and Marketing at a publishing house, Director and Curator at an art gallery, professional photographer and teacher. Robert lived in San Francisco for 13 years which helped raise his political and social consciousness and a strong appreciation for diversity and community in all it’s forms. These themes show up often in his writing.

Robert has been writing poetry and the occasional short fiction since the late 1980s. He began writing after being exposed to the poetry of Anne Sexton and discovering, through her writing, that poetry can be exciting and accessible. He is drawn to strong imagery and is influenced by confessional poetry and the works of Sexton, Sharon Olds, Diane Ackerman, Robert Lowell, Ai, and Gregory Orr among others. Robert’s own writing tends to focus on issues of identity and he uses poetry as a way to work through personal issues and reflect on meaningful events in his life. He recently released his first collection, The Candied Road Ahead: Poems & Stories available through Amazon.com in print and Kindle formats.

Contact: John Barrale – john.barrale@gmail.com


The Disney dream is a lie. Bambi has been rewritten.
No longer is it the danger of flames and firearms. It’s crossing
a four lane highway and being trapped against a median.
A warm blood Flower streaked by the wipers of a Humvee.



November 16, 2014

The Magic Circle returns to GainVille Café in Rutherford, NJ on Friday, Dec. 5 for our annual music/poetry birthday party for JACO PASTORIUS, bassist extraordinaire and hero of the creative spirit. Featuring JIM KLEIN as our MC, musicians PETE McCULLOUGH, MARK FOGARTY and VICTORIA WARNE, a slideshow made especially for this event by Jaco master curator ESPEN ASPLIN SORLIE, Jaco spoken word from AMY BARONE, and a cameo by the maestro himself. AMY BARONE, who has a new book of poetry, Kamikaze Dance, imminent from Finishing Line Press, will also be our featured poet.

The Red Wheelbarrow Poets’ Bring Your A Game open mic will follow, with generous reading times.

17 Ames Ave, 7 PM.

$7 donation includes coffee/tea and dessert.


Workshop Poem – Nov. 12, 2014

November 14, 2014

Wayne L. Miller


orange juice yellow beets brown bread
once more she sets the table

arranging dishes
placing napkins

forks spoons knives
centering chairs by placemats

then placemats by chairs
tureen vegetable soup steam

cold salads covered
no grapefruit spoons or fish forks

yet again
she checks the simmering roast

reverently adjusting burners
almost hot enough

for bellies full
of memories

to start with
blue corn chips green salsa black olives

inviting me she
touches my shoulder


Workshop Poem – Oct. 29, 2014

November 10, 2014

Milton P. Ehrlich

My Bolshevik Buddy

He was a legless veteran of the ’39
Civil War Brigade in Spain.
He hurled his stump around
like an orangutan in heat,
never missing a day of teaching.
He indoctrinated students
as a revolutionary apparatchik
with fire in his belly for a new world.

He refused to use an umbrella,
a symbol of the bourgeoisie.
He wouldn’t brush his teeth
or use underarm deodorant:
Comrade solidarity.

Daily Worker, his bible, when religion,
opiate of the people, would never do.
He walked the talk on every picket line,
raising his fist, red in the face, singing:
“A Las Barricadas”

We’d argue late into the night
about whether the ends justifies the means.
Dynamite, bombs and assassinations
expose the light of truth, he’d say,
and, without light, nothing flowers.


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