Most of the time you were in the kitchen. It was narrow, and looked onto a couple of trees, a few pre-fab high-rises tinged in blue. Bluish evenings. Haunt, hope, hue. Still the light was warm despite winter’s grey monotony: ice-rain, snow, frostblooms before your morning mouth… More Insulae at Cordite Poetry Review & Berfrois

My review of Ellen Hinsey’s ‘The Illegal Age’ for Tikkun Vol. 34, No. 2/3 can now be read as a PDF on my website, Wordkunst…thank you Over the last decade and more, poet Ellen Hinsey has been engaged in an unflinching examination of war, tyranny, and their effects on the spirit through works such as […]

One of my ‘Insulae’ is up at the wonderful The Sultan’s Seal, thanks to Youssef Rakha…buona lettura

I am very happy to have my poem Scheggia / Shrapnel featured in a web-exclusive for World Literature Today So what did you do with your freedom? A kind of blackout, he said, I did what one does. I anesthetized it. That’s: me. Read more by following the embedded links above

A top-thin pine drips winter Rain, red brick wet, white sash And windowpane; sky a wash Of gray on gray on gray (impromptu, Friday, January 4th)

Three poems by Friedrich Ani in my translation are up thanks to the kind folks at No Man’s Land…thank you for reading “summer’s voices are removed, once again we play the missing game outside, inside the room in twos“

Morning through the window, the inner courtyard: no shaft but throat, the space, the pearlflecked light now cotton, now cocooned. Tea. A candle. The same sweater worn for weeks. Radio. Black bread with cheese. The light that comes. The window. The silence. The story here has always been the same: back & forth a wandering […]

Three poems have just been published thanks to the lovely Rachael de Moravia & the kind folks at Burning House Press: thank you for reading Disjecta – Caesura – Membra, from ‘& The Little Light That Escaped (Vedute)’, by Alexander Booth * A face glimpsed as if framed through a space between the lattice-work of a […]

Back Now Out over A quiet street Shuttered against August’s heavy dull heat Threads of smoke From far fields Cloud-hidden stars Not one light across The courtyard Six years To write One Poem * (this poem comes from the limited edition chapbook Roman Hours, 2017)  

Stuck in a yellowed silence then simply stuck one post-catastrophe. Loves, leaves, that which was come apart in between. Colours now darker. Landscape other. Which worlds unsung which ones to come in that expanse the singular bloom: you: committed cadence of undoing. Some afternoons a wash of Flemish light flame-lined they flared across the iron […]