stevieslaw

Komorebi KomorebiI take the paththrough the oak groveas quiet as a Sunday morning.It’s all uphill,and I am as drenchedas a child after baptism.The dappled lightfiltered through the leaveshas me stunned—paintedneither dark nor light,words fail it.Is thatthe originof the holy?

In the current issue of the Write Launch SaudadeOne last tripon the New Lots Linethat trundles upfrom its tunneljust as the Brooklyn neighborhoodsturn to Brownsville,turn to near ruin.The train takes the 90 degreecurve on 98th Street—where my uncleand aunt once lived,and where the train’s screech mightwake the deador make you wishyou were,and deposits meat the Saratoga Avenue Station.It’s been…

SaudadeOne last tripon the New Lots Linethat trundles upfrom its tunneljust as the Brooklyn neighborhoodsturn to Brownsville,turn to near ruin.The train takes the 90 degreecurve on 98th Street—where my uncleand aunt once lived,and where the train’s screech mightwake the deador make you wishyou were,and deposits meat the Saratoga Avenue Station.It’s been morethan 50 yearssince I last rode this…

I have a poem in the current issue of PA’s Poetic Voices. Here is the poem: MUDDERI got 20 to 1on that donkey—Muddy Waters,who hadn’t placedin three yearsand is rapidlyheading to gluetown.It was my last fiveand I’d have to hita buddy up for carfare.Before that last race of the night,clouds camein from nowhere,and it rained.Not any rain,but a rain that would’ve hadNoah crowing, “told you so.”The…

Published on Lothlorien Poetry Journal. early morning snow deer tracks through the apple grove my fireplace crackles

On Lothlorien Poetry Journal. Last day of Autumn our path strewn with oak leaves are you coming home?

On Lothlorien Poetry Journals. The Arts And, over time I began to think of the bench as mine. It sits grey-green at the edge of Spring Creek, in a small park rarely peopled during the week. Weeping Willows temper the sun and tame the winds. Last night the temperature dropped thirty degrees and in the early morning my bench sparkles with hoar frost. The park — my poetry, The…

On the Lothlorien Poetry Journal: Bedding It is long past time to put my garden to bed. Even plants that have survived two hard frosts look like patients  on life support.  Each year in the first flush of spring—when I’m digging in the just thawed earth wearing a ski coat and last year’s gloves, I promise myself that I will put this garden to bed properly — trimming here and…

I have two poems and two haiku up at the Lothlorien Poetry Journal. Here is the whole shebang: Bedding It is long past time to put my garden to bed. Even plants that have survived two hard frosts look like patients  on life support.  Each year in the first flush of spring—when I’m digging in the just thawed earth wearing a ski coat and last year’s gloves, I promise myself that I…

My poem, Camouflage, is in the current issue of Pennsylvania Poetic Voices. Here is the poem: CAMOUFLAGE In Khakis, they crawl along a field mowed clean by machine gun fire. From the air, they resemble a sea of beetles. Its hot, and they sweat through the heavy cloth now more black than green. What makes men brave? When the machine guns begin again, they rise as one and rush the…

My poem, Oasis, was just published by the Green Silk Journal. Here is the poem: Oasis      by Steven Deutsch Long before the specialty coffee shops, we congregated at Sam’s corner candy store. We brought our nickels and dimes for penny candy and leafed through the current Superman. On days of good fortune we’d sit at the counter and sip our malteds— nothing better. Sam had two…

My poem, the Art of the Deal, was just published by the New Verse News. Here is the poem: My cousin Bobby tells me the ultra rich are negotiating for more sunshine on their compounds. He reasons that will mean less sunshine for the rest of us. “They also want a full moon every night of the year.” Bobby’s the nicest guy, but thinks 2+2 is advanced math. He read about the sunlight in several…

I have two poems published by The RavensPerch today. Here is the first: My ancestors prayedtheir faithful hearts outin a little shulin the Steppes. Prayed to their godof gods in a languageas old as the civilizationthey hoped their prayers might heal. And still it snowed.Snow over the roofand through a windowthey could no longer close. It covered the floorand oaken bencheshiding the poverty of…

My poem, Bibliosmia, is in the current issue of PA”s Poetic Voices. Here is the poem: BIBLIOSMIA That groggy MondaymorningI headed downstairs to my library to check a passagefrom The Good SoldierI had dreamt of that night.Halfway downI remembered my library had beendismantledand carried away in custom cardboard cartons,courtesy of U-Haul.In the library there was nothingbut empty…

Desperado You better letSomebody love youBefore it’s too late. The Eagles. I heard you’reworking constructionin Wyoming,my brother, my friend. Living out of Dad’stattered suitcasein some crappy moteloff Interstate 80– the highway to heaven.I suppose you’ll do what damageyou can thereand leave. Sis often saysyou are four parts charmand one part cruelty.How the women loved you.I don’t…

My poem, Love Steve, was just published by The Green Silk Journal. Here is the poem: Love, Steve That old phototook my breath away.How had I misplacedthe memory?Did you? It wasforty years ago.The gentlest June—the sea, the sand, the sunon a tiny island off the coast of Maine,where the whole clanstayed in a ramshackleshack with uncertain plumbingthat must have slept a dozen. Remember how it…

My poem, Graveyard, was just published by Persephone Literary Magazine. Here is the poem: Graveyard They laid it out on a risetoo steep for draft horses.It’s a lonely spot—but aren’t they all. Headstones scatteredover the two acreslike chess piecesplaced by a child who barely knowsthe game.The oldestfrom 1828 is worn and blackenedby Pennsylvania winters.But the gravesare well cared for. We…