Collective Unrest

 

In the wake, so intimate, There is

May 1, 2019

The following pieces, “In the wake,” “so intimate,” and “There is,” by J.I. Kleinberg are visual poems from an ongoing series of collages built from phrases created unintentionally through the accident of magazine page design.

 

 

 

Artist, poet, and freelance writer, J.I. Kleinberg is a Best of the Net and Pushcart nominee. Her found poems have appeared in Diagram, Heavy Feather Review, Rise Up Review, The Tishman Review, Hedgerow, Otoliths, and elsewhere. She lives in Bellingham, Washington, and posts most days at thepoetrydepartment.wordpress.com and chocolateisaverb.wordpress.com and occasionally @jikleinberg.

Please follow and like us:
error
Newer Post

Isaiah

Like the future, few things can be said for the poem. But like the future, a few things can be said: Either revolution will sweep the streets— bare hurricane winds across tarmac flattening banks into barricades against tanks clacking down…
Read
Older Post

Dew

Legs like lengths of root, latching into soil holding me down. Like the weight of a thousand rain filled shoes discarded on front porches after morning walks in wet grass. I used to get up early to walk in the…
Read
Random Post

The River's Story

One step more, the river floor constituted of pebbles below me, slips between my toes. They are tortoiseshell, black, slick with fur and the few ivory stones pocked with beige blemishes.   The canopy a spectrum of greens shielded us…
Read
Random Post

To The Nazis Who Marched On Charlottesville

We will replace you. The torches you carried only provided better lighting, allowing us to put faces to the hate-filled souls we already knew were there. We will call you out. You don’t get to spew vicious, viscous venom then…
Read
Random Post

Freed

We like ourselves better grabbed by the throat, so we are letting go of freedom the same freedom that unsheathed swords to keep our shores safe the same freedom that ignited two people power revolutions the same freedom that people…
Read
Random Post

When Broken Is Broken

At this point, the ground is a close companion. After countless fainting spells, it’s like hugging a friend you haven’t seen recently. My arms don’t work like they used to. These fingers can’t open jars, legs wobble under the same…
Read