John Dorsey lived for several years in Toledo, Ohio. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Teaching the Dead to Sing: The Outlaw's Prayer (Rose of Sharon Press, 2006), Sodomy is a City in New Jersey (American Mettle Books, 2010), Tombstone Factory, (Epic Rites Press, 2013), Appalachian Frankenstein (GTK Press, 2015) Being the Fire (Tangerine Press, 2016) and Shoot the Messenger (Red Flag Poetry, 2017),Your Daughter's Country (Blue Horse Press, 2019), Which Way to the River: Selected Poems 2016-2020 (OAC Books, 2020), Afterlife Karaoke (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2021) and Sundown at the Redneck Carnival, (Spartan Press, 2022).. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and the Stanley Hanks Memorial Poetry Prize. He was the winner of the 2019 Terri Award given out at the Poetry Rendezvous. He may be reached at archerevans@yahoo.com.
These poems, along with several hundred others, are part of a larger erasure collection entitled Pocatello Wildflower, which examines the words of a group of Idaho writers who worked primarily from the 1970’s to the 1990’s, including the late Bruce Embree, who really got the ball rolling in my head and heart, with a few still working today. It is my great hope that folks will be interested in the original writers work, in addition to my own. These pieces in particular were taken from the work of Kim Stafford. Pocatello Wildflower will be available in 2023 from Crisis Chronicles Press.
Red Cloud Heart
a wild death
a lonesome girl’s
trembling hands
a strange little country
flying forever
wind gathering a prairie
of mercy in her hair.
The Fields Die
paradise folded her hands
into pure wild song
crickets
holy umbilical music
the quilt
my mother pieced
into shadows.
A Fierce Young Breath
a frozen hour trembles
ghosts bark
lost in our beds
dog listeners
a dark vigil
delivers the frost.
The Sea of Goats
the tangled river
a long wood carved mountain
the small thigh of a bear
she begins to weave skin
& wander the crags
through thickets
swimming weighted streams
of hunger
through the meadow.
My Father a Bird
sweetness without old bees.
