Radost postcard Jul10frontMy wife Jeri Theriault’s new collection of poetry, Radost, my red, has just been published by Moon Pie Press (July 2016). It is available at Longfellow Books in Portland’s Monument Square and can also be ordered from Moon Pie or by contacting Jeri directly. The poet Christopher Bursk writes that Radost, my red is “a crafted, compassionate exploration of wishes and hopes, of possibilities, of verbs opening realms, of invitations … This book reminds us of the play of which the mind is capable, of language’s resiliency and its brave joy.”

Here’s a sample, a poem called “Sunday Morning in Red Shoes.”

Bells break into nouns –
birds, shoes
——–and boats –
that use their brightness
tease the air.

My shoes –
these very red shoes –
——–the pavement

like roses
and castanets,
——–while blue boats
furrow the river.

No hint
of fading this morning,
——–no finite
——–no redress.

I undress my heart,
wallow in faith, a fish
in lazy shallows.

Take a look at three of my syllabic (rhopalic) sestinas published in the Tower Journal, and at “Lying Here,” a cento that appeared in the Found Poetry Review.

Here I play with some notions of “chiming” and rhopalic forms:



The lecturer hectors
his hearers, whose
blanched, abashed

visages register
exquisite discomfort
at his disquisition.


——–Out on our deck the red Adirondack
——–chairs pursue their prosaic chores.


late to
turn back, to-
night we’re forced to
sleep in Timbuktu.

a cat you
stepped on, the hue
of mud, tail askew,

the size
of horseflies.
Berber kids eye
us, heads turned sideways.


——–With infinitesimally
——–slow unfastening
——–of flannel, you soften:
——–a deliquescence delirious
——–in its acquiescence.


swear for-
mulas for
happiness, for
the good life, before

but loathsome
guy gives you some-
thing much worse! The sum

a love
like that, of
wishful thoughts, of
your sweet dreams? Get ov-

it! You’re
of rowing your
boat without an oar!


——–Unfettered, wind-buffeted,
——–the molded resin lounge chairs
——–lunge at the mildewed railing.


We fix pancakes
while pink clouds scud
across the deepening sky.

Just as we guessed—
the strongest gusts
had passed by dusk.