Poetry by Stefan Schulz



In the rain of the rally
With the theater of dusty shawls
Watching guard

I opened the absolute time
Of my intimacies
On the pages of the gong.

I started writing then again.
For a while, steadying
On the cusp of bombshells

Of a fight with no promise,
In thoughtful speech
I resolved my intimacies

With the mountain’s crest.
No sooner my thoughts showed
White as winter’s first snow

And I was able to read them
With lucid disparity
As true as one’s second love.


I said a prayer
But it was dust in my mouth
Fante had written to me

My friend, I could tell–
His handwriting
Went north to south

It were only an earthquake
That had dropped him
Down to his knee.


Fern in the lake,
From behind the shadow of the sparrow
You pollute my soul with worry.

That this cascade I fathom
Could be reason for your condition! How I
Have imagined such terror!

Whole forests wait for you.
This baptism—when will it end? When will
The surface fall? The hilt to

An oar and its ear lobe shout
The Declaration of Transcendence quash-
ing the choir methamphetamine.

Beats the shore the Danish
Dough over the drum of the meter frantic &
Deep in Garcia & Garcia’s lost letters.

And then—Life on a line tense;
Life is it I wonder; Life is it I hope; O’ maybe
Life is all about a life here after.

The tug boat draws nearer. The crew
Smiles and exclaims on the dock embracing
As the sparrow left with the tow.

338542_10150433765951257_271736574_oStefan Schulz is a published poet, journalist, author, and curator. His works include Featured, a collection of poems, and The Book of Delicacies, an arrangement of open source photos and their written reflections. He has been published in The Argo, The Press of Atlantic City, Peeking Cat Poetry, Ricochet Magazine, and CyberHex Journal. Schulz currently resides in New Jersey and is the founder of South Jersey (SJ) Review.


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