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RODGER MARTIN

"Blueberry Barrens"

Like Bronte’s moors, all ruddy maroon, all Heathcliffe

the blueberry barrens stretch horizon to horizon

close-cropped to the earth.     Dirt tracks mark mile

upon mile of rutted paradise like a Sunday’s military

firing range.  Migrant barracks hide on the edges

far from good roads--far from tasty bites of muffins

amid sips of hot tea--a pretense of peace and place.

Alone, the frittata’s sauce touches the need

to believe.  Taste deep as tongue spreads

down the spine’s pores and hungers

like an aborigine, crouched before red

sandstone hungers, the sound

of his digiri bounding, winding

across the scrub. He sniffs,

fresh from the outback’s oven,

his olfactory rising like bread.

 

Alone, a dark glass of Montepulciano

worships mystery beneath a vineyard moon.

Like a wolf’s yowl echoes across an escarpment,

it yearns for the ears of its partner

trotting the edge where she pauses

to let the warm breeze rise

and rustle the ruff of her neck. 

 

Alone, an orange cuts freshness into rosettes

like a jaguar silently padding a river’s bank. 

Its yellow eyes scrutinize the least uncertainty 

ready to spring, to lock jaws

‘round a cranium of doubt and with one

omniscient bite, convert the mind’s shell first

into lunch, then into life, and last into thought.

"A poet must brunch alone"

 Dublin, N.H.

The trattoria— crossword of the nose,

intersection of the taste, mirror

where tongue and ear meet eye while plates serve song,

And song sings pasta.  Kitchens stage three-part

Syncopated feasts, and singers salad up

Big-Daddy-oh eat at the bar while musicians

Swizzle picks over strings with dessert for a star.

 

And in the blue room an aristocratic carafe

of nebbiolo Barolo softens light

and mysteries between lovers’ words, a brush

like a double-pawed cat curling among the tables,

nuzzling, kneading our muzzles to a satisfied purr. 

"For Del Rossi’s Homemade Pasta"

     
               Originally appeared in Chrysanthemum Review, 2020                                              

Fourteen bison, Hancock, New Hampshire,

lounge lush bottomlands along Valley Road.

Five cows, nine calves: shaggy, black, confident,

their humps mock the grass castrated bovines

have grazed where Currier and Ives prefer

lithographs to these socialists’  frosty breath. 

And now non-virtual, two dimensional Silicon Valley

screeds disrupt them to asylums for the deranged. 

 

Yes, the pacified cattle still graze one meadow,

facsimiles to these powder-horned beasts

munching, ignoring white fences.  Both feed

me, but bison gore holes in closed houses,

shove me out into dawn, beneath blue sky  

and green canopies where a chipmunk’s scratching

taps to the full-throated flute of the thrush.

One must awake bird misty and early worm

to unlock the sleep-clogged brain slurping above

a cream-colored, china bowl edged with blue design

that captures all our stories and swirls them inside. 

Fill it with Krispies, sugar, and milk. 

Next add atmosphere, galactic space, even jello

might float,  but best let those grains note

their pearl-cultured feast, and pound that Java

where diked paddies mirror the green deep

of sharp Tao hills laced with strands of cloud

which ghost the pagodas cragged beyond steep.

O, if one could, like Buddha, dig a spoon

into the belly of the universe, then might one tune

the after this life and “Snap, crackle, and pop!”

"RICE KRISPIES"     

                                            

MORE ABOUT RODGER MARTIN

Rodger Martin’s For All The Tea in Zhōngguó, 2019, follows The Battlefield Guide, and the selection of The Blue Moon Series  by Small Press Review as a bi-monthly picks of the year. His newest book, The Sleeping Dogs of Lubec, was shortlisted for the 2024 Granite State Poetry Book Award and published by NatureCulture books in 2025.    He received the 2024 Stanley Kunitz Medal and an Appalachia award for poetry. His work has been extensively translated and published in China where he has participated in the pastoral poetry exchange of poets between China and the United States.   He’s a recipient of numerous fellowships.  He was Managing Editor of The Worcester Review for twenty-seven years.    His first collection, A Martian Perspective: The Nemo Poems, was published in 1990 as a result of winning a New Hampshire State Council on the Arts Artist Fellowship in fiction and a new and revised edition by NatureCulture Books came out in 2025.  

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