Gregory Vincent St. Thomasino
(USA)
En Prise
From Tyre, Sidon,
To Carthage, distant Spain;
Fleeing Herod massacres, crumbling towers.
Europe uses us, our garnered wealth;
New ports refuse us.
Some die,
Some live on to ground worthy of our bone.
O, my ruby, by starlight I see you sparkle—
The pearl in your bowel is hope, is honey.
Murder Me
Morning call. The starlings arrive
Uncountable to their range
Their plumage boasts green, plum-color,
Black inside the sun’s irony
Groundsmen rake the gardens-askew
Old fox shakes a crease off his business-daily
Morphe. The curtains move. Susurrant.
Why won’t the air relax them?
The postman arrives,
In each hand a dagger sheathed in white linen
They’ve sent me palm,
The Easter gladiolus, Belgian chocolate
A rabid, aching woman, her teeth wont to tear
Dissolves beneath a pale blue robe
Retainers take pains to collect her
She is gone to green city Oz
I remain. Crystal turquoise.
Waxy lustres guard my lacquer-sheen
I, aporia, a plethora of word, confound prospectors’
Chip and dig, survey the disheveled forest
I felt their acid,
Pitting little singes as it reached hysteria
They could have swallowed me whole
And they would have
Traveling Circus
after Paul Klee
In my tear,
That is where they exist:
Cute magician, ventriloquist,
Fat Lady sitting asmile atop an obelisk.
A train of thought?
Perhaps a gist.
Swami, charmer-somnambulist,
No dream, this precipice.
A movie screen —
Two-dimensional, white.
Heretofore abstracted themes come alight,
And encore, encore, encore.
A stilted Mex,
Diver’s eye,
Bewitches a lissome trapezist.
One-ringed escapade, that get.
The acrobatics of smile ponder midair,
Take the sway to the fore then diminish.
The tumultuous sigh of an angry gibe
Loosed upon a vacant arena.
Painter,
Poet with sentient eye, ear,
If the image exists in turbidity, remain enigma,
With the Noh mask, clown’s makeup.
Twillingate
The verbena thinned
into separate purple clusters
She lay near that renascent sea
with air clear and cupidless dolphin
balancing fear anticipation her heart
swollen with apparent exuberance
That barnacled crust
and then that silver plush
Her head pitched at zenith
she begged the copious twinkle
into winks of falling tear
asunder they sank
Now aquatic almost mirthful
she bore past seashells
and torn parasols
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BIO
Gregory Vincent St. Thomasino was born in Greenwich Village, New York, and was raised in both the city and in the country across the Hudson River in New Jersey.
He was educated at home, eventually to enter Fordham University where he received a degree in philosophy. In 2009 he received the Distinguished Scholar Award from the Doctor of Arts in Leadership program at Franklin Pierce University in New Hampshire. His work has appeared in anthologies including the language art anthology The Dark Would (Apple Pie Editions, 2013) and Stone, River, Sky: An Anthology of Georgia Poems (Negative Capability Press, 2015).
His digital poetry has been anthologized in the Brazilian book, Poesia Eletrônica: negociações com os processos digitais [Electronic Poetry: negotiations with digital processes] (Jorge Luiz Antonio, 2008).
His play, Come Spring, Comes a Circus, was in October 2013 performed in Tbilisi, Georgia, in the Georgian language, by the Margo Korableva Performance Theatre directed by David Chikhladze. St. Thomasino writes for various media, including “physical theatre.”
http://www.towerjournal.com/cd/chora/chora.html
Today he lives in Brooklyn Heights, New York, where he works as a private docent. His most recent volume of poetry is The Valise (Dead Academics Press, 2012).