Bonnie Roberts Poetry

Bonnie Roberts

United States
ph: 256-642-6838

Contact ME

Want an item of news posted? A new book out? Send me an email! I'll be happy to post it on NEWS!

Note: If you are looking for the Bonnie Roberts who wrote Bruised Heart and published it at Lulu.com, I am not she. Sorry. I can't believe there is another Bonnie Roberts poet out there in the world. I wonder how many of us there are? If you are a Bonnie Roberts and a poet, please contact me. Maybe we can all get together for a "gatherin' of the clan" in Scotland at Robert Burns' estate! My middle name is Leslie. Do I now have to use my middle name? My social security number? Why don't one of YOU use YOUR middle names? YOUR social security numbers? Why does it fall to me? I'm old. I think I was here first. :)

Looking for an editor? Want to order a copy of Dances in Straw with a Two-Headed Calf?

Cover of Dances in Straw with a Two-Headed Calf, Elk River Review Press, art by Ms. Helen Vaughn, cover design by Scott Panciera

Sample poem:

Ishmael, Who Will Father Me Now?

Queequeg is my father.

He builds my coffin,

by hand.

My coffin that is also my boat,

with paddles and biscuits

and a bit of sail.

Queequeg if my father.

He writes riddles

on his body

that can never be told

that will molder at the bottom

of the sea

that would again render

Pip insane.

Pip and me.

Queequeg is my father.

He knows I will need

hieroglyphics

I can feel with my hands--

the oakum lumber and harpoon,

the grotesque figures on the lid--

on my journey

into the mouth of the white whale,

into the grinding ivory universe,

that almost ate Pip whole.

Queequg is my father.

Hunter, harpooner,

he is closer to life than me or Pip,

who cannot see the Mystery

and endure intact,

as the one whole twisted piece of art

that is my father.

I beat my tambourine

and make up wise

and senseless poems,

while the meaty shreds of Pip

hang from the whale's mouth.

Queequeg is my father.

My father died.

But I float on the coffin lid he made

for me

and sharks to not bite, out of awe

or lack of hunger,

and sea hawks do not tear me apart,

his orphan child

on her way

to the starry archipelagoes

where I rise and fall on waves of the coded universe,

where a whale's skeleton

seems to be

the hull of a great ship,

and malady is health,

and a coffin is life-buoy,

and where there are no words

for father.

More pre-primordial paintings coming in October--if you think you can bear it! More poetry! Video-taped poetry readings! Please send me your news!

Bonnie Roberts

United States
ph: 256-642-6838