Book Review: Zeller’s Alley

In Zeller’s Alley, the debut poetry collection by poet B. Diehl, we get over 100 pages of poetry that offer not only a combination of personal reflection and social commentary, but also an enticing memoir as we look through the mind of this young man as he recalls and processes key moments from his life.

In Zeller’s Alley, we live his experiences. We know his passions. We feel his pain. We burn with his angst. By the end of this collection, I almost felt as if I knew the poet personally. I certainly learned much about him through these pages, and no doubt, I learned a bit more about myself in the process.

Over the course of these poems, Diehl proves without a doubt that, despite his age, he is a seasoned wordsmith with much to say. There is no fat here. Zeller’s Alley is a trimmed and solid collection of quality poetry. Overall, I highly enjoyed it. It was entertaining, compelling, and thought-provoking from cover to cover. I will be anxious to see what this very talented poet does next. Heavily recommended!

Purchase Zeller’s Alley at Amazon HERE.

Connect with B. Diehl via his Website HERE.

Rage in Glass

During a recent family trip to an amusement park, an incident with a gorilla inspired me to write this piece. As is the case with most of the poetry I publish here, it is a rough draft WIP, but I thought it might be fun to share. Enjoy!

Rage in Glass

 

Daydreaming…

…bamboo snaps,

wicker rustlings,

crystal dew on moist, misty mornings–

 

–peck, peck, peck, rat-a-tat-tap,

breaking concentration.

A slight jolt,

eyes shifting, giving warning.

 

Mid-day in shade,

awake from napping.

Still groggy, stomach growling.

Companions nearby,

silver lining telling them who’s king–

 

–peck, peck, peck, rat-a-tat-tap.

Annoyance boiling to anger.

Another warning.

Human faces staring, gawking.

 

Again dreaming…

…beneath the canopy,

building beds of brush,

breathing abundant greenery.

Remembering cadence,

sweet nectar rains

drumming on banana leaves,

softly, hypnotic–

 

–peck, peck, peck, rat-a-tat-tap.

Rage surmounting.

Too many futile warnings.

Nearly breaching

captivity-eroded threshold–

 

–peck, peck, peck, rat-a-tat–

SLAM!

Double fists against pane,

full strength never breaking.

Human screaming

resonates through glass.

 

To the dead we go!

As I was preparing my manuscript for entry into a poetry chapbook contest, I came across this poem. It reflects upon my childhood, to a time when my brother and I ran away from home and hid in the cemetery. As today is also my brother’s birthday, I thought it would be nice to share this poem in lieu of a gift (since I’m broke and can’t afford to buy gifts).  Happy Birthday, my brother. And to the rest of you, I hope you also enjoy!

 

To the dead we go!

 

Brother said we had to run,

run, run away from home!

Where to go?

Anywhere but home!

To the dead we go!

 

Along the graveled road,

through the woods we trek;

over the barrel bridge

to cross the dried-up creek.

 

Beyond the old lagoon,

with towering weeds

and whispering clatters;

traversing trodden trails,

across the fields and thickets—

To the dead we go!

 

We looked at gravestones,

spoke of dead things,

and how we shouldn’t

have tread where dead were buried.

 

With light of day then fading,

ghosts swarming in a field,

angered and vengeful,

we made a swift return

back through woods to home—

To the dead we go!

Cygnus

While re-compiling the bibliography for my website, I took notice of the first poem I ever had published, Cygnus. As it stands, the online journal it was published to is now defunct. Therefore, I thought I’d revive the piece by posting it here on my blog. It’s just a little poem that reflects upon my childhood. Enjoy!

Cygnus

Tortured youth cast into a pond,

overflowing with eyes of ridicule;

and the child relates perhaps too strongly,

brought to tears as the words are read.

He won’t hear the rest or see the end;

the pain is all too great.

 

Illustrations reveal absolute horror,

like a view box into the soul:

the desperate creature,

three times the size of all the others,

awkward, gray feathers,

unkempt in straggled layers;

tormentors smooth in canary coats;

soft fluffy down and perfect little beaks

contrast the ugly bill.

 

And from the pane of solemn eye,

moisture swells into a drop,

bleeds from sight,

the moment captured on a page–

it’s all too much.

 

But mother pushes on

for she knows the end,

and the next page reveals the truth–

stranger in a strange land,

different at first yet stranger still,

but ugliness now faded.

 

That which was so gray and bleak

is transformed,

to glide reflected upon the waters;

with all its strident, majestic breath,

the beauty speaks.