Tag Archives: Kiel M. Gregory

This Is What I Know

a cento^* for LD, who asked me to write this poem

I am the next, the one more, another who hasn’t heard you,

and all I can feel are your earnest eyes:

stubborn sun,

choosing to rise,

stopped seeing beneath the shadows.

I don’t know your past.

I can’t cross this ground.

I imagine myself inside your skin.

I saw what waits there.

O heavenly dark rendered in a woman’s body,

I am truth. I am evidence.

I can make it all visible:

between god’s legs there are no answers

hard and unbending,

and I can see why you’d hate

wounded poems.

When it’s over, I get into my car,

then you’re human again.

You too once knew what it was to feel impressive.

How different is that from lovemaking?

^*

Dear Graham,

It’s been _ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___
__ _ ___ __ _ __ ___ _ twenty years_ __ _ ___ __ _ _____ _ ___ __ __ ___ __
___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___  ___ __ _ _ ___ but _ __ _ _ __ _ __ you were always him.

_ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __  I can___ see _ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ __ the face of your son.

_ __ _ ____________ I have shown you _ __ _ ________ change_. _ ._ _ ___  ____

_ __ _ ______ I don’t know the faces of my sons_ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ __

If we ____ lived as brothers, _ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ __ we could _  ______

________ grow together.

Losing you was _ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ __ _ ___
___ __ _ ___ __ ___ __ _ ___ _____ __ _ ___ ____ __ _ ___ __ _  painful.

Now that _ __ _ ___ __ _ __ drugs_ now that ______ homeless _______ I wonder why ____

_ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ ___ __ _ __, brother? Where were you when I needed you most?

Kiel M. Gregory teaches poetry workshops for the Binghamton Poetry Project, serves as Guest Curator for Bartle Library, and works as an administrator for Binghamton University where he is an MA candidate. He is currently working on his thesis, a collection of poetry based around the themes of family, fatherhood, and loss. His prose and verse appear in Lips, Stone Canoe, Hypertext Magazine, and other fine journals. Visit kielmgregory.com for more.

Submitting to Literary Journals.docx

this handout on submitting to literary journals

was adapted and condensed from a workshop syllabus

which was likely adapted and condensed elsewhere

we writers

we do this to each other

it’s in our history,

which is to say,

our blood

let’s pretend

your predicament is serious,

is recent poetry,

and you feel small,

vulnerable, publishable

you, mildly familiar with the world,

are feeling lucky, punk

you think your skin,

like armor

against the inevitable rejection,

sufficient

believe it—

you are a poem

let that last stanza            breathe

give it        space       on the page

       to seize      doubt

let your courage        strength        raw unjustified belief

carry you                                          to empty fields

populated with contact information

and cover letters

which we will cover next class

remember                     to be kind

        and the right kind of cool:

             read              work

published in previous issues

(and)

                          the guidelines

Kiel M. Gregory is a poetry workshop instructor for young minds in the Southern Tier of New York, where he is an M.A. candidate at Binghamton University. His prose and verse appear in Lips, Paterson Literary Review, Stone Canoe, Furrow, 365 Tomorrows, and elsewhere. Visit kielmgregory.com for more.

Dragonchaser

Mesmerized

irises. Foil-thin lips

suck

sludge into lungs.

Sex,

inutile. A woman

seduced

by residue.

Nothing

sacred escapes

a black trail

down.

Meal scraps,

sweat-

stains & hopeless

air

hug the furniture.

I

watch her azure,

witness

a woman

need

some other love.

Powerless,

I call 911 &

breathe

for us both.

Kiel M. Gregory works with youth in the Southern Tier of New York where he is an MA candidate at Binghamton University. His prose and verse appear in Lips, Paterson Literary Review, Furrow, and aaduna, among others. Visit kielmgregory.com for more.

13 Days After, While at Work

All the sporty folk who

go the distance and

fuck thrice daily

run miles in colorful joggers,

push strollers and cappuccinos

‘round the block.

Through the bar’s glass—

with jigger and muddled bitters—

I think about my two little boys

and this divorce. A past echoes

with visual aids:

Outside, happy couples hold hands,

tug each other toward the next interest.

Inside, patrons speak softly

with locked, loving eyes.

Others cheer the Cowboys

with a gaze held in duress.

I pour, polish, wipe

a run-down surface,

aim for cleanliness,

and need a deep breath.

Kiel M. Gregory lives and tends bar in Sackets Harbor, NY, and studies English literature, creative writing, and philosophy at SUNY Oswego. He has served as guest editor for the North Country Writers Festival and managing editor for Jane’s Boy Press. His prose and verse appear in Lips, Paterson Literary Review, aaduna, Furrow, Audeamus, and elsewhere. In addition to writing, his interests include skydiving, cooking, photography, and reading classic and contemporary speculative fiction. Visit kielmgregory.com for more.

Emotionally Compartmentalized Lovemaking Is Called Fucking

When she said Deeper,

I thought how far I’d already gone;

fearing her departures even before she’d left,

wanting for our moments and instances

of effortless chemistry to never

stop boiling over.

When she said Harder,

I thought how difficult it already was;

sharing that most intimate, connected moment,

creating a space within me for her.

When she said You feel so good inside me,

I thought how my chance for that had passed;

having someone so ready to love me for who I am,

finding someone so willing to accept what I was,

how remarkable that our encounter should come to be

and how long I’d wanted that emotional connection.

When she said I won’t disappear on you,

I thought how her words seemed out of place;

a foreshadowing I denied.

Kiel M. Gregory is a poet, fiction writer, and essayist living in Sackets Harbor, NY. He attends SUNY Oswego where he studies Creative Writing and Philosophy. He co-facilitates a weekly poetry workshop at SUNY Jefferson. In addition to Gandy Dancer, his work has appeared or is forthcoming in Paterson Literary Review, Lips, Great Lake Review, Black River Review, and the North Country Writers Festival.