Jim Culleny is the Poetry Editor of 3 Quarks Daily. After a stint in the navy, Jim received a BA in Art Education from William Paterson University and did graduate work in art at NYU. He taught art for several years in NJ public schools in Newark and Bergen County. Taught a little bit of everything else during two years at a remote residential community school in New York’s Adirondacks. Was a social worker in Lower Manhattan before Soho was Soho. Made a living most of his life as a carpenter, designer, and builder. Did regular radio commentary for about 10 years during Morning Edition on WFCR.FM in Amherst, Mass. and some for NPR on All Things Considered. Played and sang his way from rockabilly to jazz in numberless band permutations over a period too long to believe. Came to poetry through songwriting. Has had work published in The Third Muse Poetry Journal, the Christian Science Monitor, Penthouse Journal, and in 5-Minute Pieces, a chapbook published in Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts. He’s also been writing a regular op-ed column for the past 12 years for the Greenfield Recorder along the beautiful Connecticut River, and is presently making a living as project manager for an Architectural firm. Jim lives with his wife, Pat, of 31 years, and his 17 year old granddaughter. He has three daughters and four other grandchildren. Email: jimculleny [at] comcast.net
Then If it were thenI’d be seated on the step of the well house gazing at peach tree buds and the tales they toldof waiting, swelling, beinglistening with the lake at my back down and through the steep slope of woods across the street. I’d see its gleaming surface spark through voids of oaks and…
TV, Bronx News 6/30/17 Gun again.In this case a pissed-offformer employeewith a not-so-extraordinarysense of personal privilege to take life by right, which in the American zeitgeisthas become popular asan act of self expression affordedby liberty through an amendment to law lucrative to private sector arms interestswho live by death through means of tiny explosionsof sulfur…
Blots In inkwell times when quills were used (ends of sharpened feathers splitwhich above a writer's work twitchedas when a bird would scratch an itch)we scratched our hieroglyphs in night-black licks pausing intermittently to dip the split quill's endinto wells candlelit in nights as black as pitch We coaxed from shades what they might think.We…
Dilemma take the dilemma of the moon:two horns one night, tomorrowa small coin in a vast thoughtsimple as circle things passwhich is small consolationif they forever return as two horns mercilessly at opposite cornersof a skewed smile. Jim Culleny3/3/17
Beginning I’m thinking of cartoons that say the end is nigh on a sign held by a guy on a corner, rag coat, hunched, forlorn, whose years went south, didn’t pan out as he thought they would when he was a boy, the way they should’ve but never made it over a midlife hump when…
The Free Exercise of At its center is a tree which wraps the garden in its entirety The roots of it run deep— some say to a molten core while some insist they exit the other sideto suck juices from a Southern Cross and that its sweet and sour blooms on this respiring side of…
Okay, poets, we get it: things are like other things …… —A. R. & M. G. Ah, But Math is Like That Too When poets are so dissedby engineers and physiciststhey really should consider this: (4+2) is just like 6and keeping that in mind81’s like the square of 9and in case you think theseare a…
Having Coffee i’m having coffee i’m dreaming I’m having coffee with Whistler’s mother i’m scratching a knuckle with my nose i’m not listening to my wife while gazing out a window i’m imagining our small distant sun rising over the horizon of Neptune i’m having coffee, paper cup with a heat sleeve i’m playing with…
“The woolly mammoth vanished from the Earth 4,000 years ago, but now scientists say they are on the brink of resurrecting the ancient beast in a revised form, through an ambitious feat of genetic engineering.” — Hannah Devlin inThe Guardian Lazarus If the wooly mammoth becomes the new Lazarusreborn from an ice sarcophagusdoes it mean…
Things We Learn Things come to usout of nowhere they come Surfers riding waves we learn the nuances of gravityits center-of, its bonding property,its Gs, its fatal promise, we learnhow to stand erect and, for the most part, stay that waylearn how to take a fallhow to shuck and jive through sticky momentsthrough disequilibrium to…
On particle “action at a distance”: “…if particles have definite states even when no one is looking (a concept known as realism) and if indeed no signal travels faster than light (locality)… (and, as has) recently been discovered … you can keep locality and realism by giving up just a little bit of freedom.” This…
..[Listen below] Pattern Language I take the sidewalk a step at a time, shards of its exposed aggregate form archipelagos, and there’s Jesus in a cloud, or is it Lao Tzu explaining Is without a word Deep clefts in the bark of a tree just passed define the humps of Appalachians. I saw Scranton…
“All humans are genetically 99.9 per cent identical.” —Roger Highfield, Science Editor Great Wall, Tremendous Wall.Something there is that doesn’t love a wall one poet said imagining friendly neighbors working their way along that which stood between, resetting fallen gneiss and granite loaves and balls that had fallen to each to keep their wall intactwhile…
Once Upon a Spacetime — to P. on our 40th anniv. . . . . . .A couple of hours before twilighta gibbous moon rose in the eastover the serpentine spine of the mountaina bright hole in a bluegrey scrim,just there without reason,as uncomplicated and expectedas a shard of granite on the slope of a…
The past is inevitable. …………—Delmore Schwartz, Poet Hadn’t Thought of it Like That Though likely, tomorrow is not set This day’s loose ends twist in the wind like kite tails jerked in blue at the end of present’s string becoming codas no one can sing— the future’s not something on which you should bet Only…
Love Kitchen —Mary Mraz Culleny, 12/8/17-3/2/03 The tsunami scent of yeast inundated our house the mornings our mother baked bread up through floorboards it came, up the stairwell it spread stirring our dreamselves alive— fresh loaves, bells for the nose their toll sent sleep from somnolent heads I’d written that thinking of her floured hands,sifting,…
In Books when words make love sentences are bornthe world’s heft is changed by the weight of nouns,the hesitations of hyphens and commas, like the space between breaths, tell the rhythm of what’s new and what’s been, the dead stops of periods spell the end of what a breath holds,adjectives, like the blood blush of…
Darwin's Surf…. —ode to cells Before metaphorical allusionswe are warm and wet.Seas surge within us. In little cytoplasmic bays, tiny ships of golgi moornear lysosome cays enclosed by permeable breakwater membranes that all rise and fall with nucleo tidesin ebbs and flows through generationsrendering noses pug or aquilineand eyes skybright or in colors of loam;…
Death of NGC 2440 although you are distant distant distant I can see by your last aura against a black further distance, the most distant distance… I can see by your billowing halo of expanding gasses fluffed like god’s pillow that you are ruled by laws that also rule terrestrial things I see the colors…
“(Swifts) feed in the air, they mate in the air, they get nest material in the air. They can land on nest boxes, branches, or houses, but they can't really land on the ground.”— Researcher Susanne Åkesson Swift I’ve been airborne since Augustus layed the footings of the Roman Peace ……—in that alone I flew…