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
Whatcham’callit She’s dead, he said. So’s he, said she. Kicked the bucket, he said. Bought the farm, said she. Under the clover, he said. Crossed over, said she. Iced with a heater, he said. Sleeps with the fishes, said she. Taken for a little ride, he said. Gone to the other side, said she. Flat-lined, he said. Out…
(Known Miniscule) + (Unknown Immense) is . . . before the sun rose, they rose, they were soft-spoken to shadows so as not to stir them they let blood and would sometimes sweat and spit. when shadows were too cruel. they prayed for light tree’s sunlit shadow: big trunk moves in wind limb dangling, brushes…
Race is a Political Animal white is a color not a race red is a color not a race black is a color not a race yellow is a color not a race brown is a color not a race human is a race of many colors equines are animals that come in colors, not…
Newton’s 2nd Law & Uncommon Sense 3 things: 1. the future’s unknown, 2. I’ll never know what it meant till it’s past, neither its force nor mass, nor 3. the speed with which its die is cast moving straight ahead in time, if nothing’s pulling me aside I’ll move this way forever in an infinite line if…
What’s More . . . who was the woman who, 13.787 ± 0.020 billion years ago, birthed the universe from a bang? what an extravagant nativity, what an immense and unruly child came forth, unfurling, emerging in the space it made how could she have imagined how singular and varied her child would become, how…
The Hunter I hike up the hill at a clip to keep this heart alive Orion’s over my left shoulder with arms raised always in his almost-never-ending black place in sky immersed in blazing stars in utter space Skirting single Cheryl’s I wonder again what it is she does in summer her shingled house is…
Graduations I have before me a list of extensions without names. But it seems not to go on forever, because of horizon which, with the slickness of a blade, a knife of limitation, slashes time in two I’ve ticked-off the list through many graduations, sometimes with honors, sometimes smeared against a wall of dreams since…
Trying to make Sense of Red —A Tennessee Cleanup Its janitors are sweeping up its sins— senators are on the floor with whisks and fine-toothed combs. They crawl and sift, scooping, collecting photographs of those they’ve lynched they cram them into rubbish bins —before their kids get wind they ban their two-faced history, they ban …
Chuang Tzu’s Butterfly “Once upon a time, I, Zhuangzi (Chuang Tzu), dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Zhuangzi. Soon I awakened, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do…
Betta Than Meta Here’s an idea: in FB scroll down at say a post a second —keep on keeping on (maybe Meta’s your thing) find your groove, lose yourself in avatars and memes, get a timely sense of your milieu, what you’re enmeshed in now, good or ill, a scroll of streaming truth, or not, soundless, unless you hum a…
“But in 2500 B.C. Harappa, who cast in bronze a servant girl? No one keeps records of soldiers and slaves.” … —from At the Museum, by Agha Shahid Ali In Jerusalem I’ve learned a new word: asafoetida, or asafetida, which is a gum ground from Near Eastern plants of the genus Ferula which smells fetid …. and was used once…
Especially Where You’re Concerned —on a thought of Maurice Sendak I’ll sob my way to the grave as the world disappears one friend at a time, but especially where you’re concerned, the old man said. So, there is a bit of joy in the thought of leaving first since I won’t have to sob until…
….—on a cartoon by Harry Bliss ..Yes, But . . . … It’s … a mixed bag ….a contentious thought ….a hard truth ….a contradiction of emotions ….a matter of time ….a bittersweet line ….a fickle notion ….a double standard ….a salve ….a remedial lotion ….a half-truth ….a deep and restless ocean Jim Culleny, 2/25/23…
Fugitive big brown bison walks the white line of a two-lane, black eyes scanning for a sign, regarding asphalt he wonders what happened to the grass how did this black ribbon come to bisect my meadow between talus and hundred-foot pines and where are the columbine? he asks no one in particular because not even the alpha male…