bart solarczyk


Tunnel to the Sky

Time heals
then we fuck-up again.
Someone leaves
the motor running.
Someone bolts
the garage door.
Someone falls asleep
where she shouldnít.
Shot down,
stuck like this.
No light,
no tunnel
to the sky.
With wine
you waltz around it.
With wings
youíd show them all.
With anyone
youíd dance another spin.
Time to heal.
Time to try.
Time to fuck-up again.
Tell me:
Have you ever felt
less loved?


Page from Spruce Valley

A backyard mourning dove
puffing for its mate

the feathered pitch
of Aprilís plaintive coo.


With Janetís Ghost

The sunís still there
in the morning
& the stars shine
every night.
Just a little more lonely
& stuffed with regret.
Stuck here
stoned & motherless.
to a cold blue globe.
Riding whatís there.
Seeking an orbit
less cruel.


Too Many Cigars

& iím puking

too many beers
& iím down
on the floor

too many lies
& I'm leaving

too many times
these wet streets
the slammed door.


To be a Poet in America

Is to drink excessively
word-fuck with anyone
even extrememly intelligent
Forsake smoky jazz
bearded tradition.
Squat in the basement
from the guns.


The Heart Endures
              ( for Jen Perks )

Jen, it's four days after
the 4th of July
& i'm over the hump
of this summer thing
& i'm wondering if you'll
meet me for a drink?
i remember a night
you were beautiful
in the barroom light:
baseball cap & ponytail,
cigarette & sneer.
Some asshole feeding
the jukebox.
Tom Petty
the best we got.
But wee braced the bar
& bled the light
because the heart endures
all bullshit,
the heart endures
right through the final beat.
Winter afternoons
pushing your Mitsubishi.
That hot greasy Friday
i failed to fix your flat.
Lunchtime emergencies.
Holy half-moon nights.
Lakes & rivers & reservoirs
of beer. Hey Jen, it's another Friday
& i don't feel like working.
Hey Jen, you got something
i can try? Let's push past the alley,
past the big world,
past the sky!
i'll fix that flat.
i'll drive anytime.

Crows on the wing
                    now dropping
---murder in the snow


Tunnel To the Sky poems available for a stamp & an envelope.

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Bart Solarcyzk
126 Spruce Court
Pittsburgh, PA 15229

  by bart solarczyk

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Peshekee River Poetry
Tom Blessing, Editor

bart solarczyk

I play guitar, live in Pittsburgh with one wife, two cats, one dog. Been around small press since the early 80s, etc. I've slept over at Ron Androla's house.


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