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Beatrice Lazarus

Beatrice Lazarus's poetry has appeared in numerous literary journals including The Lyric, Pearl, Sou’wester, Clark Street Review, Poem, The Iconoclast, Plainsongs, Small Pond Magazine of Literature, and Pegasus Literary Magazine, among others.  One of her poems, "Laparoscopy," can be found in the February 2012 issue of JAMA (Poetry and Medicine column).  Her poem, "Break of Day," is the winner of The Briar Cliff Review Poetry Prize, 2013.  

She is the editor of The Loft Anthology: New England Poetry and Art, and Director of The Poetry Lofta non-profit literary arts organization that provides workshops, readings, and creative fellowship.

Her poetry is included in The Poetry Loft anthology, Nine New England Poets on love and loss. Edited by Beatrice Lazarus, it includes poems by Nancy E. Brown, James Cronin, Michael Crowley, Diane Dolphin, Joan Fishbein, Karen Haskell, Maureen Lapre, Beatrice Lazarus, Sandra Moran.
Projected Release date: May 25, 2014. Order here from Main Street Rag.
 

 Bea's Origami micro-chapbooks & selected poems are available below.

 

Origami Micro-chapbook

Selected Poem(s)

On a reading of poems at the Towers
 

Photo by Richard Benjamin
- by kind permission -
//richardbenjamin.zenfolio.com

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They come slowly up, swim
reddened seas to get here. The night before
they could not sleep, eyes fixed on feckless
words, lines criss-crossed, passed over, tossed
into black wastebaskets, declarations
unsaid. Some things are not meant to be read.
They’ll force a galaxy into an ocean,
sunrise into the glow of a clock, a great wave
of sighs into the kiss goodnight.
 
Beatrice Lazarus © 2013

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Natural Instinct: A Story in Verse 

 

       

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She leans flaccid into the crook of my elbow,
a stranger’s sheltering arm, her head flung back,
bearing the weight of her young muscles,
their faraway yoke, their mitochondrial mourning.
Her limbs enflamed with the untranslatable,
a phantom memory of escape, of being tossed.
 
Her eyes always on me, she searches anything,
everything, for an inexplicable vanishing. I want to
understand such solitude spilling out of sorrow, how
she is always close to falling, tremulous at the edge
of some unnavigable tracks, crying love love love
up against a strangers’ brown faux fur.
 
Beatrice Lazarus © 2009

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