Adam Brodsky Cleveland Heights, OH poet

and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana,

solitary in a wide flat space,

uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend a lover near,

I know very well I could not

Walt Whitman


Jim Lang and Ben Gulyas clear of sockets


Oh, Sunflower (for Lang)

Oh, sunflower–
socket clear & skeleton thick–
w/roots every which way
connecting it
across time
to loneliness…

Oh, beauty,
waiting perfect
in tin cans
we’ve come
to gently stew in…
the foto finish shows
you’re black & white,
a stalk in the night,
a glare,
a caption.

In twilight,
you stood alone
with it all running through,
a rail yard,
a bottle cap,
a memory,
a train.

Those shoes
were big enough for two
& two more.
You led the pack
putting familiars
the direction
your beard pointed.
A theme.

Even with strangers,
you were never alone,
On the bus.
Horsing around.
Trailing the tears.
Making moments.
lines of smoke
into clouds.
into a hat.
It was a party:
Lang gone wild.
A discussion.
Take your stalk & go.
Hoof it
back into family,
forward into history,
with a paper bag
of words
that stars fall out of
& dreams.
Look, there’s a penny.
No, it’s a dime.

June, moon, tune, croon,
Oh, sunflower.
Train, train, train.


Adam Brodsky is a poet, publisher and educator who performs guitar songs round the parts of Cleve.

Jim Lang Cleveland Poet and Photographer




Jim Lang passed away some days back… he gave art tours at the Cleveland Clinic, which is one of the best galleries in the nation. He published a considerable amount of rags and bag-o-zines, rethought what a book was back at Coach House in O Canada before settling in Columbus then Cleve. he threw pots, practiced the art of Raku and took photos of countless musicians, artists and poets in – or passing through Cleveland, spanning many a decade. A memorial of sorts here…pass on by and drop a line or twenty.

Jim Lang (Cleveland, OH)

On the Way Out

my dad on the way out

looked @ me

& said

“i am usually not like this”

–Jim Lang is a Cleveland poet and artist who published twenty-some issues of a bagozine called Split Wh*skey, edited things like COVENTRY READER and was a resident rabble-rousing curmudgeonly provocateur at Coach House in old Canada. He makes pots and drinks retsina while photographing the great poets.