Contributor Profile : Charles Rammelkamp

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Charles Rammelkamp is a regular contributor to North of Oxford. Charles lives in Baltimore, Maryland with his wife Abby. He is the Prose Editor for Brick House Books in Baltimore and Reviews Editor for The Adirondack Review. A chapbook of poems, Jack Tar’s Lady Parts, is available from Main Street Rag Publishing. Another poetry chapbook, Me and Sal Paradise, was recently published by Future Cycle Press. An e-chapbook has also recently been published online Time Is on My Side (yes it is)http://poetscoop.org/manuscrip/Time%20Is%20on%20My%20Side%20FREE.pdf

His photographs, poetry and fiction have appeared in many literary journals. Poems most recently in Leaping Clear, Broadkill Review, Outlaw Poetry Network, Off Course, Foliate Oak, The Literary Nest and Oddball Magazine.

Reviews/Poems by Charles Rammelkamp at North of Oxford

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/tag/charles-rammelkamp/ 

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Poems On Line by Charles Rammelkamp

Leaping Clear:  https://www.leapingclear.org/charles-rammelkamp-poetry

Broadkill Review:   https://www.broadkillreview.com/single-post/2018/03/23/Charles-Rammelkamp-one-poem

Outlaw Poetry Network: https://outlawpoetry.com/2018/five-poems-by-charles-rammelkamp/

Off Course: https://www.albany.edu/offcourse/issue72/rammelkamp_jc.html

Foliate Oak: https://www.foliateoak.com/charles-rammelkamp2.html

Oddball Magazine: https://oddballmagazine.com/poem-by-charles-rammelkamp/

The Literary Nest: https://theliterarynest.com/issues/vol-4-issue-1/poetry/charles-rammelkamp/

Books by Charles Rammelkamp

At Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=Charles+Rammelkamp&ref=nb_sb_noss

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Contributor Profile: Ray Greenblatt

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Ray Greenblatt has lived in New England, the West Indies, and along the Eastern Shore. He is a regular review contributor to North of Oxford. Ray is an editor on the Schuylkill Valley Journal. He was also the editor of the magazine ”General Eclectic.” He has written short stories, essays, and poetry published across the U.S. His book reviews have been published by a variety of periodicals: BookMark Quarterly, Joseph Conrad Today, English Journal, the Dylan Thomas Society, and the John Updike Society. Greenblatt was a long time teacher and mentor at The Church Farm School and currently teaches a poetry course at Temple University. Greenblatt has taught writing at the Philadelphia Writers Conference as well as spoken at the John Steinbeck Festival in Salinas, California.

Greenblatt’s poetry has been published around the world, translated into Gallic, Polish and Japanese, as well as set to music at the University of Siena in Italy. He was awarded the Anthony Bryne Prize for Poetry. His poetry has most recently been published at: Subsynchronous Press, Pangolin Review, Clarion, Mediterranean Poetry, Poetry Pacific, Painters and Poets, Shot Glass Journal and The Plum Tree Tavern.

Greenblatt at North of Oxford

You can read Ray Greenblatt’s reviews and poems at North of Oxford:
https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/tag/ray-greenblatt/

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Poems On Line by Ray Greenblatt

Pangolin Review: https://docs.wixstatic.com/ugd/e869c8_a3cbfdb22d934b85b32932d419633a17.pdf
Clarion: http://www.bu.edu/clarion/18/ray-greenblatt.htm
Mediterranean Poetry: https://www.odyssey.pm/contributors/ray-greenblatt-15/
Poetry Pacific: http://poetrypacific.blogspot.com/2019/05/1-poem-by-ray-greenblatt.html
Painters & Poets: http://www.paintersandpoets.com/2013/08/poet-ray-greenblatt-giotto-and-joseph.html
Shot Glass Journal: http://www.musepiepress.com/shotglass/issue12/ray_greenblatt1.html
The Plum Tree Tavern: https://theplumtreetavern.blogspot.com/search/label/Ray%20Greenblatt

Books by Ray Greenblatt

Greenblatt on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/s?i=stripbooks&rh=p_27%3ARay+Greenblatt&s=relevancerank&text=Ray+Greenblatt&ref=dp_byline_sr_book_1
Greenblatt at Foothills: http://foothillspublishing.com/2010/id64.htm
Greenblatt at Incline: https://www.inclinepress.com/shop/sunspots

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Contributor Profile: Lynette G. Esposito

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Lynette G. Esposito is a regular contributor of book reviews to North of Oxford. Mrs. Esposito holds a BA in English from the University of Illinois and an MA in Creative Writing and English Literature from Rutgers University.  Mrs. Esposito has been an Adjunct Professor at Rowan University,  Burlington County and Camden County Colleges.  Her articles have appeared in the national publication, Teaching for Success; regionally in South Jersey Magazine, SJ Magazine. Delaware Valley Magazine, and her essays have appeared in Reader’s Digest and The Philadelphia Inquirer. A literary activist, Lynette has critiqued poetry for local and regional writer’s conferences and served as a panelist and speaker at local and national writer’s conferences.  You can read Mrs. Esposito’s reviews at North of Oxford at this link: https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/tag/lynette-g-esposito/

Lynette’s poetry has appeared in US1, SRN Review, The Fox Chase Review, Bindweed Magazine, Poetry Quarterly, That Literary Review, The Remembered Arts Journal, and other literary magazines.

Poetry Links for Lynette G. Esposito:

SN Review : http://www.snreview.org/03111Esposito.html

Bindweed Magazine: https://bindweedmagazine.wordpress.com/2017/09/07/lynette-g-esposito-1-poem/

That Literary Review: http://thatliteraryreview.com/PDFs/Issue3.pdf

The Remembered Arts Journal: https://rememberedarts.com/before-we-are-born-of-wind/

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She lives with her husband, Attilio, in Mount Laurel, NJ.

3 Poems by Mark B. Hamilton

great mia
.
In City
.
Massive piers vibrate with the cars
on Covington Bridge, commuting over natural stone
as soothing as a tomb lingering from the night.
.
I skim the shadows
near floating cafes where an occasional cook gazes out,
elbows on the railing, flipping a cigarette.
We pass with the slightest of nods.
.
Sun-lit glitter thrums along a rusted railroad trestle,
hums above imagined dinners neither of us could afford,
while Cincinnati vanishes into the rough corrugations
zoned commercial downstream.
.
The earth begins to heap into scattered clumps,
into mounds of materials, sand and aggregates, tanks
of petroleum from Ashland and Chevron, the conveyor belt
feeding dust into a cloud above a single, pickup truck.
.
Down City
 .
Silt and grit
simmer in the pools speckled with flecks
of metal and globs of oil.
.
Water churns in a commerce of sunlight,
channeling earth organs, filtering wastes
through kidneys of spongy mud.
.
The city settles into sediments, layers into diluted
liquid dumps devoid of what I need or want,
so I row and row to win it back.
.
I make a seat.
I set a table below the swing of my arms,
my hands touching her hands.
.
Trees become glimpses, and then whispers.
.
Out City
.
A cluster of factories hidden in the haze,
the white-walled asphalt plants camouflaged in vapor.
.
At a confluence, I’m surrounded by rainbows of oil
swirling on the chocolate waters of the Great Miami River
.
yawning with its brown and dirty yellow tongue,
exhaling the fumes from a city’s sewage overflow, a storm
of purulent songs that even insects cannot hum.
.
The dark caverns of webbed branches are bent limp,
drooping into the murk of soggy roots sprung and wrung
above a long stretch of mud stench.
.
Unnamed things scatter on the surface
near a bloated carcass—a cow floating in the refuse,
rocking in blotches and humps.
.
And except for a mosquito
revving its wings past my ear, I hesitate to touch
any of it.

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Mark B Hamilton 2

Mark B. Hamilton’s chapbook, 100 Miles of Heat, is available from Finishing Line Press (2017). Recent poems have appeared in AlbatrossFrogpondsaltfront The Listening Eye, About Place JournalSlipstreamPlainsongsThe Wayfarer, and abroad in Salzburg Poetry Review, Austria, and Oxford Poetry, UK. Others are forthcoming in Third Wednesday: a literary & arts journalComstock Review, and  Weber: The Contemporary Westwww.MarkBHamilton.WordPress.com

2 Poems by Robin Ray

truth
.
Ain’t I A Woman?
.
I sell the shadow to support the substance,
suppressed souls of our kidnapped ancestors
trapped in the galleys of rat-infested ships,
.
auctioned in markets, whipped in plantations
thousands of miles from home. I stand beside
smelly cattle, both of us up for grabs, no one
.
seeing the legion of dignities stitched to the
hem of my simple cotton dress. Where to turn
that I can’t be found, these cursed blisters
.
given time to heal? I close my eyes, wish my
skin was calf leather, but I’d surrender the touch
of a loving, honest man. Should I conspire
.
against this trade-off? I watch my children float
like embers in the sky, reach for them with
withered hands. Some I snag between forefinger
.
and thumb. Some I won’t see again. What’s left
to do but nurture, abolish, lead, represent, speak,
pave paths to a better world. My brothers and
.
sisters will stand with me; we are all roots of the
same stem. I believe this can be done. My name
is Sojourner Truth. Ain’t I a woman?
.
* “I sell the shadow to support the substance,” is the caption beneath a photo of Sojourner Truth from 1870.
.
Again With This ‘New Day’ Business
.
Toll house enclave, opulent homes, a street where
mummies live, mommies silently die choking on
.
eclairs meant for royalty, sporting boots in need
of shine. Languor settles like dust. Josephine, her
.
passé husband roughing it corporate-style, eyes
new thrills from greasy tire mechanics and
.
back-braced stock boys with ten-syllable surnames.
SUV fails to excite like it used to. Pinball arcade
.
across town suffices, interrupts tea parties, café
excursions at noon, boutique mall engagements.
.
An accelerant to the tedium sounds about right. She
used to harbor disdain for the dawn, now downright
 .
despises roosters, whippoorwills, winds whipping
cacophony through cinquefoil shrubs and linden
 .
treetops. Even the freshly-brewed cappuccino tastes
like arsenic which, in all reality, she hopes it is.
robin
Robin Ray is the author of Wetland and Other Stories (All Things That Matter Press, 2013), Obey the Darkness: Horror Stories, the novels Murder in Rock & Roll Heaven and Commoner the Vagabond, and one book of non-fiction, You Can’t Sleep Here: A Clown’s Guide to Surviving Homelessness. His works have appeared, or is appearing, in Red Fez, Jerry Jazz Musician, Underwood Press, Scarlet Leaf Review, Neologism Poetry Journal, Spark, Aphelion, Bewildering Stories, Picaroon Poetry, The Bangalore Review, The Magnolia Review, Vita Brevis, and elsewhere. http://seattlewordsmith.wordpress.com/
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i was the night by Jonathan Hine

Shooting-Stars
.
i was in the night
.
in the calm of
vaporous street lights
gliding down the whorl of febonacci petals
i wandered then, my eyes to
the tired old streets joined with the neon
in her hair in the alley into the night, laughing
she was before me
and i seemed to see the fairly radiant
outline who once across my
distant dreams of childhood passed letting
her unclasped hands
open torrents of falling stars
rain down in a
sea of gentle fire
.
jon
Jonathan Hine has been sporadically published in the underground lit. scene over the years. His work has recently appeared in Dissident Voice, Academy of the Heart and Mind, Under the Bleachers, Duane’s PoeTree and Horror Sleaze Trash. He has forthcoming poetry in Cajun Mutt Press.
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Lights of Gatlinburg by Greg Scheiber

lights
.
Lights of Gatlinburg
.
Somewhere below me,
Someone is laughing—
Someone is having a beer or tea
And reclining under a slanted roof.
Somewhere down there,
In the valley—
Someone is fading in front of a TV
Or walking an artificially lit street
Looking for something or someone,
Soul-searching on zombied,
Touristed streets long past hiker-midnight,
Taking advantage
Of the young,
If not youthful night.
Many people are making love,
I am sure,
‘Neath those tiny bulbs,
So far by feet,
So close by night—
Flittering like false gems
On costume jewelry.
They count like stars,
A cloudy Milky Way
Across Tennessee—the universe below
Mimicking the universe above,
Clinging to the heels
Of us ridgewalkers like satellites in orbit,
Searching for a signal
In the wind from somewhere.
.
greg
Greg Scheiber is currently pursuing his MFA in poetry at Eastern Washington University.  His work has previously appeared in Poetry Quarterly, Oddball, and Nomadic Journal.