Call them home




	Allbook Books is pleased to announce the publication of *Call them home* by Gregory Alexander, a book over 2 years in the making. This is his debut volume of poetry. His poetry has a stream of consciousness style... it is evocative like a dreamscape... texturally and imagistically rich... layered with both subtle and direct emotions and timely messages. Sample poems and reviews below. Cover art from an original oil painting:"Three apples and striped vase on Seurat" Copyright © 2013 by Helena Clare Pittman. 96 pages, 5.5 x 8.5”, text printed on 100% recycled chlorine-free paper To order online Or, send check for $18 (includes shipping and NYS tax where applicable) to: Allbook Books PO Box 562 Selden, NY 11784 “If Greg Alexander's poems are new to you, then here is good news. After a long and successful career as a clinical psychotherapist, Greg has emerged in full force with a treasury of poetry. He searches from the human condition, art galleries to alcoves where the deepest emotions dwell. At one point, he asks, 'should I put out a missing persons' report to call me home?’ [from “The drunken sailor”]. No need for alarm - - only trumpets to herald the emergence of a fine new poet.” - Dr. David B. Axelrod, author/poet: www.poetrydoctor.org “These poems are fresh, enticing, and musical. They move with a powerful flow of energy, emotion, and intelligence.” - Patti Tana, Walt Whitman Birthplace Poet of the Year 2009 and author of nine poetry books, most recently All I Can Gather & Give “Here is a passionately sentient soul unraveling the inner landscape as he scrupulously explores the territories in which he finds himself alive. In his astonishing and conflicted worlds, the poet craves, demands, nothing less than unity--” one vessel like the grail of white gold again.” (from “Hermaphrodite”) - Susan Windle, author of Through the Gates: A Practice for Counting the Omer 3 sample poems: Call them home Call the soldiers back to yourselves you mothers who gave them birth rescue them from the dream they’ve adopted that is a bright dungeon promising glory but bringing the face down in mud legs and lips blown off body riddled with trails of assault rifle bullets they’ve forgotten how to let their souls speak as once with you in warm home the current passing between you and them a fertile river your darlings call them however you pray pray now for the light between you to enlighten an oval enclosing in its glowing hoop bring them back to remember themselves insulated iron men call them rouse by the bells of your voices (unless you still believe the lie) say the secret word the powerhouse exclamation the electric verbs propelling back to where their spark like a lantern renewed grows again help them restore minds from the foreign sway of unconsciousness they are absolved when they answer the call you supply from your sacred reservoir the wars collapse like houses of cards hollowed out buildings demolished by a breath *** Seer after the painting “Pilgrim” by Giorgio de Chirico I’m bound up cries that could rush out in waves muffled by my vest hold myself hushed as morning before sun to distill the silence and capture motionless my white mind I’m about to expound angles of discovery on the chalkboard the tracings of my life’s truths but the road I traverse cannot be imparted a mystery even and mostly to myself nearby the Master in shadow awaits my “Aha!” he will usher me onward to a pebble and dust pathway my legs in red tights have been storing energy like batteries I plan to run and run in stillness until my forehead’s signet star blossoms with revelation * The blob of light after the photomontage “The Disconcerting Light” by E. L. T. Mesens The blob of light appeared one day on the avenue amidst heavy traffic it became still then slowly moved downtown wouldn’t hurt anyone some didn’t even realize they were in it till they came out feeling better than before charged as a renewable battery some saw it as luminous after entering they reflected light to others it seemed slightly viscous because a slick film stuck on their skin traffic slowed and cars drove in and left through a glowing tunnel several stories high it filled picture windows full till they became like mirrors to some it looked like a large eye opening to wakefulness many tinctures rayed from it like a hide-and-seek rainbow only some were called to see and walk into it others felt slightly uneasy as they made their rounds a few seemed obsessed dove inside its glow over and again if you were called anywhere was a portal for the pilgrim and inside its center they said was a double helix flame swirling with ethereal light it sent a ramp into you that extended into outer space some sensitive ones became healers some were said to disappear in its skyward surging then reappear transformed after it left the whole city felt it had sidestepped a plebian day into an unending holiday could so easily afterwards be lifted up as if something molten gushed in an updraft past the tallest towers and brought you with it then came to rest we became open to one another had this then become a sacred city? ** © 2016-2020 Gregory Alexander. Gregory Alexander** has been a poet since the age of 13. He studied English and World Literature at Middlebury College, the University of California at Berkeley, and Columbia University. He lived on the West Coast for 19 years, and earned his doctorate in Counseling Psychology at the University of Oregon in 1984. Since then, he has been living on Long Island, New York, where he worked as a staff psychologist in a Department of Veterans Affairs hospital for 25 years. He is currently in private practice. Greg’s father, Josef, was a composer, and his mother, Hannah, was a published poet and his mentor. Greg has participated in several Walt Whitman Birthplace Association master classes in poetry on Long Island. He is married and has two grown sons. Website © 2016-2020 Walter E. Harris III.