my riastrad poems by kevin hogan

picture of kevin hogan

Photograph by Aislinge Productions

 

If you are not bi, you may want to be when you finish the beautifully bi-attitudinal poems in Kevin Hogan’s long-awaited first book, My Ríastrad. They range from battle frenzy (“ríastrad”) to gentleness, from hurt to courage, horror to humor, disillusion to hope for a better world. Matt Cresswell, Editor of Glitterwolf Magazine praises another duality in the book: “Able to be both elusive and forthright, Hogan’s poetry is wise, evocative, and alive with the delicate power of hard-earned truth.” Julia Canfield, Board President of the Bisexual Resource Center, writes this: “Eloquent and poignant from start to finish, Kevin Hogan takes you on an unwaveringly candid, deeply emotional journey of self-discovery. Hogan reflects upon a magnitude of subjects—including sexuality, scenery, and social media—effortlessly and with the utmost care. Along with an imaginative use of language and metaphor, and intertwined with influences ranging from Frost to Snyder, his poetry literally leaps off the page at you.” And this from Ellyn Ruthstrom, Executive Director of SpeakOUT Boston: “Kevin Hogan’s poems offer a passionate and powerful exploration of his own unique experiences. Though knowing he is a contemporary writer, I sometimes feel he is channeling a wry Celtic bard in his pace and rhyme, but his commentary is spot on with today’s reality. And when he says, ‘So when the mob stings like hornets, / Close your theaters. Go write sonnets,’ I am ever so glad he took his own advice." FLASH: THE BOOK IS A FINALIST FOR THE 2016 LAMBDA AWARD!
   
  my riastrad by kevin hogan cover image
  Photograph by Steve Steinmetz.

Kevin Hogan is a prolific poet, Huffington Post blogger and human rights advocate. As a self-help author, speaker and consultant, he’s also an authority on the subject of healing stigma. For years an inspiring high school English instructor, his life irrevocably changed after an international news story branded him the “Porn Star Teacher.” In addition to writing and speaking, Kevin serves on the Board of Directors of the Bisexual Resource Center, the oldest national bi-specific organization. As a member of the Bisexual Leadership Roundtable, he was invited to the White House for a historic first meeting in 2013 with the Obama administration on matters of bisexual health, inclusivity and awareness. And in 2015, he was invited back to the White House for the first Bisexual Community Policy Briefing. Currently, he’s also part of a working party for the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services’ team Building Resilient Communities Through Trauma-Informed Congregations. In moments of selfish bliss, Kevin enjoys long walks on the beach with his wife and their two dogs.
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BOOK STATISTICS

ISBN 978-1-936482-86-3

Copyright © 2015 by Kevin Hogan

6" x 9" paperback, 80 pages
$16.00 per book plus 6.35% sales tax (CT only)
U.S. Shipping & Handling: $5.00 for 1 book, $7.00 for 2 books,
$9.00 for 3-4 books, and $11.00 for 5 or more books
International Shipping & Handling: $17.00 US for 1 book, $23.00 US for 2, $29 US for 3 or more

To order, send check payable to Antrim House for book/s, sales tax (CT only) and shipping

to: Robert McQuilkin, Antrim House, 21 Goodrich Rd., Simsbury, CT 06070

or buy with PayPal


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SAMPLE POEMS
Copyright ©2015 by Kevin Hogan

A Lovelier World

Just before sunrise,
Watching a hound
Dream of hunting,
I feel myself
Drawn to pursue
The thoughts of
A dissatisfied mind.
Cards on table,
The dog has
Never caught more
Than tennis balls,
But that doesn’t
Stop him from
Envisaging furrier prey.
Comforted in camaraderie,
I bound onwards,
Straining to capture
A lovelier world
With every instinct.

 



The Shadow of Doubt

In the glare
Of absolute certainty,
There is right,
And, of course,
There is wrong.
And without exception,
There is no
Perception of even
One second thought.
All who persist
Become shining examples.
Must be why
I stick to
Shade in the
Shadow of doubt.

 

Privacy Matters

Your privacy will not matter
Once the crowd stirs from its slumber,
Salivating for newstainment,
And you’re served up—the taste du jour.

There are some who’ll strive to question,
But there are more with opinions
Sown in fallow fields of truisms,
Perched to pluck what issues forth.

If you live to fight, you’re in luck
Since most all truths split people up.
Just be warned: the more you reason,
The more you’ll plant seeds for gossip.

So when the mob stings like hornets,
Close your theatres. Go write sonnets.

Fitting Room

Lost halfway between
Feet and meters,
I stood holding
An Irish sweater
In the Eurozone.
A vision wearing
Stilettos and suspenders
Offered her help.
I solemnly confessed
Checking the label
Left me confused.

Setting her chin,
She proudly professed,
“Labels are shite!
It’s only the
Fit that matters.”

The fitting room
Gave me pause…
So many labels
Thrown like shuriken—
Stuttering punk faggot
Scribbling loner freak

Fucking fence sitter.

Making the purchase,
I heartily thanked
The sales associate,
Telling her surely,
“Go teach philosophy!”

The Gender Bend

I cannot wait
For the day—
Not to mention
The night—when
The right to
Be as much
Or as little
He or she
Or any mix
Of the three
As your self
Wants to be
Is treated just
Like the freedom
To travel freely
Wherever you want.
Meanwhile, I’ll be
On up ahead
With those who
Already see the
Beauty of humanity
As it curves
The gender bend.


Native America

Chief Joseph knew the earth
As a mother who played
No favorites amongst
All her equal children
Who were free to travel
Without reservations.
Later, his cause of death
Would be a broken heart.
And then when the bearded
Face of evil was found
At zero dark thirty,
Americans flew in
Apaches and Black Hawks—
Locked, loaded and ready
To be the one to yell,
For God and country,
        Geronimo,
             Geronimo,
                  Geronimo!

All Smiles Start

A skilled surgeon,
Who’d sliced and repaired all forty-three muscles
That work in unison to comprise the human face,
Couldn’t say precisely how many
Were needed to create just one smile.

An esteemed psychiatrist,
Capable of rooting out the deepest seeds
Sown into the most unfathomable psyche,
Was left groping for an empiric theory
To rightfully govern the interpretation of smiles.

A renowned primatologist,
More at home in the trees than any skyscraper
And openly accepted by gorillas and orangutans,
Still had to guess on several occasions
Whether a curled lip meant friend or foe.

Yet a humble denizen,
Who’s no duke with no painted duchess,
Felt commanded to draw the curtain and report:
Whether born of good or evil intent,
All smiles start from the center of the heart.

 


The World Stands Still

When it snows in Northern New England
She proclaims it’s like the world stands
Still
Hurriedly I offer her my breathless agreement
Then quietly admire the audacity of snow’s
Silence
Screaming snowmobiles snowblowers and snowplows will shatter
My reverie like boots breaking pockets of
Ice
But not before I notice the Celt
In her features and my world stands
Still