Yellow Mama Archives II

Juan Mobili

Acuff, Gale
Ahern, Edward
Allen, R. A.
Alleyne, Chris
Andes, Tom
Arnold, Sandra
Aronoff, Mikki
Ayers, Tony
Baber, Bill
Baird, Meg
Baker, J. D.
Balaz, Joe
Barker, Adelaide
Barker, Tom
Barnett, Brian
Barry, Tina
Bartlett, Daniel C.
Bates, Greta T.
Bayly, Karen
Beckman, Paul
Bellani, Arnaav
Berriozabal, Luis Cuauhtemoc
Beveridge, Robert
Blakey, James
Booth, Brenton
Bracken, Michael
Burke, Wayne F.
Burnwell, Otto
Campbell, J. J.
Cancel, Charlie
Capshaw, Ron
Carr, Steve
Carrabis, Joseph
Cartwright, Steve
Centorbi, David Calogero
Cherches, Peter
Christensen, Jan
Clifton, Gary
Cody, Bethany
Costello, Bruce
Coverly, Harris
Crist, Kenneth James
Cumming, Scott
Davie, Andrew
Davis, Michael D.
Degani, Gay
De Neve, M. A.
Dillon, John J.
Dinsmoor, Robert
Dominguez, Diana
Dorman, Roy
Doughty, Brandon
Doyle, John
Dunham, T. Fox
Ebel, Pamela
Fagan, Brian Peter
Fillion, Tom
Flynn, James
Fortier, M. L.
Fowler, Michael
Galef, David
Garnet, George
Garrett, Jack
Glass, Donald
Graysol, Jacob
Grech, Amy
Greenberg, KJ Hannah
Grey, John
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Held, Shari
Hicks, Darryl
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Hoerner, Keith
Hohmann, Kurt
Holt, M. J.
Holtzman, Bernard
Holtzman, Bernice
Holtzman, Rebecca
Hopson, Kevin
Hubbs, Damon
Irwin, Daniel S.
Jabaut, Mark
Jermin, Wayne
Jeschonek, Robert
Johns. Roger
Kanner, Mike
Karl, Frank S.
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Kennedy, Cecilia
Keshigian, Michael
Kirchner, Craig
Kitcher, William
Kompany, James
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Koperwas, Tom
Kreuiter, Victor
Larsen, Ted R.
Le Due, Richard
Leotta, Joan
Lester, Louella
Lubaczewski, Paul
Lucas, Gregory E.
Luer, Ken
Lukas, Anthony
Lyon, Hillary
Mannone, John C.
Margel, Abe
Martinez, Richard
McConnell, Logan
McQuiston, Rick
Middleton, Bradford
Milam, Chris
Miller, Dawn L. C.
Mladinic, Peter
Mobili, Juan
Mullins, Ian
Myers, Beverle Graves
Myers, Jen
Newell, Ben
Nielsen, Ayaz Daryl
Nielsen, Judith
Onken, Bernard
Owen, Deidre J.
Park, Jon
Parker, Becky
Pettus, Robert
Plath, Rob
Potter, John R. C.
Price, Liberty
Proctor, M. E.
Prusky, Steve
Radcliffe, Paul
Reddick, Niles M.
Reedman, Maree
Reutter, G. Emil
Riekki, Ron
Robson, Merrilee
Rockwood, KM
Rollins, Janna
Rose, Brad
Rosmus, Cindy
Ross, Gary Earl
Rowland, C. A.
Saier, Monique
Sarkar, Partha
Scharhag, Lauren
Schauber, Karen
Schildgen, Bob
Schmitt, Di
Sesling, Zvi E.
Short, John
Simpson, Henry
Slota, Richelle Lee
Smith, Elena E.
Snell, Cheryl
Snethen, Daniel G.
Stanley, Barbara
Steven, Michael
Stoler, Cathi
Stoll, Don
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Taylor, J. M.
Taylor, Richard Allen
Temples. Phillip
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Traverso Jr., Dionisio "Don"
Turner, Lamont A.
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Viola, Saira
Waldman, Dr. Mel
Al Wassif, Amirah
Weibezahl, Robert
Weil, Lester L.
Weisfeld, Victoria
Weld, Charles
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Wilhide, Zachary
Williams, E. E.
Williams, K. A.
Wilsky, Jim
Wiseman-Rose, Sophia
Woods, Jonathan
Young, Mark
Zackel, Fred
Zelvin, Elizabeth
Zeigler, Martin
Zimmerman, Thomas
Zumpe, Lee Clark



by Juan Mobili


Compared to a microbe the sparrow on the ledge

is bigger than a dragon, yet it is not what they can see

that the villagers fear, their chests beating faster


than starlings. Even gratitude moves quietly,

afraid to catch the attention of a falcon

scanning the landscape for a snack.


These days our ears seek familiar sounds,

the mailman’s truck stopping at our driveway,

the rustling of our mail finding its nest.


When the invisible is done taking what it will take,

I wish to breathe the way a cardinal does

when the squirrels are done marauding every bird feeder.

El Río de la Plata


by Juan Mobili


The river never asked

for them, busy like a mother

who stares at the school bus

driving her children

to another uncertain day,


but it conceded

to welcome their bodies

cast from airplanes

dictatorships disposing

from incriminating evidence,


a body of water

cajoled to be an accomplice,

accepting to be

a cradle,


a resting place

it never wished to be,


a river forced

to care for my friend’s bones.

A Greek Family


by Juan Mobili



My God! My son

lives a life that puts 

the Odyssey to shame,


and I am tied to a 

mast, bound for home,

to my wife, who goes on


weaving and unweaving

to hold suitors at bay,

hoping I am still the king


she married before Troy

became such a long gig,

and family took a mythic toll.

At the Birds’ Bar


By Juan Mobili



It is mostly old timers in the afternoon,

no one sings, but a robin always slips a quarter

in the jukebox and plays “Summer Wind”


by Frank Sinatra. A hummingbird decides

he wants to buy me a drink, Bartender,

two double nectars on the rocks, please.


His feathers seem heavy on his tiny spine,

almost ready to retire, but unsure

when the breeze will hint that it is over,


unpreoccupied whether the flowers

will remember how much he cherished

them, or not.



Dreaming a Little


by Juan Mobili



I know I dream but wake up often,

what was vivid

comes apart like dandelions clocks,


the voices begin to blur their words,

then, the faces burn away like old films

at the movie house


when we were kids

and spend our Saturdays,

until we were expelled


for launching cheap chocolate

at the screen that melted

like tears on Dracula’s pale cheeks.



by Juan Mobili


Rudy traded in his big ass Cadillac every year, the Christmas we met it was a cocoa-brown Eldorado.


Rudy was Rodolfo in Argentina, but that was way back, when he was a kid living with his father in a pensión in Buenos Aires, in a room so small they had to push two lousy cots out of the way to open the door.


By now, Rudy had a beautiful house in a fancy town in Long Island, a lawn more manicured than Lana Turner’s, and a state-of-the-art grill where he cooked his favorite chorizos.


Every time he parked his Cadillac in his driveway, he made sure he locked it.


When poverty sunk its teeth in you, it does not let go.

Watching Argentinian Thrillers


by Juan Mobili


The heroes are always smoking

and the heroines,
recite their monologues
in their skimpy underwear.


The villains can be,
                                as predictable,

as life has never been.

—the separation of good

and evil as unimpeachable

                                            as immaculately

distinct, as you hope God,

family and country could be.

In the final scene,

the good guy’s gunned down

before squeezing

                             a single shot.

He bleeds away,

                            next to the rare fox
the bad guy intended
to sell off in the black market.


In the end,

nihilism trumps heroics.

                                         What a film!

Juan Pablo Mobili was born in Buenos Aires and adopted by New York. His poems appeared in The American Journal of PoetryThe Worcester Review, Impspired (UK), The Wild Word (Germany), and Otoliths (Australia), among others. His work received an Honorable Mention from the International Human Rights Art Festival, and multiple nominations for the Pushcart Prize and the Best of the Net. His chapbook, Contraband, was published this year.

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