“Break a Colander” and Other Poems by P. M. Chatelain

Apr 28, 2021

Phillipe Martin Chatelain is the Founder and Managing Editor of In Parentheses. He holds a Masters Degree in Poetry from The New School and earned a B.A. from Boston University. He writes as someone in the tradition of the urban troubadour or the flaneur–wandering, taking notes. He is a poet from New York City who is entirely compelled by telling the stories that unfold Uptown: a place where what is seen can seldom be believed. He believes that poetry of our generation has taken on a much more digital definition, that a “verse caption” or “lyrical tweet” may be its newest manifestation. Furthermore, it is important for “New Modernist” artists like those exhibited among the pages (physical and virtual) of In Parentheses Literary Magazine to assume all possible forms of media available in order to carry on the lineage of Sublime Art. His chapbook series of poetry entitled taking shots alone was self-published in 2012-2015 and a debut self-published collection of works is entitled FACETS (2019) is also available. He curates an urban greenhouse daily @philo.den on Instagram with an emphasis upon the tropical aroids that adorn the landscapes of his motherland Caribbean. Currently, his unemployed days are spent calculating the next direction of his life journey’s winds. As someone who is stricken and intrigued by all, Phillipe can find difficulty finding perfection in all things. His hands grow weary applying his own amendments to the beauty that he touches in order to leave further splendor in its wake. How much of everything is truly ours? Phillipe would like to strongly urge us all to think about the parts of life that we claim that are simply borrowed and would be better utilized with the consciousness not only that some may be temporary but that it must all be shared.

Photography by P. M. Chatelain

Break A Colander

the Duty is bestowed upon a
colander; the gift
identifying particle size
and the strength to hold back
gentle yet
complete like a collection of fine starches
each identical shape and arch
a flavor pocket uniquely bathed
in sauce from its journey
we should not put it past
says the colander
knowing strain would be its only gift
pursuits in perpetuity seeking
what is fresh

leave me with what is best
nurture nature nutrition nitrate
vibrate and do not overcompensate
won’t hate if you retaliate
order eight, might be enough
Living Single never was this tough
formulating Right
seeking flow through red lights
in the dead of night
blowing through is not a great
way to hold back and if a
levee breaks flow is now against us.

what can be the best way to
place blame or name the shame
we brought here
this wasn’t the first time
caught myself in the motion
of Spilling
Gravity kept me in this long
but I am breaking like overcast
and breaking like Fordham Plaza
in high-top kicks—we spin quick
and get Lite uptown—so it comes
to me naturally when we hold nothing back

is this a form
or do we formulate in nonconformity
I can’t spread more of this
ink than what the page can possibly hold
so when we live and try to break
truth be told we run the risk of spill,
this is all at will. Breaking is purposeful
and focus is fleeting.

Fountain Rollin’

have you ever watched a
fountain roll? right between
your fingers like the wasted
time water flows painless and vast
plantains roll as well yet they
wobble and soon they take a
smell as they pick up speed on
the incline—normally prefer
them fried but steamed is fine
this time, and frankly I’m inclined
to grab a roll of salami
slice it twice as nicely
Breakfast in Santo Domingo
sounds enticing especially under
the Sun
waves roll as they too ebb and flow
toe-deep pleasures between
digits catching salt water
in each crease and crevice
painless and vast
well, would you shut the
fountain then?

B-MO

a few steps toward the elevator.
a prolonged stare is a favor
when you can no longer
recognize yourself—Do Not
look for a reflection in my eyes.
is it in a gaze that we
most like to lie? My blink
hide truth intermittently. I stare
until my corneas are stone
and birds consume me for hours.
I no longer recognize sincerity
only sin. an excuse is customary
here but we have already embarked
on our ascension. a shaky journey
upward, trembling under the
defiance of gravity.

Bieres De La Meuse

waiting dispels mediocrity
because you can take your
time to listen if you make the
stillness clear you can read right
into the depths it is also clear
that floating comes naturally
this is a way of conducting myself
that is human. right as breathe.
what use in relishing false positions
when a wish is simple to elicit,
express, and equip
Quickness is a trick, miss.
the best is mold
the rest is old
it’s never told of failure’s lore
to find an even better bore
open to the last of your softest knocks
at heaven’s door
what do you wake Peter for
it may be much but never more than
what a stranger may adore
duly note he’s keeping score since
all this fun reeks of dischord.

From the Editor:

We hope that readers receive In Parentheses as a medium through which the evolution of human thought can be appreciated, nurtured and precipitated. It will present a dynamo of artistic expression, journalism, informal analysis of our daily world, entertainment of ideas considered lofty and criticism of today’s popular culture. The featured content does not follow any specific ideology except for that of intellectual expansion of the masses.

Founded in late 2011, In Parentheses prides itself upon analysis of the current condition of intelligence in the minds of these young people, and building a hypothesis for one looming question: what comes after Post-Modernism?

The idea for this magazine stems from a simple conversation regarding the aforementioned question, which drew out the need to identify our generation’s place in literary history.

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