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Andre F. Peltier

Andre F. Peltier (he/him) is a Pushcart Nominee and a Lecturer III at Eastern Michigan University where he teaches literature and writing. He lives in Ypsilanti, MI, with his wife and children. His poetry has recently appeared in various publications like CP Quarterly, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Provenance Journal, Lavender and Lime Review, About Place, Novus Review, Fiery Scribe, and Fahmidan Journal, and most recently in Menacing Hedge, The Brazos River Review, and Idle Ink. In his free time, he obsesses over soccer and comic books.

Twitter: @aandrefpeltier


Diss Track

Long winded epics 

    of Athens and Troy;

Homeric heroes:

    a Homeric ploy.


With your courtly little parliament 

    of pigeons and owls

Even the Pardoner knows 

    your shit is too foul.


Building the Globe, 

    called the king by all,

Yet you played the queen 

     backstage in the hall.


Lots of Holy Sonnets, 

    but I’ll give them a pass.

You can reason your religion 

    right up your skinny ass.


Writing’s not your forte:

     try sticking with art.

Your Songs of boredom 

    put horse after cart.


With the idles of a poet, 

     I call you Lord Venison;

I chew up your meter, 

    and then spit it out again.


All those Tales of Acadie, 

     you think you’re a star,

But everyone knows 

    what a short fellow you are.


Down the open road, 

    arm in arm with your soul,

You think you’re a witty man, 

    but I’m in control.


A shut-in in Amherst—

    without many friends,

A rash em-dash—  

    your beginning and end.


Slouching towards sleep,

    You couldn’t pay me

To arise and go now

    and go to Innisfree.


Hailing from Missouri  

     with accent affected.

Those stupid cat poems 

    even Ezra neglected. 


Jazz club poetry, 

    you think you’re so cool,

In a Harlem cabaret, 

    I’ll take you to school.


Out in California, 

    the prince of the Beats,

A pretentious, long winded

    poker among meats.


Caged birds sing 

    and caged birds call,

Caged birds die 

     and still you fall.


Y’all think you’re so great; 

    y’all think you can poetry.

Y’all try to write nature; 

     y’all don’t even know a tree.


Y’all think you’re so great, 

    well I’m better than you.

Y’all are done, 

    your torture is through.


Remember dear reader,

    it’s simply in jest:

A simple laugh

    At simply the best.


Pick > a Sinner 



I whip out my < knives



           sing                               voltage

and < wonder > about the < wattage

           shout                             shock



When the lights go < within




And our < lives




Turn to < shit




then we drop the < pit




never can < I      > pick a winner




but always < pick > a sinner


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