Poetry

Poetry

Tide/Marea

By Francisco Letelier

It is a tide, displacing horizon

dizzying divisions of land and sea.

Waves break, and we are set free

taken away from our safe places

smells of bread, voices in the kitchen,

to wander in the shadow memory

of the world our fathers imagined.

There were nets and a rising from deep places,

hunger shaped from climbing of hills,

washed out roads, hidden bays.

A web of masts and crane calls

flickering on the dark side of our sight, brightly.

Rising, engulfing the hills,

describing a shining world that is felt,

then forgotten.

We are left, standing on the edges of flashing signs

knowing the way to secret canyons, to ruins,

to the hard glass of modernity.

Heels clicking to controlled environments,

Html code downpours.

Etched on our skin, still,

we keep fires lit.

perceiving a difference in beginnings

and possibilities

In the Southern fern forest

the smell of foxes

fresh prints near the water

all tides receding,

austral dialect forgotten,

the language of flowers

and hybrid transport.

—————————————————

I have become earth

By Jim Smith

Tell me the truth, Don was saying,

Could you live downtown

in one of those new condos?

I shrug. I am a Venetian. It’s not a fair question.

How could I live away from the Lady,

from the smell of the sea.

Here, every house has a history

every street has a resume.

I’d be an ant in an anthill downtown

I am not just this body and mind anymore

I have become a place, a smell, a sound,

I have become earth – before my time.

Don’t ya hate it, he taunts,

when they put up another big, ugly box.

I cannot hide the truth.

Yeah, it’s like a punch in the nose,

a stab in the heart.

They’re taking me apart

one brick at a time, I say.

This land is my soul

I cannot write when I go away

The Muse deserts me

because – I have deserted her.

I return and lay on the sand

to beg forgiveness.

She is merciful – this time.

She tells me to arise

and sing her praises.

The center is restored

I am in my home once more.

————————————————–

I have become earth

By Jim Smith

Tell me the truth, Don was saying,

Could you live downtown

in one of those new condos?

I shrug. I am a Venetian. It’s not a fair question.

How could I live away from the Lady,

from the smell of the sea.

Here, every house has a history

every street has a resume.

I’d be an ant in an anthill downtown

I am not just this body and mind anymore

I have become a place, a smell, a sound,

I have become earth – before my time.

Don’t ya hate it, he taunts,

when they put up another big, ugly box.

I cannot hide the truth.

Yeah, it’s like a punch in the nose,

a stab in the heart.

They’re taking me apart

one brick at a time, I say.

This land is my soul

I cannot write when I go away

The Muse deserts me

because – I have deserted her.

I return and lay on the sand

to beg forgiveness.

She is merciful – this time.

She tells me to arise

and sing her praises.

The center is restored

I am in my home once more.

————————————

Like a dream

By Hillary Kaye

They arrive fashionably late

this new year

fresh as daisies

shining like stars

meanwhile the seventh son

is overcome by feelings of darkness

and does not arrive

but the goat and the elephant

get on.

Springtime has no monopoly on flowers

the garden never stops blooming

there where the sun never sets.

It’s a dream and like a dream

it’s coated and coded

and marched through.

The soldier cleans his rifle

it sparkles in the noon day sun

all these things become like miracles.

Unnoticed the miraculous, the bountiful

has come and gone.

Suddenly there is a storm on the horizon

things have to be rethought

the whole concept has to be redone.

Volunteers are expected from every

corner of the world

till then the spider and bird eat dinner.

————————————————-

BELOVED

By Linda Albertano

Thou art incendiary.
Thou sendest me up in sparks
…….a hundred times a day.
Thou makest me hum like a thousand
…….buzzing phone lines yammering through
…………..dizzy night.

When thou smilest upon me, I’m
…….money in the bank.
When thou snarlest, I am as a bad
…….check, bounced, and cowering
…….in thy heart’s darkest trash bin.

Thou art The Lion of La Cienega,
…….The Rose of Sherman Way.
…….I love to lay eyes on thee.

Thou ringest through me sudden
…….and bright as fresh champagne.
My switchboard overloadeth.

Thy breath is as clean laundry
…….folded behind thy lips.
Thy teeth art as white Lincolns
…….parked in neat rows.

I love to taste the texture
…….of thy skin.
Thine eyes are interstellar.

Beloved,
…….thou art incendiary.

Thou sendest me up in sparks!

———————————————-

AH, BUT THE POEM!

By John Thomas

“Know thyself,” the oracle scolded, and it is

true: the poem tells me who I am. But

the pearl in the palm is the poem, not

the knowing. Surely, no one cares about

the findings. I, at least, do not. Landlocked

merman? Albatross, as Baudelaire

would have it? Happy or not, wise

or not, prophet falls or true: who cares?

Aw, but the poem! Beast beyond price!

Restless and dark, it swims inside my

feckless, foolish life, a secret jeweled

fish in the great blood pool.

Do I bore you? Is my company

repellent? My caresses: are they

too urgent or too base? I am with you,

straight down the line. I regard

him in the mirror (not too often,

to be sure) and he could be anyone –

anyone ugly, at least, lumpish and silly –

and I don’t care much, or for long.

Ah, but the poem! Glorious perversion!

Night-glowing rot! Demon resplendent! It lives deep

in there somewhere, that strange attractor,

and will this morning rise!

———————————————

Enlightenment

By Ronald Keith Mc Kinley

With a practiced hand I rein in my emotions

Calm my thoughts

Engage my brain/mind

Clarity is my reward and goal

Like a soothing touch tranquil

Cool not cold placid serene

Vocation of self

Implicit in evolution

Primordial intellect unfolds

Ripples colliding with laws and expectations

Consciousness imbedded in scholarship

Feeling and knowing/learning

The why before the how

The listing of the boat of life

Righted only with sheer will and fertile instruction

Space/time flowing

Consuming twisted conception/perception

The Event Horizon of the soul

Sleep no more

Rest only the body

The supreme entanglement is complete

———————————————-

The empty apartment

By Constanze Fiebach

Have you heard of the empty apartment?

It’s spooky and creepy and lonely inside

and that especially at night!

It used to be a comfy place,

a warm and lovely and homey space,

created from a wonderful person again on every new day,

who usually lives here, wide in heart and beautiful in every way.

But now he’s gone for almost ten days

and left behind

– in addition to this empty space –

a thoughtful girl,

missing him and wishing him back…

———————————-

My mouse!
I do not see you
But I hear the sound of your tiny teeth.
You come on tiptoe
Take my words with your teeth
And match them one by one.
Then, you turn back
And look at me with kindness.
I take the sheet of my new poems
And think of your little soul
Still lurking in the darkness.

Majid Naficy

———————————–

Chain Link Fences

By Paul Beethoven

Chain link fences, separates spaces

Could that I slink my way into

Your heart lynx like?

We could talk in separate spaces

About the atrocities of chain link fences.

——————————

16:04 Monday, August 26th, 2013, Adullam, Venetian Embassy ….. Observe the subtle angles of the sun. The shadows cast are changing. It’s begun. The analemma’s curvature descends. The Summer’s days are numbered. Season ends. Autumnal Equinox; mere days away. It’s harvest time, to some. A short delay Will usher in the Winter. But for now, enjoy it while it lasts. Enjoy the glow Of sunset. Rendezvous at end of day. It’s worth the walk. It waits down by the bay. September golden embers; how it sends A coded message: pour, you grains. It lends A sense of the inevitable. Gone, This timeless moment. Purloined by the Sun ….. Roger Houston

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