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

Related Posts