All that and a bag of skittles...

Jun 2015

Dawn King

Towers

It’s beneath daydreams You have heard it
The faint sound of wind chimes Not belonging to a tangible source
You blindly own it  When your left thigh tingles
It’s the shape-shift powers

So please

Come down from your towers
It no longer makes sense An apparent pretense
Come down from your towers
Where the air whispers doubt Each time your heart shouts
Come down from your towers
Endemic eternal internal  The cyclic encounters
Come down from your towers

It’s the unknown driver That wakes you when
Her hand is waving as The waters’ abating

Like a still frame / Not knowing why  As you read through the lines

You belong In a parallel world
Where the sky’s painted  By a gentle sun
The rock is beveled and smooth  So that tumbled stones
Joined with dark cord  Can roll and move

The victim and the perpetrator  Hold interchangeable hands
Where you sleep  Where you keep  The spaces
Where the walk  Steps heavy  Voice distorts  Breath ready
Here you stay  Seized by false compartments
Buying into ulterior motives  That choke your flowers

So please

Come down from your towers

Jun 2015

South-by-Southwest

A fire still

I was just thinking about you
After all these many years ago
Thinking about how much I still love you
How I just let you go

Life is sometimes a fountain
Sometimes I was just a fool
There is a pool of sorrow
Full of precious jewels

I can't help think of what might have been
What would have happened
Had I accepted your open invitation
imagining what could have been

With my life nearly over
I sheded love like autumn sheds her leaves
And I have my mountains of regret
and eternity to grieve

Still I see you sitting prettily
I guess you will always be twenty three
And I will be an epic of love lost
A fire still burning within me .

#love #baloney #potroast #hamandcheese

Jun 2015

beth fwoah dream

surreal landscape

the moon was chasing the shadows of the forest,
while the night scurried into the black fields,
placing a small toe into a sorrowful grey cloud
the wind hardly more than a whisper.

and then midnight unwound, blue shadows on grass,
the fields green as dark emeralds,
the clouds dreaming of a soft moon,
and the eye drawn skywards,

filled with forgotten dreams
the wind began to hurry
birds crammed into a bucketful of sky
like flapping pages hinged to a spine.

welcome then to the stomach of night
to moonflower and the bright light that spins
uncovering the stones that lie in the dark moss
revealing the surreal landscape to a broken moon.

welcome then to our love, even more surreal,
as we hold each other close, and shiver like
strange plants wrapped into the black ink of the night
as the world unfolds to kisses and wilderness.

#moon #stars #night #you #loving

Jun 2015

Corset

Renoir

The evening sipped
Its golden bright,
as the sun spilled
it's yellow stomach
spoke in streams
of babbled havoc.
Slinging a silvery palm
along the slender hip
of wanton youth in
wishful grip.

O' to be young,
to be young
without the cares
of the infirm full,
of knar's and knot
like the desires of an
old oak tree.

To touch,
the velvet rose light
of the beauty
in her skin,
lovingly caressed
of wistful eye
and
age of bristle.

" "Bather with long hair" a painting by Renoir "

Jun 2015

James Bradley McCallum

Polar Vortex

a polar vortex
swirls eastward
on Siberian Tiger paws
bounding over
Appalachian Highlands
gobbling geography
gelling Great Lakes
spawning Erie blizzards
sculpting Wabash ice floes
clogging commerce all
along the Ohio River Valley

this voracious
juggernaut’s wide maw
bears icicle teeth
laughing as it swallows
Pittsburgh, Little Philly,
and a Big Apple, before
gorging itself on
generous portions
ladled into
simmering crocks
of steaming
Boston Baked Beans

growling
blue arctic
air blasts roar
bursts pipes
savages the heat
of blasting furnaces,
bubbling boilers, hot
belly stoves frantically
drinking oil, flaming gas
burning wood and
burping soot

the blistering
jet stream claws
screech a slashing
stratospheric hum
as Frigidaire blasts
swallows breath
brittles limbs
chafes cheeks
gnaws earlobes
crystallizes tears
nibbles nostrils
cubes snot
numbs toes
bites digits

diving sub zero
gradient subdues
batteries to
deaden states
delays buses
derails trains
cuts power
constricts veins
preys on
vagabonds
and animals

get the homeless
off the street!
bring the animals in
check on your
elderly neighbors
don’t get caught outside
and shut the **** door!
do you own stock
in the Public Service?

beware the polar vortex
and next months heating bill

Sonny Boy Williamson
& Otis Spann
Nine Below Zero

Oakland
1/6/14
jbm

Jun 2015

Meenu Syriac

I Am Not A Poet

I am not a poet
But when thoughts, like rain,
Drench me in my solitude,
Words, they flow like a stream.
I am not a poet
But how can I see
The simpler joys of life,
And not create a song to be sung.
I am not a poet,
Nor an artist.
I am myself,
And you are my masterpiece.
I am not a poet,
If you are not the dream.
If I am a poet,
*Then you are what sets these pages on fire.

©Meenu Syriac

Jun 2015

Alessander

A7

I told them, “I don’t feel sorry for Robin Williams.
He lived it. Coke-fueled, bearded trickster of ******.
Well traveled and well versed, raging into worlds
Physical and ephemeral, like a ghostly bull
Goring mortals to unfeel the estoques
Sunk deep into his vital corpse.”

I had a friend who blew his brains out
While his parents were watching tv in the living room
And another who rented a room at the Marriott
Then hung himself off the shower-rod

Both early 20s
You won’t see them on the big screen
Or hear their witty banter on interviews
Chic celebs won’t eulogize them
On “Extra”, “TMZ”, or “Access Hollywood”
No 2 minute montages
At award shows, while tuxes and gowns float
Clapping in ovation behind the shimmering façade
Of golden statues

They got a few lines in an obituary, in A7
Those who knew them will speak in hushed euphemisms
No one daring to whisper “suicide”
As if it’s the ****** Mary of deaths
Like walking under a ladder, or breaking a mirror
The mirror containing, like smoke, the future
The jagged shards reflecting moonlight faintly

I love them all the same

estoques: the swords ****** into bulls

#suicide #robinwilliams #bullfight

Jun 2015

Alessander

For You

I do a few pushups

Before you visit

I rummage for the good cologne

Dash some on wrist, neck

Crotch

I trim my hair

Sweep the floor

Swipe the gunk

Off sinks

Wash the dishes

Stuff all the junk

Socks, backpacks, ****

Into the closet

Rearrange my trinkets

Shelve the various books

Thrown all about

Lay out the good movies

Songs, covers

Ready at hand

Prep my mind

With witticisms and humor

Hang up strawberry

Car-fresheners

Buy wine

Out of my price range

Dim the lights

Scrape the crust

Dust off the shadows

For you

I dream

#romance #date #rose-period

Jun 2015

Bruce Ruston

Bird house

is there a tiny
           little bird house
                      inside
          that when the door
                   is opened
a Bukowski blue bird
                 howls its displeasure
     tiny little bird house
                     prison
     it's rough in there

#life #question

Jun 2015

Ella Gwen

3rd Degree.

You are burnt skin under boiling water;
the acid singing at the back of my throat.

You are the scent of river water rushing;
the precipice of temptation, to fall or to fly.

You are folded paper smiles, salty swallows;
the risky hand knowingly played and lost.

You are the thought I cannot make myself
voice aloud.

#love #heartbreak #hate #memory