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 Oct 2016 Gary
Kyle Kulseth
It was only partly cloudy when we showed up to the dance.
Polished, striding slick in all our style.
Lucky buckeyes stashed in pockets,
rabbits' feet clutched in our hands
          we marched up to that fancy fence
                             and asked,
          "When does the fun begin?"

It had only started raining when our escort let us past
the gate and led us on toward the door.
But I tripped on my own shoelace,
fell behind and watched you pass.
          Your smile turned to sour salt
                             and ash.
          You looked back and you laughed.

Count your friends up, count your digits
and your achy, sagging limbs.
Make sure none of them are missing
before you try to go swim.
                         'Cuz the rain is getting thick
                                                                   now
                        and this scene is getting sick.

                               Wretch me up.
               Soak me down right to the quick.

                     Thought somehow it could be saved.
                     Preserved or salvaged from decay.
                     Decidedly unjustified to chance.

                     But I bought these fancy shoes
                     with my last dime, got all these moves.
                     So waltz me off, stage right, with all the
                                             other trash.

The door was swinging inward, blocking your form from my view,
closing to a slant of yellow light.
Windows brightened golden inside;
out here ink night, black and blue.
          I saw you next through window panes
                             as you          
          cavorted with the lords.

The rainwater's slashing downward, raging cold against this face.
Curse escapes through blunted, yellow teeth.
Among finery you are dancing.
Here, I shiver in drenched rags.
          luck charms fell from fingers to
                             the dregs.
           When does the fun begin?

Count your friends up, count your digits
and your achy, sagging limbs.
Make sure none of them are missing
before you try to go swim.
                         'Cuz the rain is getting thick
                                                                   now
                        and this scene is getting sick.

                           Wretch me up.
             Soak me down right to the quick.

We scrawled out this stupid story
'til the pens fell from our hands--
'til exclamation points were
               dented,
              bent and
                  rent;
until we'd asked,
             "What's the final tally, mate?"

                       Now,
this bad and greasy hair
is hanging low over this face.
This ******, used up body droops
and slouches toward its age...

And the rain is like no bitter ex's invectives
ever taste.

               What's the final tally, mate?
 Oct 2016 Gary
morning glory
Somewhere there’s a boy wishing on dead stars and lost dreams and he knows this but he keeps doing it anyway. Somewhere there’s a girl sitting by the ocean, tears in her eyes, waiting for him to finally find the note she left under the promise ring he gave her two months ago, and come save her. She’ll eventually let the tides take her and she’ll become a part of the ocean, lost in between continents, while he is somewhere up in the sky, lost in between the stars that no longer shine, wondering if she might accept the expensive diamond ring in a velvet box he worked his whole life to afford.
 Oct 2016 Gary
Lora Lee
I see it in
         shades of
liquid coal
  slaking
    my aching
           thirst in
black ocean shoal
      onyx crystals
             washed up
            in tides
       of barely
    peeking,
night-lava eyes
     silently spoken
                   and through
     the waters of deep
my soul is
    waking up from
          eons of sleep
              weaving garlands
             of darkest green,
            seaweed tips
that I tenderly keep
       strewn, in chlorophyll strips  
                      across the stardust glow
                                       of my naked skin
                                     as I liquid float,
                       spirit whirring within
                              eyes bright
                in illuminated
          moonstone glow
picking up signals
of halted flow
This is needed here,
in this darkest of dark
waters abundant
with tight, broken sparks
shards of the living
and fragments of souls
                  a luminosity of darkness
                  making us whole
      And pulsing next to me
   in beauty's surprise
phosphorescent creatures,
     a feast for the eyes
           loving, gently brushing
                my outstretched fingers-
                     bioluminescence divine
                         on my body lingers
                   from jellies to squid
                to jet -hued sharks
    knifing through layers          
     of dark on dark
         within the
lush waters' quiet force
a dance in faded flicker
conjures the source
                 within the depth
                         of the depths
                            of my endlessly
                            wet
          in my darkest of dark
between blood and sweat
penetrating the mysteries
   that quake through
          this heart
         filling it up
  as it tears it apart
         smashing it
    to smithereens
   creating sutures
   of ironic healing
until through the cracks
both wide and slight
        shoots up
the flare
of my own
    inner
          light
This was based on a poem that our dear bex posted entitled "The Darkest Dark," based on the title of a children's book aof that same name. I decided to take this to another direction, and of course it led me to the sea and the complexity and depth that is emotion

"Under the water/ we die/ So why do we jump in?"
                                                                          -Aurora
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zVGQWw4Ap6o
also: amazing !
Snow Ghosts www.youtube.com/watch?v=vcJt4wNeYN0
 Oct 2016 Gary
Sally A Bayan
B O X
 Oct 2016 Gary
Sally A Bayan
Box

Shared visions and promises
Written on yellow papers
Invisibly marked....faded, broken promises
Endearing terms...endearing moments,
Old postcards...old photos and letters
Time-colored...marked souvenirs,
I kept them inside....all stored in a case....
Unexpectedly, the Heavens cried in anger, one day
I rushed, to hold tiny currents at bay...to save
The memories...but the box was no longer there
Those gifts, letters, souvenirs were nowhere
Almost a lifetime...stored in there
But...monsoon rains took them all away...forever
::::::::::::::::::::::::
Got to find myself, a new box....


Sally

Copyright October 15, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
 Oct 2016 Gary
Polar
The Night
 Oct 2016 Gary
Polar
I crawl the floor

Collecting broken glass

To protect feet of those who do not know

Do not care

Whilst rejecting offers of company

As music moves the floor.

Later

When all is quiet

I enter the night

To walk along roads alone.

A bogeyman of myth

Stalks these streets

It's ok

For I am not the prey he seeks

I am not the prey he seeks.
 Oct 2016 Gary
Poetic Eagle
HOME
 Oct 2016 Gary
Poetic Eagle
I never want to go home
But l guess
The art of being a good guest
Is to know when to live
Be it so humble
There is no place like
HOME
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