Jeff Stier

Jun 2016

Darren Edsel Wilson

I bought the shirt
to tell you I was there
when the electric slide was
cool,
when I wore dandelion
hair.

I knew the words that could
school
your mind so that you'd
stare.
With your electric hide
you can go
anywhere,
but imagine your jealousy
when I'm in all the photographs,
not noticing I don't fit.

In the millennium's decade
I wove webs at bars
I healed dames their scars
and gave them my brand.
I told jokes with slight
of
hand;
left coats with nowhere
to stand.
Oh, I was the border patrol,
******* pockets,
though none could pass.
My security measures were
long and vast,
probing questions
slick with crass,
I'd lead them to pasture
epiphanies from my grass.
Yes, I wore the hat,
compliments, too,
but my hat wouldn't fit
no matter what
I told it to
do.

All that time,
searching for something to fit.
Keys slipped out of locks
Numbers ripped off of clocks
women deprived of their... talks,
for my language was divine.
That was the problem:
how could I be divine?
Was I the branded fool?
Was I truly sublime?
A prince I was, set to inherit the world
till misfortune struck, disaster unfurled.

I couldn't fit into my home
or wherever I'd
roam.
I couldn't fit into school
now a blunted
tool.
I couldn't fit into work
Who's that?
****!

No, no, don't feel sorry for me...
After all, I'm only 3.
Three things you wouldn't
want to be.
Too round, too soft, too... me.
I'm not the sort of peg
that fits in at any degree.

I'm just the laughing stock,
that you put in your wok,
who tastes bad next year,
that much isn't clear.

Yet if I live in the past,
I'll eat my own tail,
so in order not to fail:
into the future, fast!

Someday I'll find,
that fitting is not the key,
it's learning to
relax,
in something bigger than I'll
ever be.

A lot of my history sort of slipped into the poem here.
Some is obvious. Some is suggested, but not true.
Some is not true, but suggested... yes, I repeated myself... did you notice? LOL
Some is true, but not suggested -_- how does that even work? (You figure it out, haha)
And some is totally not obvious, but wrong or true.
As with all things, let's just enjoy the low-hanging fruit, leave the other fruit to the rock-climbers, and the forbidden fruit to the idiots.

I think I've taken up enough of your time in being silly, haha!

Enjoy!

--- DEW

Jun 2016

Pradip Chattopadhyay

Black and Blue

What for you need a pen that writes black?
The man at the counter shot back
What has the blue done to offend you?

Look up the firmament
Over there the kingfisher
Once I had been to the sea
She was blue
Surely you prefer over black
A blue saree for her
So many men have staked their life
For the blue eyes of women

And then as if volleying the winning goal

Why not color all your wishes with blue
To paint the world blue-wish?

As I turned to walk away
My eyes caught the writing on his wall..

Black ink for the black heart
For the fool and the dull
Blue for the man of art
With matter in the skull

I had come to the wrong shop.

Jun 2016

SE Reimer

slow burn

~

think again if you believe
light is but a rapid blur,
consider that the spark
that lives between
two lover-friends, is light
exchanged in slow fashion;
the slow burn of a campfire,
the sparkle of her passion,
the flicker of a candle,
whisperings of the starlight,
the way a moon beam
bends the tides,
and makes her eyes twinkle;
each my confirmation,
of light that moves
so satisfying slow,
allowing flames to ever grow
ever higher, higher,
kindling sparks into a fire,
for love that lasts
is not a spark alone...
no,
love’s passion is a bon fire,
a sunset setting sky aglow;
an ever-building slow,
to effervescent ether;
a gently flowing kiss,
a living, colored tapestry
of drifting twilight mist;
this the speed of light...
my heart’s desire,
mirrored in my lover’s eyes.

~

*post script.

love at the speed of sunsets and star gazing;
evenings spent round the campfire
with only the light of the fire,
the stars and that sparkle in each other's eyes...
falling in love, all over again!

Jun 2016

Darren Edsel Wilson

Moonlit Pastures...

I've cried here...
haven't we all?
Did the tears dry on the
face?
Were they swept away by shaking
hands?
Were they evidence of void
plans?
Relax... come here and
walk these moonlit pastures.
The galaxy swirling above
swallows not only our planet,
but our disappointments, too,
if only for a night.
Think of how
tears aren't always the martyrs of
tragedy;
they can be the heroes of a
celebration.
Maybe... that's what we always cry
about.
In those moments when time does
stop,
as our hearts threaten to
pop,
maybe it's all the joy
bottlenecked.
The release of agony into
elation,
or the release of love into
transcendence.
As the sun invades the night,
carrying with him wondrous light,
watch the pastures transform.
The waters will sparkle.
The flowers will bloom and
the grass will glow green with envy.
The sky will turn a joyous blue.
When you cry, this also will happen to
you.

Sometimes (very rarely) films make me shed a tear.
It's usually at that moment of the ******, where the hero/protagonist has just achieved their dream or have been shattered by a realization of their own tragedy.

I've read that if a character goes through a trauma and doesn't cry, you will cry for them, but if they do cry, you don't feel the empathetic urge to do so.

The one tear rolls down my face and such sorrows capture my soul. It has to be a good movie, though, like almost perfect, at which point, it's more than just the moment that motivates the tear, it's the entire symphony of the movie. The movie "Jack", featuring Robin Williams, about a boy who ages 4 times faster than a normal human always comes to mind. I saw it when I was a kid and I don't want to see it again because it's so sad.

I don't know if it's because I'm brought to such powerful emotion, or if it's because my tear-ducts are so weak/sensitive, because in the winds of winter, or if I rub my eye, I end up tearing up for an hour, or until I wash my eyes. It really *****. If not the tear-ducts, I suppose I'm a very empathetic person.

Anyway, thank you for reading.

Enjoy!

DEW