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 Sep 2021 Prevost
ju
path
 Sep 2021 Prevost
ju
lythrum leans in
curious, tall -
I have nothing to tell

nothing left

I take careful steps, mind loose-stones
don’t twist me up

fire-lidded

I am here, I breathe here

I bleed a weak, thorny tide

here
on warm afternoons i sit on the terrace
in the sun reading

looking up to watch the washing move

trying to concentrate
on climbing

crampons heavy

we slowly move upward

while laundry dries nicely
on the line

not yesterday though
nor today for we have a storm with no name

and you guessed it Jim , I am aiming  for the summit  of

everest

James
 Aug 2021 Prevost
Maria Mitea
warm sun  
burning my lips, cheeks, shoulders, *******,
skin
i opened my eyes and saw how we lost one of our lives -
all that remained was thirst until  our lips cracked,  and
we snacked the lives that remained unstolen.
there is no reaching the summit here
the story changed

an avalanche of news
and wet weather

dampened the spirit
so we nipped out between the storms

to post the letters
and that was all
 Aug 2021 Prevost
Norman Crane
sweet birdsong consumes
the bitterness of cities
a summer morning
 Aug 2021 Prevost
Carlo C Gomez
~
"...Though I walk through the valley
of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil..."
-- Psalm 23:4



This Achilles' heel
— die for yellow
the abruptness has come
sick shoddy steam engines
bellow

Big blue undone
don't bite the sun
seek out satin
adrift in the flatlines
of this soaring dystopian stockpile
just as the flaming Icarus
fell in exile

Unlock the nearest far
but lose a hand in the cookie jar
cockpit burn
— what new color
do we learn?

Promise me you'll live
beyond yellow
and on re-entry I'll play
the hedonistic fellow
falling from the summit

— Breaking atmo
with so great a speed
like it or not
I'll soon be eternally
freed

Starburst
and static talk
ionized trails
and blisters of aftershock

Remembering the capsule
under the tongue
remembering the break-up
under the sun

Sensing fascination
in an endless stretch of graveyard
Duke of the avant-garde
this abstraction is now
my calling card

We're at the threshold here
reshaping into debris
and I'm wondering
just so wondering
if you will ever find me
STS-107 was the 113th flight of the Space Shuttle program, and the 28th and final flight of Space Shuttle Columbia. An in-flight break up during re-entry into the atmosphere on February 1, 2003, killed all seven crew members.
 Aug 2021 Prevost
ju
The air is cotton-tangle thick and
thoughts are heavy.

I unpick a hem of memory -

The quiet pip-pip of a broken stitch
gives way to raw.
Annoying thoughts can color dreams,
which proselytize their wanton schemes;
Intriguing worlds come into play,
while clouds of perception waste away.

The doldrums of this mournful scene,
can shatter hopes of a life serene;
A struggle lasts beyond the days,
in melancholy moments here to stay.

How do the clouds relieve our pain,
in subtle spaces which shall remain ?
Among the woolly white of fluff,
destructive signals call our bluff.

How soon the notions that perceive,
a chance to grow, a chance to grieve;
For when the night calls to the clouds,
it wraps the daylight in its shroud.
 Jul 2021 Prevost
Carlo C Gomez
*** in the morning
Death in the afternoon
And it was dark

Milling about stacks
Of paperbacks and out of focus snapshots
Some of her in the shower

But pay heed
She's an iceberg
Warm her up on a bed of nails

Until she's a plaintive waterfall
And then tie her to the scaffolding
Of a clean well lighted place

What remains out of sight
Through omission
Through silence

Through childlike syntax
Shall float to the surface
In its own due time
To the master of the Iceberg Theory, Ernest Hemingway
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