SCHULANA ANGORA  DUNKELVIOLETT( 021 )

a room so stuffed
with sunshine
one could hardly shoehorn a small boy in

two windows with
nothing but blue in them
summer outside peeping in

and at its very centre
a cat on a mat
curled about a ball of wool

I burnt my forehead
The day before election day
I broke some aloe vera plants
Prepared to needle and thread
The damage I had done.

Check the bag
A blood red
The ointment the plant creates
Oozing and healed up in red
Like a severe cut
I had laid upon them
To heal my wound.

I'm full of white guilt
I've been so angry
We out here
Those I love and respect take the streets
And I plan to partake
I'm with you, I'm so with you
I'm so with you.

I think perhaps
Theres something innate in those
That choose blue
And those that choose red.

Heres some fruit
Some almonds
I'm writing, I'm trying
Its not for vanity anymore
It never was meant to be.

I asked myself in the heat of the charcoal
What can I do
To be a better human?

Blood in the aloe vera bag
White guilt in the peak of the darkness
All I can do is be the strongest I can be.

Un angora que sa maîtresse
Nourrissait de mets délicats
Ne faisait plus la guerre aux rats ;
Et les rats, connaissant sa bonté, sa paresse,
Allaient, trottaient partout, et ne se gênaient pas.
Un jour, dans un grenier retiré, solitaire,
Où notre chat dormait après un bon festin,
Plusieurs rats viennent dans le grain
Prendre leur repas ordinaire.
L'angora ne bougeait. Alors mes étourdis
Pensent qu'ils lui font peur ; l'orateur de la troupe
Parle des chats avec mépris.
On applaudit fort, on s'attroupe,
On le proclame général.
Grimpé sur un boisseau qui sert de tribunal :
Braves amis, dit-il, courons à la vengeance.
De ce grain désormais nous devons être las,
Jurons de ne manger désormais que des chats :
On les dit excellents, nous en ferons bombance.
À ces mots, partageant son belliqueux transport,
Chaque nouveau guerrier sur l'angora s'élance,
Et réveille le chat qui dort.
Celui-ci, comme on croit, dans sa juste colère,
Couche bientôt sur la poussière
Général, tribuns et soldats.
Il ne s'échappa que deux rats
Qui disaient, en fuyant bien vite à leur tanière :
Il ne faut point pousser à bout
L'ennemi le plus débonnaire ;
On perd ce que l'on tient quand on veut gagner tout.

Ooh, the sweetness that is hidden
Under the pocket that holds the pen protectors
And the baggy jeans of the shambling man.

The unsociable quiet one,
Who unexpectedly turns out to be
A ***** tom, a happy bedfellow,

Cerebral and awkward,
Lovely sensuality,
Hidden treasure,
A complete surprise.

When I see him,
I want to rub against him and purr and tease.
Want him to scoop me up as if I were a fluffy white angora cat,
And pet me.

Biscuit boy
Makes me want to
Melt all over him
like butter

The rustling of girls in nylon underskirts
And shoe buckle in bejewelled highlights
With presents so wrapped and tied bows
For bolero in angora to complete the show.

Love Mary x

angora fur
calico coat

regal and aloof

we thought you stupid
'till Xander came along

rarely jumping
never running
lazy Koko-kitty

loving
but only on the water bed
never on mine

a traditional cat
with an almost Persian face

and the most adorable mew

the mommy of the cats
but never a mother
or an aunt

adopted from the shelter
no longer feral
and healthy as a horse

ATYPICAL GAY GUY

I am an atypical gay guy
I don’t match any mold.
I am not young any more
But not in any way old.
Too fem to be a he-man
Too butch to be a queen.
I am neither fish nor fowl
Always Mr. In-Between.

I do love my show tunes
And of course Miss Babs
And I do put a bit of product
In my hair, just a few dabs.
I don’t haunt the health clubs
Flexing on the big machines
Trying to bring to vapors
Our local workout queens.

I do like to cook a little bit
But, my house is usually a mess.
I don’t like angora sweaters
And would never wear a dress.
You couldn’t really peg me
By the way I usually walk.
I don’t lisp or squeal, so
It’s a manly way I talk.

I do cruise quite normally
When hot guys walk by me.
But, I try my best to do so
Undetected, and slyly.
My taste in men does not
Run to muscled guys.
When I see someone pass
I first look at his eyes.

It’s hard to get me into bed,
I am really rather choosy.
I don’t do promiscuity,
Not a backdoor loosey-goosey.
So don’t go giving birthday gifts
Of dildoes and leather goods.
You won’t find me in costumes
Like rubber and leather hoods.


I am an atypical gay guy
I don’t match any mold.
I am not young any more
But not in any way old.
Too fem to be a he-man
Too butch to be a queen.
I am neither fish nor fowl
Always Mr. In-Between.

Brent Kincaid
1/27/2015

Juego mi vida, cambio mi vida,
de todos modos
la llevo perdida...
Y la juego o la cambio por el más infantil espejismo,
la dono en usufructo, o la regalo...
La juego contra uno o contra todos,
la juego contra el cero o contra el infinito,
la juego en una alcoba, en el ágora, en un garito,
en una encrucijada, en una barricada, en un motín;
la juego definitivamente, desde el principio hasta el fin,
a todo lo ancho y a todo lo hondo
-en la periferia, en el medio,
y en el sub-fondo...-
Juego mi vida, cambio mi vida,
la llevo perdida
sin remedio.
Y la juego, o la cambio por el más infantil espejismo,
la dono en usufructo, o la regalo...:
o la trueco por una sonrisa y cuatro besos:
todo, todo me da lo mismo:
lo eximio y lo rüin, lo trivial, lo perfecto, lo malo...
Todo, todo me da lo mismo:
todo me cabe en el diminuto, hórrido abismo
donde se anudan serpentinos mis sesos.
Cambio mi vida por lámparas viejas
o por los dados con los que se jugó la túnica inconsútil:
-por lo más anodino, por lo más obvio, por lo más fútil:
por los colgajos que se guinda en las orejas
la simiesca mulata,
la terracota rubia;
la pálida morena, la amarilla oriental, o la hiperbórea rubia:
cambio mi vida por una anilla de hojalata
o por la espada de Sigmundo,
o por el mundo
que tenía en los dedos Carlomagno: -para echar a rodar la bola...
Cambio mi vida por la cándida aureola
del idiota o del santo;
                                        la cambio por el collar
que le pintaron al gordo Capeto;
o por la ducha rígida que llovió en la nuca
a Carlos de Inglaterra;
                                        la cambio por un romance, la cambio por un soneto;
por once gatos de Angora,
por una copla, por una saeta,
por un cantar;
por una baraja incompleta;
por una faca, por una pipa, por una sambuca...
o por esa muñeca que llora
como cualquier poeta.
Cambio mi vida -al fiado- por una fábrica de crepúsculos
(con arreboles);
                              por un gorila de Borneo;
por dos panteras de Sumatra;
por las perlas que se bebió la cetrina Cleopatra-
o por su naricilla que está en algún Museo;
cambio mi vida por lámparas viejas,
o por la escala de Jacob, o por su plato de lentejas...
¡o por dos huequecillos minúsculos
-en las sienes- por donde se me fugue, en grises podres,
la hartura, todo el fastidio, todo el horror que almaceno en mis odres...!
Juego mi vida, cambio mi vida.
De todos modos
la llevo perdida...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~­~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One thing I would miss,
the elegiac street names.
angora, moyamensing,
escaping my red-berry throat
as if terms invented by a willow tree,
its ancient, parched lips defining first utterances.

from her droning tongue,
terms incomprehensible.
the closest we’ll come to some ‘true name.’

she speaks in our words now. they enter us from all around,
words seeping in through porous flesh.

she reveals my truest intent.
looks at it through her leaves,
but will not tell me,
because she has none of the authority to do so.



to you, i want to look like home.
arms, peripheral walls.
unfortunately, inside you’ll find the wings of the stately home cordoned off,
closed to the public.

my great tragedies lie in the thought of you having no curiosity about the events of those rooms.

feel free to do with the house what you’d never do anywhere else.
you’ll find no temple here.
no servants’ prayer room populated by makeshift pews.
let so many fall from its windows howling with competitive laughter,
each guest trying to outdo the last.
to see who can be the most clever about getting the joke.

those filthy parts of you
you keep out
of public veiw
I feel just the way you do
about the
heartless wreck I am &
all this **** I'm going through.

ashamed at my amazement.

taming is the same as breaking.
it's risky
but worth the taking.

don't you see
all the crazy?
scribbled on my face
& this time the blame
is not a brain
blotted dodgy with
synthetic smile makers.

genetically mutated

color crayon child
molded by mistakes
gold eyed & awakened
unafraid, but folding,
otherwise
okay.

you & I
sure are something.

wild.

& its fine with me.
I like wild things.

violating the
virulent miscreant
blind with
narcissistic
misanthropy
tiring game

sick twisted

lovely terrific

I'll give it a home
& call it all my own.

tides of change
tied to chance
the water's choppy.
the roads is rocky.
every last candy ***
happy avenue.
it wont stop me.
will it stop you?

black angora
silver umbilical cord
fast flippant forward
man
it's ******* freezing!
I can't feel anything!

I hold tepid a fond memory

at sun-up
when we finally sleep
we can share this tedium
& not feel as boring.

we'll speak in the morning.

Angora on cashmere
our parents have never been in love,
and you make me feel so smug
I wear the smile of the cheshire cat,
an emblem declaring you my own.

I cried for them in a jazz bar in Dublin.
Told each other stories
new and old.
I feel older than them.
Decided you only get one chance at love,
you blow your chances away
like particles off a book
in the sunlight of spring.
So cold, that winter;
left the ***** six euros
under the hood of his sleeping bag
like Santa’s elves
or is that vanity?
But I kept on looking back
and soon I will forget
because we are always looking forwards.
Wonder how long he’ll carry that sack
of bones?
It’s all we had,
I won’t think of misery until it is my
turn.

De vértices quemados
de subsueño de cauces de preausencia de huracanados rostros que trasmigran
de complejos de niebla de gris sangre
de soterráneas ráfagas de ratas de trasfiebre invadida
con su animal doliente cabellera de líbido
su satélite angora
y sus ramos de sombras y su aliento que entrecorre las algas del pulso de lo inmóvil
desde otra arena oscura y otro ahora en los huesos
mientras las piedras comen su moho de anestesia y los dedos se apagan y arrojan su ceniza
desde otra orilla prófuga y otras costas refluye a otro silencio
a otras huecas arterias
a otra grisura
refluye
y se desqueja

I'm a ****** in a carnivore my martyr wants to craft in a hunt
where biting laughs make romance posit their knowledge or fact
if then skunk mull ground with graph only message hers affront

to slander this right and sleep in the courtyard
and chastise fortuity at baroness
when she'd attract communist lore till Angora
freeze her T & A all the way to Tennessee.

you mumured love
into my ear,
that made me glow

those words made a home
as they echoed in my my mind
they painted walls a warm blue
carpeted in a lovely angora white
moved in chairs, tables and
a big feather bed
those words warm and encouraging
had a family, that follwed them about
like little fluffy ducklings, bring a smile
to my face

they expanded their homstead
to make my heart large and welcoming
and those duckling words grew up
and flew from the home in my heart
out into the world, to give love

you mumured love into my ear
and the whole world changed..

Leftover yarn
wanted to be something
and so I began
to crochet stitches and rows
until it started
to resemble a scarf.
I thought of you
as my hands worked
how you would
appreciate the soft angora thread
how the length
of it would keep you warm
on cold days
when you might be missing me
it is yours, if you want it

I never was much
for rambling on and on about a thing
but if you could see my thoughts
well, then, I guess
you'd know

Our words turned into string
Soft carrot angora
I used my size 6 needles
And begged you to whisper
Up to the stars
Off up to me
Your first thoughts
When you think of the first time you slipped your fingers
Around mine
Ah. Aren't I egocentric?
Fine.
I'll go first
It was the warmth of the first sip of black coffee Monday morning
It was the roughness of falling asleep to the sun, wrapped in the grains of sand
It was the familiarity of the pale pink walls of my childhood bedroom
It was the yearning I have seen on a homesick sailor's face fantasizing of land
And it was the sound of melancholic jazz ballads

I wait for your answer

To pearl off and offer a sweater, poorly knit
To keep you warm.

En invernales horas, mirad a Carolina.
Medio apelotonada, descansa en el sillón,
envuelta con su abrigo de marta cibelina
y no lejos del fuego que brilla en el salón.El fino angora blanco junto a ella se reclina,
rozando con su hocico la falda de Aleçón,
no lejos de las jarras de porcelana china
que medio oculta un biombo de seda del Japón.Con sus sutiles filtros la invade un dulce sueño:
entro, sin hacer ruido: dejo mi abrigo gris;
voy a besar su rostro, rosado y halagüeñocomo una rosa roja que fuera flor de lis.
Abre los ojos; mírame con su mirar risueño,
y en tanto cae la nieve del cielo de París.

I should have given it to someone else.
shared the warmth,
passed it on

But I couldn’t let anyone else inside
Acting Impulsively...
Familiar.
Tendencies.

I hacked off one arm at a time
surgical scissors gutting the seams
Knit from the finest fibers

Golden angora
Gleaming boastfully
Slumped in the corner, the body of that beauty.

I stuffed it down, down, down
Then threw it out.
Ridding myself of anything, everything
reminiscent of the time of brown eyes

her finger
on the knife.
It slipped out
from under her hand
as the man in her life.

She cuts
out of class
to grab a smoke
and a nip or two.
Stalls as she sits
on the toilet
down the hall,
till the bell clangs.

She cuts
a rug
at the club.
Puts on a **** red angora
sweater. Wears her hair up,
layered and feathered
just to lean against the wall
and see her friends asked
to dance.

She cuts
to the chase.
Doesn’t like puny talk.
She fidgets with a pencil
making doodles. It’s
agitating as her brother
slurping his noodles.

Au shopping des petites morts
J'ai accroché la distance
Qui nous sépare
d'Orphée et Eurydice.

J'ai esquissé quelques mots
Quelques voyelles aux allures d'opéra
J'ai griffonné en guise de valse et tango
Quelques pas pour petit rat angora
Comme si j'étais ton chat Orphée
Je t 'ai invitée à poursuivre nos figures
Sur le parquet impromptu de sable mouillé.

Et comme tu ne refuses jamais quand on t'invite
Tu m'as accepté comme cavalier d'infortune
Tu m'as accordé une danse nocturne jusqu'à minuit
Contre un pin sec qui dressait ses aiguilles près des vagues
Tes escarpins dorés pétillaient
Entre rumba fox-trot et paso-doble
Et la voilette noire de ton chapeau
M'entraînait comme une voile
Vers l'océan de tes entrechats.

INSIDE THE OLD GREY SHED.

Inside the old grey shed
A path leading from the house
Flower beds and
Grassy turf
Guided each
Advancing step
In children's eyes
This was a den
A place far away from men
Dusted by the wind and rain
A window with a broken pane.

And on this day,
It was particular
A female cat had
Birthed her kittens
In the old discarded tent
Blood stained with
The afterbirth.
It was the children
Who on their visit
Found something moving
In a corner
Afraid to touch
Called their father
This day remembered ever after.

A hand open to reveal
A bundle of softest fur
Curled together in a ball
Like an angora whirl
Three kittens there within
Newness in their pinkish skin
The children held them
Side by side
Watched as their feet did dry
Opened up their floppy ears
Spoke gently so they could hear.

Of the three they kept but one
Called her Lucky just for fun.
Next door took number two
The other one went quickly too.
Mother cat was rather wild
Fought her sadness
Took a while
Never settled sad to say
Had to be put away.
Lucky our special cat
Lived 18 years on our doormat .

Love Mary **
Thank you , Lucky our black and white cat.

Falling snow
Fuzzy slippers
Angora Sweater
Cozy kitchen
Baked croissants
Creme fraiche
Petite fours
Bottomless mimosas
Messy bun
Chocolate waves
Sprinkled freckles
diamond lace G string
Glossed lips
Pink toes