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Kara Rose Trojan Apr 2011
All my friends are tortoise-shelled Merlins stalking statues
with their walking canes at dusk while
I pad behind them on all fours
as the day breaks the clouds like wet tissue.
And, Garrett, you broke the picket line –
Once the spotlight’s beam with that grin wider than yours and mine’s minds’ intangible illusions – Now the rustle of an intermission between stage and applause.
Our afternoons were spent *******
nicotine out of burning daily afflictions
between raspy exasperations and half-laughing
declarations about how we couldn’t catch a break.

I would ask you why, but it’s not my place.
It’s not yours, either.

I’ll tell you The Why about me, Garrett. I’ll tell you the right
and proper Why I had to pause and stifle
my cigarette break before my wrists broke
                before my wet-eyed babbling witnessed your last wave’s exhalation on all our friends

The Why I was 40 when I saw the shady What If [the same
                that stalked you] linger round my mother. And
                I heard your exhalation of “Mama Kara” and
                I remembered how to act.
The Why I was 13 when I begged the ambiguous How Do I out of you
                when I felt lifeless and pale within UIC's Courtyard -- all of our eyes spread white and feverish.

We can never pay for it -- too much of one thing is
Our buckled knees dragging the question to the fountain to make it drink.
Garrett – although so distant, the brush you had on me is the echo of a “Yup” and an “I know, right?”  and "Yo, lemme get a square,"
that drowns out the reverberating sound
of grief-clapping palms,
and cries, of everyone’s “Why?”
It took me a while to finally find the words to accurately write this. Like many others, I was shocked when I heard the news. Although I cannot even compare my grief to those who were closer to Garrett, I was affected by his suicide nonetheless. I will always remember Garrett Short. [November 26, 1989  -- December 28, 2010]
Ethan Moon Oct 2015
Imagine no apocalypse
What then?
You Vanish.
That’s it.
Fish will return
land will rise, fall
merlins will take sparrows on
the blackberries.
A piece of poetry from a fellow Canadian.
Reminds me of our obsession with the apocalypse; and how,
"One generation passes away, and another generation comes;
But the earth abides forever."
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
the focal point of integrating into
english society
is learning how to have comic
value via sarcasm...

    bananas are gay!
               what?!
                                    they're bent!

show me a straight banana...
      i don't mind abnomartalities
in other fruits or veg...
  sure, cucumbers are straight,
and gherkins are bent,
   sickle, communist, islamic,
                             crescent moon...

wait, wait wait a minute,
  i thought you asked me to incorporate
into your culture?
   don't get the joke all of a sudden?
   can't be english then, even
if you're english...

  oh right, not enough *** / whiskey
running in your bloodstream...
go into the toilet and puke some kebab bits
out... i'm going to have another
shot with this cossack friend of time...

shore ahoy! "tipsy" sailor!
       in the gutter of a ******, or kissing
the ropes with a ****** loverboy...
  ****, the planks float, ****'s fine with me,
just don't you try to get it in my face,
i'm cool with it coming near my shoes...
but that's the limit, matey.

once again,
   show me a straight banana,
   and i'll show you pear curvatures in
an apple,
    and a mohican on a pineapple's tip
that's frizzy-afro hedgehog punk.

******* bonkers *******,
    you'd get more febreeze cool
   shouting: torro! torro!
      at nothing more than your own shadow
impressed against a brick wall.

- yo! brin'g'ah m'eh a'h boo'ket 'oath a'h
    tick-tack-toes!
- huh?
- t'oh-m'ah-twos!
- tomatoes.
- y'ah tum-tums.
- yeah, because a bunch of tomatoe throwing
   spanish freaks will **** that bull,
   when the toredor's blades didn't.
- mon!
- wha'?
- shee won' b' e noo'veil...
- **** me, i wasn't into hemingway anyway,
   the guy fish merlins off the coast
   of cuba, for all i care;
    i'd too take to a death in the afternoon,
    his finest "book",
    a shot of absinthe in a flute of champagne;
    i swear i almost mentioned veal.
October – November 6th, 2020

I.
To Channel the Wisdom of a Prophet
While Reading Elegant English Sonnets
It Would be a Wonderful Power
One I’d Long to Share at Every Hour
With My Gift – Every Poem I Peruse Would Transcend
Far Beyond the Dead Laureate’s Pen
The Eras of Ancient England – I’d Showcase their Scenery
And My Listeners Would Fantasize with Me
II.
Together, We’d Stumble Atop the Rocks of Wales – Where Cuts & Scrapes would Scar Our Ankles
We’d Witness a Sea of Mist, & Get Lost in a Labyrinth
During our Crest to the Summit of Mt. Snowdon
But We’d All Prevail, and Entail the Trail
We’d Rub our Goosebumps and Click our Teeth – Until We Reached the Final Peak
There the Sun Would Strike My Voice – And All My Listeners Would Rejoice
Warmth would Melt the Water off Our Clothes
The Shock of the View would Scare Our Shivers Aside
We Couldn’t Help but Be Wide-Eyed – Seeing God’s View of the ***** Incline
Serenity would Blanket Our Essence, as We’d Gaze at a Hundred Hills Below Us
What an Adventure We’d Be On – A Present from the Pantheon
We would have Explored a 19th Century Endeavor, One of William Wordsworth’s Treasures
III.
Soon We’d Watch Nightfall Descend
Having Gone Beyond the Mountain’s Climb, We’d Give Ear to the Evening Chimes
The Ringing Wind Would Chill Our Cheeks, and it Would Whisper to Us . . . Look Over Our Brows
Ensconcing on the Stones & Grass, My Concertgoers and I would Sit & Rest
We’d See the Solstice Moon Above – In a Blend of Agate So Lustrous & Loved
Clouds Made by Masons would Veil Luna’s Light
A Silver Paint-Stroke would Streak the Sky – Twinkling Our Sight with Great Delight
Translucent & True, the Haar of Adam’s Ale would Act to Capture Our Visions
Our Joys Would be Leaping, Our Features All Beaming, Our Lips Endlessly Grinning
A Zephyr Would Cast Every Care Away
The Breath of Rain would Susurrate to the Top of the Mountain
And the Breeze Would Murmur, Frost is on the Horizon
Then With that, We’d Give a Few Involuntary Shudders
Cascading Snowflakes would Descend on Our Starry-Night Shoulders
Its Water Would Pierce Us Like Pins
But in the Serenity of Selene, an Unseen Star-beam Would Warm Us
In the Lake of the Lost Sword Beneath Snowdon’s Feet – Steam Would Rise like the Ring of Fire
Its Heat Would Give Us the Strength to Endure the Chilly Weather
The Eerie Blossoming of Darkness, Created by Percy Shelley’s Madness – Would be a Blessing For All of Us
IV.
My Stanza-Seekers & I Would Gaze at the Celestial Maze
Dwelling in the Time of the Evening Tide
Smiling & Enjoying the Moment, Awaiting More Community Bestowment
I’d Grasp My Breath, and Look at the Rocks Below
And in the Moonlight, A Spiderweb Would Catch My Sight
My Concertgoers and I Would Bend to Our Knees, and Watch it Bob in the Breeze
Our Eyes would Seek the Spinner of Silk, and We’d Find Her in the Center of the Ilk
Envisioning the Land, Each One of Us Would Stand Upon her Soft Yet Sturdy Sand
For Life on a Spiderweb would Never Be Dull – We’d Be Captains Always Making Our Calls
Recognized as Keepers of the Protein Warrens, with Memories of Each & Every Direction
Flies would Be Our Fish & We’d Hunt for their Meat
When Caught in Our Mesh, Our Prey Would Always be Fresh
The Daylight, Sky, & Stars would be Our Sundials
Living in the Open Air – Wind Eternally Blowing in Our Hair
Raindrops would Spring Mountaintops – Building on Our Pathways
Around Us – Everyday Would Be of Great Height
The Web of Our Weaving Would Hold So Much Meaning
Each String would Be an Expansion of Our Passion
Inside Christina Rosetti’s Realm, where the Cold & Lonely Dwelled
We’d Find Embracement, Like Missionaries’ Ears to their Church Bells
V.
Gaping at the Mountain’s Peak
My Discerners of Verse would Gaze with Me – Listening to the Whispering Waves of the Irish Sea
Skipping Winds on the Water would Leap into the Air, And We’d Feel them in a Breeze Oh So Fair
All and Sundry Would Rise, With the Gale Great, Divine & Innate
At Our Side, Birds would Fly, We’d See Peregrines, Ravens, & Merlins in the Sky
Travelling Beyond Snowdon’s Summit, We’d be Spellbound by Astonishment
Soaring Beneath Pearls in the Night’s Azure
Twisting Inside Zephyrs, Seeing the Water-Gloss Portraits of the Marine
It Would Be a Sensational Scene
My Fellow Flyers & I would Watch Our Mirrors Ripple in the River, & We’d Make a Weave for the Trees
Around Every Oak, We’d Swing & Swerve, Until Snowdon was on the Horizon
My Adventurers & I would See Honey-Bugs at their Promised Sites
Where the White Tongues of Lilies would Open for their Nectar, & Reveal Fireflies in their Centers
Rays of Daybeams would Shoot from the Poppies, Crystals would Perch from Every Sundew
Losing Our Breath to Endless Wonders, Our Elevation would Spring with So Many Colors
Suspending Ourselves Mere Inches Above Ground
My Stanza Seekers & I would Sway Between the Rocks, Flowers, & Leaves – Until We Returned to the Crest
Then We’d Levitate Down for a Rest, Suspiring After Our Visit to Nature’s Breast
We’d Lay on the Hard Surface of Stone – Starring up at the Stars
In Our Lounging, Recounting the Incites of Robert Browning, it would be a Bittersweet Parting
VI.
Fantasizing Down on the Imaginary Ground, Each One of Us Would Draw a Breath
With Sighs Ever So Deep, the Dream would Descend
We’d Return from Our Imaginary Climb
My Paramours of Poetry & I Would Open Our Eyes
We’d Find Ourselves Sitting on Our Carpets of Lea, and I’d Hold My Book of Anthology
I would Have Reached So Many Listeners,
Every Lip would be Curved, Every Mind Transfixed
Still Lost & Mesmerized by Snowdon’s Secrets
Remembering the Words that We Hale, & All the Tales of Wales
My Chance to Channel, there Would Be No Greater Gift
To Share the Wisdom of the Poem’s Swift
Arctic Skuas, fish wives beware,
       steal from birds, without a care
Blackbirds, fond of hedgerows hewn,
           known to whistle occasional tunes
Cuckoos. heralding spring sing loud,
            beware the cuckoo land cloud!
Doves, duck with a divers ease,
            traditionally symbolise beautiful peace
Eagles, immortal, courageous and bold,
            eagle-eyed, with a plumage of gold
Flycatchers, search flies in flight,
            swoop from perches, feeding mid-flight
Geese, possessing little wit,
            occasionally upon golden eggs do sit!
Herons, gangly and vexed,
             also known for having s-shaped necks
Insects, many a good feed,
             airborne fast food, eaten at speed
Jackdaws, inquisitive, kindred of Crow,
             steals through the skies, taking all aglow
Kingfishers, sapphire, red, and green,
             beautiful colours to be seen
Lapwings, loud shrills, and insincere,
             fly with egg-shell attached very near
Magpies, possessing magical mystique,
             sometimes portent of coming times bleak
Nightingales, mythologically Philomel,
             melodious midnight serenades, sang so well
Owls, emblems of Athens past,
              symbolic of wisdoms, of the stars
Partridges, particularly partial to pear trees,
              when braced, huntsmen to please
Quails, eggs delicacies held dear,
              causes Quails to tremble with fear
Robins, red-breasted, (with leaves they cover the dead), not Puckish, but good,
              loved like the folk hero Robin Hood
Starlings, amiable, keen for friendship,
              travel afar on migrational trips
Thrush also Throstle, fluent of tongues,
              mistle-toe food and christmassy songs
Uplands, Utopia for magical Merlins,
               loves high ground, gently unfurling
Vermian, for most birds, a succulent delight,
               eating worms, as part of their diet
Woodpeckers, like climbing trees,
               picking out insects, with utmost ease
X is for extinction, of various birds,
               preventative action, louder than words
Yellowhammers, cursed eggs destroyed,
               taken by men, collecting like boys
Zoos, offering sanctuary for endangered species,
               unfortunately caused by the human disease

— The End —