Tag: poetry

Poetry

Mannequin by Charlie Robert

Plastic Bone.Works AtNight.All Alone.Outta Sight.Thinks AboutHerLifeOnLoan.ThinksAboutHerSaxophone.Thinks AboutHerHighHeelDress.ThinksShe KnowsShe KnowsWhat’s Blessed.Mannequin.Plastic Bone.Calls MeOn HerTelephone.Tells MeOf HerTimeOnEarth.Tells MeOf HerVirgin Birth.Hopes That She CanSplitTheScene.HopesThe LightTheLightTurnsGreen.HopesThe Line Is NiceAnd Short.HopesSheLikesHerNewEscort.Mannequin.Plastic Bone.Works AtNight.All Alone. Continue reading Mannequin by Charlie Robert

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Poetry

The Gavel by Susie Gharib

If I had a cosmic gavel,I would chip away the rough edgesof every monarch and politician,such as their territorial incursions,their inordinate desire for military aggression,their race for lethal armaments,their inherited urge for colonialism,their cultivated skill of turning a blind eye to corruption,their sadistic pleasure in imposing censorship,their patriarchal urge to bully women,and their propensity to overlook racial prejudices.The outcome would be blocks of ashlarthat boast … Continue reading The Gavel by Susie Gharib

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Poetry

Obelisks by Susie Gharib

At the intersection of ley lines,erected in pairs at temple sides,these stone pillars that point to the skiesare the Egyptians’ tribute to solar gods. Repeatedly looted by Greeks and Romans, these tekhens are unjustly deprivedof the sites aligned to the stars,robbing them of their electro charge.In Rome, they witnessed the persecution of Christians,In Paris, the guillotines that severed countless heads. What is a tribute to Atum … Continue reading Obelisks by Susie Gharib

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Prose Poetry

Broken Dreams: A Lexicographer Picks Up the Pieces by Robert Witmer

The judgment of death lowered upon all at the beginning of Genesis contains essentially everything that can be said about power.  —Elias Canetti What is beautiful for Nature herself is the all-encompassing necessity of now. Life. Spring. Leaves. Move. Without the wind. Milkweed on ICE. The cream of the crop. Curdled. Art walks a tightrope between nature and eternity. The point is not to make … Continue reading Broken Dreams: A Lexicographer Picks Up the Pieces by Robert Witmer

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Prose Poetry

Dada by Robert Witmer

To undress the corporate swindle and have him ride a stumbling donkey over palm branches strewn about in a hurricane such that the multitude might see what difference makes. Humbly to fit a natural self. To make real language possible again. Absolute reality is a calendar carved in snow, ticking like a time bomb. Dew on a mossy grave. Spring’s stultification of digital progress. Virga. … Continue reading Dada by Robert Witmer

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Prose Poetry

Selling the Mattress by Priscilla Atkins

Melodious as Groucho Marx, the middle-aged New York transplant answers Boyfriend’s and my ad (Valley Pennywise, August ‘80), taps at the screen door. When I open, he looks me in the eye. Offers his hand. Bends. Mustache tickles my skin. I’m a twenty-two-year-old fairy princess. Alive. Winged. In the whole back-and-forth over the queen size (or was it full?—God, I was young), he ignores Boyfriend. … Continue reading Selling the Mattress by Priscilla Atkins

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Poetry

Reading William S. Burroughs by Jeffrey Zable

is like trying to decipher the scrawl of someonelying face down in their own vomit, pen in hand,making strange marks on the sidewalk. People passing by look at this someonewith a sense of profound sadness, and out of pityleave such items on his back as rotten apples,broken trophies, dead lizards and plane ticketsto flights that unfortunately went downwithout a sole survivor. And when they arrive … Continue reading Reading William S. Burroughs by Jeffrey Zable

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Poetry

Lady July by Sophie Roy

I  I ask you for signs and you, buried at sea send me mermaids and foreign license plates  I am too keen to look *** I have sea salt in my hairReallyTsunami II Pas de nouvelles à annoncer Pas de messages personnels Mais sur les murs de mon ennui, j’écris ton nom en cursiveà l’encre bleue soigneusement, comme l’écolière comme une folle, une éxilée comme future amoureuse —une amante  Comme la lune au soleil comme … Continue reading Lady July by Sophie Roy

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Poetry

I Don’t Know If It’s True or Not by Jeffrey Zable

but years ago a friend of mine—now deceased—told me that Beethoven would often compose while nude from the bottom down, sitting on a bench that had a large hole in it, with a bucket just below the hole so that if he had to urinateor defecate he wouldn’t have to get up and potentially lose part of what he was working on. And my friend … Continue reading I Don’t Know If It’s True or Not by Jeffrey Zable

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Poetry

A Soft Breeze by Frankie Laufer

The sound of a bass guitar is moving a row of distant wheat to the east. The sun is shining just like in the beginning. Swaying back and forth like rhythmic dancers.They are captured on a cloud of silent time.No names are necessary; they know each other from previous lives. The drummer is quietly playing my favorite song, and yours too.His past love is sitting behind me staring … Continue reading A Soft Breeze by Frankie Laufer

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