Archive for April, 2013

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Charles Bukowski

boy scout knife

cuts knot of dignity

buried in thin soil

warming under a march sun

a first moth touched skin,

shiver to the marrow,

her anatomy before me to explore,

transparent eyes

cast shadows on high cheekbones,

i am not that sad memory

of your brothers eye

but a rare specimen,

no longer chain smoking

or drinking dark bourbon,

hair dyed blonde under

my fingers made me think of

sails on a 1655 vessel

cast onto an ocean

with crew of silent men,

your face i could borrow

and place as a mask

on that clock in the hall

the one that never expels

the right time only a false line

of narrative,

either my retina is damaged

or i am truly seeing you now,

guess how long you  have been lying here,

mind let thought liquify

into a silenced reservoir ,

i made an oath before holding those hands

fingers more suited to beer bottle necks

than a piano’s gentle ivories,

grubs now crawl about us

fat juicy bodies leathery to touch,

a handful wriggling

over us so harrowing,

will we ever return to the bar

where we met or will it be just me,

your thigh humility’s myth

a touch would alert the sky

and rain would fall,

standing aside i look down,

i had possessed with my freak show nature

letting go would be hard,

i could not go further or police would question me,

whispers and a tiny breath

you are on your feet

in my embrace

lips still scarlet not turned blue,

back seat vinyl

tattered blouse and jeans,

a bad trip i explained

drugs have that effect

beguiled and confused

i lifted you back into a relevant world

of love and truth,

the electricity of this terrible road

had ended

into a city of one hundred years

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106

grand palace of united creatures

stage to the supper of presidents and kings,

finest foods the forest could provide

cutlery shone on butlers jacket

and in their finery they arrived

stoat,

weasel,

ferret,

mole, badger and toad,

to eat and speak confidences made

treaties broken amended and signed,

it would be a glorious affair

trumpets and choir,

long oak table shone,

voices hushed as speaker spoke

in long oration,

nodding and quietly assured

they waited to speak there turn

as fine turnip soup was served

laden with cream and pinch of pepper,

toad wanted to be center of attention

without his contributions all others

would fail,

badger muttered under his breath,

too many times when the others had

been awash he had bailed them out,

mole was pleased with his display

all seemed so merry

without fox who stayed away to

the east snapping grumpily at

his pack,

blackberry wine flowed

differences appeared

it declined as dessert appeared

your just a stoat someone shouted

badger roared overturning table

seed cake rolled

as food fight ensued old hatred emerged

mole hovered in the middle

watched as all crumbled about him

anger consumed as reddened faces

spat angry words,

tomorrow there would be war

someone would be overthrown,

and what of mole

confused in his coalition with

the silent absent owl

should he return to the

underground creatures

that adored him,

not knowing how to stave off

economical collapse

or tidal surge of opposition

meekly snuffling

into a hand stitched handkerchief

knew his days would end in

prison

Helen Ward

Helen Ward

magpie tales statue stamp 185

 

flesh of silk and snow

naked as a fawn exposed to winter,

draft seeped through window

that cast a lemon block outside,

pages before her with ink that began

to merge,

precious silent thoughts

lifted to starry skies,

sorrow had not brought it’s shadow

her eyes strong enough to look  into

the fire and show innocence,

telephone rang

the artist whose heart moved in spirals

waited with canvas and sable

and when snow retreats

and fireflies waken

she would stir to his caress,

till then entwined with knowledge

of youth and biology

lessons planned for each week

distraction long holding

avoidance to all things carnal

despite prick of skin

and clamor of heart,

she would wait as others too waited

and beneath soft auburn hair

decisions would be made

Jamie Wyeth Monhegan's Schoolteacher

Jamie Wyeth Monhegan’s Schoolteacher