Gerald Locklin, a legendary local teacher, writer and poet who helped shape the literary landscape of Southern California for decades and was friends…
Gerald Locklin, CSULB teacher, writer, poet, dies at 79
A poet I admire and always enjoy reading
Pages have been silent , poetry settled hibernating in its own nest of growing existence , other words have escaped beyond borders and territories dramatic arcs to be filmed on flickering silver screen those words I am embracing , those words are my life blood.
I sit back this Christmas morning and think of you all
hospital sounds occurred as
limp wires stretched to where she lay
quiet
body traumatised by the crash
she would scar , she would heal
away without him
her abuser,possessor , nightmare husband
a moth glimmered in her eye
how did it get in
then seemed to grow
expanding into something larger
she managed a smile
as it settled upon her
she sighed
it’s body pressing on top
a noctuidae
face bearded wise
antenna folded, she wanted to touch
trying to speak intubated
a gargling slur of nothing
I will protect you
it seemed to say
a fair exchange would be
probiscus probing pressing
her vein rich neck
flowing with oxygenated life
it pierced her flesh gently
a soft penetration
unlike others experienced
she would be safe
the owlet moth said so
quiet
she slept
#PWpoetryprompt
cumulonimbus squall
of a headache
tore me out of delirium
to blister pack paracetamol
choked almost
that raw pharmaceutical taste
mug of tea
apple spiced
wishing the phone
would cease
exhausted now
as silence fell
I took to being asleep
with tainted tongue
and abstract thoughts
I look at my penis
skin collar
lychee tip
then piss
a long straw stream
you are not a memory
you are a gift
finger folds
and soften furze
we know we belong
but until when
the scythe decides
Chris Lawrence
when apes discover genocide
I wonder how long I will linger
on the verdant green and blue
insulated by my own sickness
that brackish bile
of human contempt
apes will sing not our mythology
but one of burnt forests
and dried out lakes
human carcasses so vile
carrion crows refuse
to dine without the thought
of consequence
and I will lie down
human leaf litter
becoming fertiliser of the new
season a generation
or era where the truth of nature
will win
Chris Lawrence
Concussed by mornings
sharpened light
grasping cotton silence
each breath was tentative
alone
without the other
that shadow fragment
of a once upon a night
recalling synaptic responses
she knew
he had departed
but to who
or where
tears where of no consequence
why shed them
fuck memories
and fuck those
who fucked them
paper cuts once
more painful
than the striating
marks on the heart
each ventricle incised
life a blood force
poured as if from
an unblessed chalice
closing eyes
cannot make you hide
slow each breath
coax intuition
to help
it is going
yield and go
fear of life
the greater threat
even with her
whisper kisses
Events have occurred , political intrusion by government Trump or May that have dissolved our lives into a caricature farce that is dark and sadistic so I wrote this…
curious
in a time I never realised before
those blindly blinking
people
heads down
could be swallowed up
by forces unseen
and never know
monuments fall
governments tirade
without distraction
I was a beggar in life
seizing the moments
that never seemed to come often
thoughts and a voice
but nobody would listen
media’s bluster
without so much as
whisper
of human account
cut me into wounds
moral abstract slices
of nevermore and decay
will we be saved
on this exhausted hulk
called earth
or will I shrivel
into that carbonised carapace
and tomb
that is called death
they told me about the garden of love
which I knew never existed
just like the dew settles
a feeling came over me
reaching touching feathery leaves
someone lurked in the darkness
a glimpse a furtive shadow
i needed to draw out of the gloom
no fee to be paid
as wallet forgotten
my fingers picked a rose
holding it aloft to the sun
shadow emerged reaching also
for the rose
sunlit face exquisite beauty
naked radiance for me to see
entranced entwined enthralled
in a boiling swell of passion
i was consumed
infused with the flowers and trees
the garden in this garden
i would remain
many stories can be untold
but this one cannot
i belong to that once furtive figure
no more in the density of foliage
but with me
together as one
Together always
22 years of marriage to be celebrated
