Ferenc Juhasz – Birth Of A Foal

As May was opening the rosebuds,

elder and lilac beginning to bloom,

it was time for the mare to foal.

She’d rest herself, or hobble lazily

after the boy who sang as he led her

to pasture, wading through the meadowflowers.

They wandered back at dusk, bone-tired,

the moon perched on a blue shoulder of sky.

Then the mare lay down,

sweating and trembling, on her straw in the stable.

The drowsy, heavy-bellied cows

surrounded her, waiting, watching, snuffing.

Later, when even the hay slept

and the shaft of the Plough pointed South,

the foal was born. Hours the mare

spent licking the foal with its glue-blind eyes.

And the foal slept at her side,

a heap of feathers ripped from a bed.

Straw never spread as soft as this.

Milk or snow never slept like a foal.

Dawn bounced up in a bright red hat,

waved at the world and skipped away.

Up staggered the foal,

its hooves were jelly – knots of foam.

Then day sniffed with its blue nose

through the open stable window, and found them –

the foal nuzzling its mother,

velvet fumbling for her milk.

Then all the trees were talking at once,

chickens scrabbled in the yard,

like golden flowers

envy withered the last stars.

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love gone beserk

isolation makes me jump
into the shredding propeller of her tongue
it was Hi 8 and stereo record player
and a sense we belonged,
wiping nose on my hand
then on those jeans strained and faded,
we could make it work maybe,
her nightgown had buttons
linear nipples of distraction,
i would run
if it where not the seventeenth floor
and no closer to heaven,
her voice slowed quicker
than the snow outside,
are we done
gun still pressed in my back waistband
you look done
i  felt battered beyond the cut over eye
and bloodied nose,
the projects would have heroes
i was not one of them,
failing to hold up the store
girl cashier
younger
faded blonde dye and dark roots,
i spoke and connected,
pulled a flower from the bunches
sold cheaply at the desk
and gave it to her,
a startling explosion
as manager hit me with a piece of wood,
i ran
never said goodbye
but i know who
i wanted now

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Richard Brautigan – Candlelion

Richard Brautigan

pointers from the flesh notebook

clever blue eyed clock

measuring the width of harm

in ratchet clicks so solemn ,

childhood had finished

you saw to  that

overtook my heart with years

as firm shrouding

growing up was a facility

in the forest where only some

belonged,

and i did not want to go there

it was a sentence

a finish

even ultimatum

to those near expiry date

flesh baggage creased and folded

eyes as dim bulbs,

i was the one on the bicycle

wishing to go past

shouting at the top of my voice

yet something broke the wheels

and i was left at the path

sat crosslegged wondering,

one woman with a cart lopsided

and one eyed horse offered me a lift

and i refused despite

silky touch of mane

as horse nuzzled my hand,

i was broken not forgotten

resisting time as an armed guerilla,

i would fight

and there would be casualties

in lovers eyes

buttoned down eyes

struggle to open,

sunbeams poured into the bowl

milk a cold half empty vessel,

we have drained each other,

scuffed table thread scratches

did we need electric lights

or the cigarettes not lit,

crackle of another star dying,

limbs bare

outside sirens call,

no matter what others think

there where wolves in the wood

warning voices raise to the moon,

yet as frail apes

we still smoked,

coffee forgotten got drunk

mornings so hard to translate,

she wished to the height of man

and i looked down,

clutter of the everyday pushed

aside as we made love again,

and know that nature will save

us

 

 

blind code of tragedy

o glad spring

natures skin covers all again,

immortals forgotten

books buried in dull folded earth

tender vortice consuming hearts,

there is a thirst for the coming sand,

grass may tremble as it has risen,

flaming rings and streaming darkness

colossal worlds had not seen anything

of this before,

innate crawling at our borders

no day is forever,

spires and battlements no place

for ones such as this,

cold petals of a comets tail

let it pass

nine waves of birth

many wanted it shrouded

mother

scarlet ribs exposed expired,

now here would grow

one of a darker shine is coming

in a place on fifth street

habitat of men’s waste

civilization stiffened,

once before it had been seen

but not born as this had been

limbs without foetal sac extend 

ribs expanded

a new biology that was rapid and sudden

fear came in quarters

with each section of growth,

it knew and would consume voracious and explicit,

time segmented to be lived

as and when it wanted,

those who knew to object

found in a deep lividity,

and there was others born of old natures form

fragile anthropoid womb,

as they rose

as did the hero

figure in fixative of mood and relevance

could he protect against such malevolence,

he was a lure to the failings and complexities

we had once known,

from poulticed womb

sucking on earth drawn nipple,

would live and not yield,

he could not comprehend

that he would see

stark in it’s contrasts a beast to be fallen or understood,

flesh decays for a reason

both he and beast

faced a modernity

that was new and abstract

in a wasteland of succession ,

beast would find it’s way

limbs gave way to wings

stretched on the industrialism and democracy

that came before

fear could be a portent

science a response not a reaction

could not comprehend,

even those who had laws

that pastured and herded

experienced a sight problematic

with their domestication to older gods,

he again the one chosen to slay

as they truly wanted,

two creatures find a companionship

astride ocean’s they left

the tentative threads of old tragedy that existed,

and watch the tilt and slide

on axis of belief and society

fall away to a darkness 

worse than nothing

 

Rabbit Pick Up

hands on the three spoke

after loading cassette player,

she sat angled beside him,

just been at the drive thru,

crumpled paper napkin

dabbed those lips

and stayed in her hand,

it was not really his kind

of music,

loaded a tape last night

some recorded off the radio,

she smiled ,he felt tense,

expectation filled the cab

like cigarette smog,

answering his subconscious

looked in rearview,

leaned across and

met in a kiss,

“more more more”

came the lyrics

smiling through locked

lips,

hand in hers napkin fell

to floor,

edge of evening blurred

with reason,

they where dating now.

When it Has To Be Right

ethereal light shimmy

protruded through pale drapes,

my aches as moving from bed

to floor,

mouth dry tongue stuck

and contorted,

folded into some origami,

a dream shelved

some fragments hinted

at a vividness by spangling

in my conscious,

today would be different,

all ideas of what would be

had silted and taken ferment

for me to sift and filter

in an abstract way,

and collect my thoughts and speak

ignore at the time the cacophony

of voices that had alternate advice,

she would be exquisite as usual,

the dragon of my yearning

would have to wait,

until that moment of coda