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
oscillation of my heart
a thrum of false applause
nova wheel turns
in loose hands palms sweaty
streetlights searing flares
in greasy windshield stain
accelerating with measure
not panic
plastic neon afterglow
rearview shadows and transcience
nicotine once craved
alcohol once craved
cardboard cup balanced
lid slipped with brown liquid
it’s smell filling nostrils
along with dog
and after days perfume
arguments
those voices thrown and snatched
can be taken back
into a street
cop car drawled on by
tree lined urban paradise
front porch orange glow
parked
engine silently waiting
would she disturb the curtains to see
nothing
was he wrong
then he remembered
she was gone
they where gone
counselling for grief
counselling for depression
arguments outlive those who shout
that once beautiful house
invaded
shotgun splattered
with crimson design
rocking slowly to and fro
applause had silenced
into the false abyss
he would be in the shadows
a footnote on a headstone
living without a porch
accelerating
foot on gas
rubber black stained
breathing in circles
window open
a destination yet unwritten
cracked on cheap wine
liver brushed
tongue licked by camels
lying in semi stasis
not being illiterate
book slithered to floor
words melting into wood
she was by the full length mirror
naked with no breath left
she was my descent
her depths a surge of rapid currents
I could not read anýmore
tenderloin buttocks moved
her vagina a well visited republic
it’s musty sweetness
gave me a fugue of absurdity
return to me
return to me
her snowy gut roll belly
over my lips
kissing tongued glassy traces
jackrabbit twitching
lowered herself to me
I was forgiven
I had absolution
sweet poetry and flesh
shuddering silver dollars
into the meter
my time running out
would return to book
and motel walls
she a neon scrawl on my eyes
then there would be tomorrow
