I purchased the water color set
on clearance at Wal-Mart
a twenty dollar gift set
of paints and brushes and pencils
for the low low price of four dollars
I intended to paint landscapes
like the horse meadow view
from my kitchen window
or the nearby Depression era
sheds and barns, dilapidated,
anonymous by proximity
but when I finally set
brush to paper
it’s only to paint a comic strip
called "Sucking Hind Teat"
chronicling the misadventures
of a luckless factory worker
just as my poetry
devolves into comedic anecdotes,
profundity eludes me
and
I’m left with a big smiley face
Karl Koweski, Alabama, USA
Sunday 28 September 2008
Thursday 25 September 2008
Wing Crazy by Casey Diem
You rescue another bee from pavement.
I rescue you from behind the glass wall,
You take an axe to the darkness around me,
We produce light between us and
Our wings grow like crazy.
Casey Diem
(Casey Diem is the name used for collaborative poetry written by Kevin Cadwallender and Deborah Murray)
I rescue you from behind the glass wall,
You take an axe to the darkness around me,
We produce light between us and
Our wings grow like crazy.
Casey Diem
(Casey Diem is the name used for collaborative poetry written by Kevin Cadwallender and Deborah Murray)
Monday 22 September 2008
haiku by Joan McNerney
What does this cat think
strumming his tail with such ease
to fugues of Bach?
Joan McNerney, New York, USA
strumming his tail with such ease
to fugues of Bach?
Joan McNerney, New York, USA
Friday 19 September 2008
Val Fleuri, Mougins by Gordon Mason
Spiders crawl on the laurels.
on the withered path a lizard
meditates. A furrowed face.
The leaves are nervous of thunder
crunch. An old man lifts tiles.
A warm geography on his outhouse.
His hands are fans of fine thin bones.
Clumsy thunder spaces out rainballs.
Paper thin coins mint on the footpath.
Strands of white rain chase a red squirrel.
Grisette the cat crawls through a window.
Her clogged ears retain birdcalls.
Gordon Mason, Scotland and Spain
on the withered path a lizard
meditates. A furrowed face.
The leaves are nervous of thunder
crunch. An old man lifts tiles.
A warm geography on his outhouse.
His hands are fans of fine thin bones.
Clumsy thunder spaces out rainballs.
Paper thin coins mint on the footpath.
Strands of white rain chase a red squirrel.
Grisette the cat crawls through a window.
Her clogged ears retain birdcalls.
Gordon Mason, Scotland and Spain
Tuesday 16 September 2008
The Ascent of Magic by Colin Will
On Suilven’s summit ridge
I’m a four-year old, climbing
a spiral staircase too big for me.
The treads are fine but the risers
are a stretch too far and facing out
on a thousand-foot fall
too easily imagined.
Still, having traversed that
there’s the domed grassy top
and a cairn, but the peak experience,
the real triumphs, were below:
the switchback bog slog, the scramble
up to the bealach, and suddenly -
a projection of wonder,
as the whole of northern Scotland
changed from map to photo
in an everlasting instant.
Colin Will, Scotland, UK
I’m a four-year old, climbing
a spiral staircase too big for me.
The treads are fine but the risers
are a stretch too far and facing out
on a thousand-foot fall
too easily imagined.
Still, having traversed that
there’s the domed grassy top
and a cairn, but the peak experience,
the real triumphs, were below:
the switchback bog slog, the scramble
up to the bealach, and suddenly -
a projection of wonder,
as the whole of northern Scotland
changed from map to photo
in an everlasting instant.
Colin Will, Scotland, UK
Wednesday 10 September 2008
Acts Of Kindness
The sun burns a hole
into the sky's heart
everyday,
every night
the moon fills it
with clouds,
kisses it
goodnight.
Amir Elzeni, USA
into the sky's heart
everyday,
every night
the moon fills it
with clouds,
kisses it
goodnight.
Amir Elzeni, USA
Monday 8 September 2008
Moonless by Amir Elzeni
The ceiling
was acoustic
white tile,
the lighting
bright fluorescent,
and the feeling
of life being pulled
right out of us:
seemed piped in
through the medicine air,
as we wondered
how the hell
we got here,
why they wear white
in such a bloody environment,
how this is the last place
we should be worried
about money.
Amir Elzeni, USA
was acoustic
white tile,
the lighting
bright fluorescent,
and the feeling
of life being pulled
right out of us:
seemed piped in
through the medicine air,
as we wondered
how the hell
we got here,
why they wear white
in such a bloody environment,
how this is the last place
we should be worried
about money.
Amir Elzeni, USA
Friday 5 September 2008
La Versanne, Mougins by Gordon Mason
North of seven hundred moons,
they have tended their garden
like fussing birds their nest.
The garden shrinks, the hillside
grows wilder. Pines have become
crowned draughts. Death neatly
arranged. She gathers the last
pinefall in a hand shovel.
In mulberry gown and blue socks.
Eyes silver and stained. In a hand,
crisp as an autumn leaf, he brings
her a forest flower. Moonfall
lit by a taper of birdsong. Not
a patch of voice escapes his mouth.
Gordon Mason, Scotland and Spain
they have tended their garden
like fussing birds their nest.
The garden shrinks, the hillside
grows wilder. Pines have become
crowned draughts. Death neatly
arranged. She gathers the last
pinefall in a hand shovel.
In mulberry gown and blue socks.
Eyes silver and stained. In a hand,
crisp as an autumn leaf, he brings
her a forest flower. Moonfall
lit by a taper of birdsong. Not
a patch of voice escapes his mouth.
Gordon Mason, Scotland and Spain
Tuesday 2 September 2008
In Elgin by Fiona Dunn
A wisp of purple
Flashes in a practised bend,
As the twist of a nut-brown wrist
Unfurls and curls,
Plucking with a brisk tear,
The weeds that greedily encase the single flower
That seeks her nurture and care.
Her dark and placid eyes
Absorb this alien land,
That breathes -
With a light and space
That beckon to -
Another age, a musk-laden place.
The watery sun receives
The incline of her smooth-haired head,
Cinnamon-smoke-echoes
Whisper through her mind,
As East meets West
To a steady beat within her breast…
Fiona Dunn, Kent, UK
Flashes in a practised bend,
As the twist of a nut-brown wrist
Unfurls and curls,
Plucking with a brisk tear,
The weeds that greedily encase the single flower
That seeks her nurture and care.
Her dark and placid eyes
Absorb this alien land,
That breathes -
With a light and space
That beckon to -
Another age, a musk-laden place.
The watery sun receives
The incline of her smooth-haired head,
Cinnamon-smoke-echoes
Whisper through her mind,
As East meets West
To a steady beat within her breast…
Fiona Dunn, Kent, UK
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