An armor of metal bracelets
clank along her forearm.
She hardens her tone,
looks hard into his eyes.
His jaw muscles tighten.
He shoots her a look
to the bracelets clanking.
—–
G. Louis Heath, Ph.D., Berkeley, 1969, is Professor Emeritus, Ashford University, Clinton, Iowa. His most recent poems have appeared in Eunoia, Verse-Virtual, Inkstain Press, Squawk Back, and Dead Snakes. His books include Long, Dark River Casino and Vandals in the Bomb Factory.
Took a time out to repair some damage
40 pills of beautiful codeine
Then the itching started
Antihistamine pills to take the creepy crawlers away
A week off from work
Isolating from the annoying masses
Wouldn’t call surgery a vacation
There are merits though…
A soft sun’s whiteness…glowing…a
yellow…smiling-light…glowing…a
faint red banner…breaks up…a yellow smile.
A smiling-light…glowing…brighter…I
see…out the corner of my left eye…a terracotta
pot colour surrounding-sky…surounds — and above.
A chalked beach…dustly soft…I
see…out the corner of my right eye…an old
couple in heat waves…they wobble — and kiss.
—–
AM Spence was born in England. She read literature as an undergraduate at The University of Manchester, where in 2009 she completed her MA in creative writing. Her first collection, Reflect, was published last year.
Such an odd request
how could I refuse —
I’d like to be an ordinary friend
not so close that you tell me
secrets you kept from your father
or so distant that you only post
“happy birthday” because Facebook
reminds you it is time.
No, ordinary will do, thank you
share a picture or two online
let me know your public wins
and shared losses, your child’s
first steps or words
some new restaurant you tried
that I might also like.
No burdens or obligations
no midnight messages to ask
why you haven’t answered
my last fifty emails
none of that at all
just be there enough
that I can go to sleep
feeling that someone important
has my back.
It’s not often you learn
a new word after a certain time,
but I’m finding there’s always
room to learn
Even after teaching for years,
even after taking various
degrees, even after reading
and reading more,
The mouth can still form a new
word, the mind can still shape
a new concept.
A single jade leaf can make a new plant,
transforming the soil, light and water
into new roots, stems and leaves.
I’ve seen it so many times before
yet I still marvel at a single leaf,
commonplace, splendid, wise,
only plants grow silently.
Yes, as everyone knows, mediation
and water are wedded forever.
-Herman Melville.
Come, you soft-shelled poets filled with sea-water.
Come and leak your speech on thirsty beaches!
Come and christen this hour the necessary source.
Come and sing the ocean’s primal power.
Come and listen to the seas—the rivers—the lakes.
Come and bring tribute to the tributary.
Yes, come and find your calling; your true vocation:
The marriage of mind to cherished hydration.
The vines are so spent
nearly devoid of fruit,
a few bunches hang on
only to be plucked later,
late harvest is sweeter
more prized for enduring,
the skies grey chill
tule fog rushes in,
cold silence then storms
that promise new birth.
Mother, the poetry that I write today is a whistling blowing song,
discovered in the wind that ruffles my surroundings. Yet it was at
your behest that I recited verse moved by music and the sonority of words. I did not possess stage fright as I recited poems written by others.
Yet today poetry has a special making, a deeply troubled voice as I
reach arcane depths to discover voices, my voice: protest, anger,
sadness like a gladiator sparring. Yes, Mother, poetry is what you took me to, adventurous, when I was just five. And, today at fifty nine, poetry stirs the everyday nuance of my soul. Not water tight, but a deep breath, disabling stoic beliefs.
Spectres and spectacles of wild wants
ironclad links
and oral history of oral histories
counterintuitive improprieties
in the halo of time
art machines of a clandestine flow
very intact
heart full of napalm
at the dawn of a sizzling moan.
More at https://twitter.com/rusdaboss.