Posts for June 5, 2015

Category
Poem

A Rave from a Man on a Boat II

Goats are great.
So is poetry.
What if they put them together?

First
They’d have to exhume Lovecraft.

Then
They’d have to learn to make goat cheese
& how to do goat foo.

Next
They’d have to learn blank verse
& read Shakespeare backeards.
They’d have to grow a goatee.

And finally
They’d have to get me off
this damned boat.


Rona Roberts
Category
Poem

First Lightning Bug Sighting, 2015

On Wittland Street you rise to paint the night—
Lift too, my summer heart, that loves this sight.


Patrick Maloney
Category
Poem

Depressing Shit

A sign on the toilet
at Stella’s says,
Depress handle until
flush is complete.

If the handle wants to be
depressed, the right
person is taking
a shit.


HB Elam
Category
Poem

479 v2.0

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly ran me over –
His Undercarriage held but just my guts –
Sprayed underneath his Range Rover™

We quickly drove – He had much haste
And I had passed away,
My soul and my body too,
For His Eternal Sway.

We passed the Jail, where Convicts fight
At Recess – in the pen –
We passed the Fields of Standing Stone –
We passed the Shooting Range –

Or rather – They passed us –
The Bullets flew quietly and fast –
For only Chiffon, my Kevlar™ –
My Sustenance – only SlimFast© –

We stopped before a Waffle House® that seemed
An Oasis of the Town –
Red Roof Inn® was scarcely visible –
Three Starbucks™ – all Around –

Since then – ’tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than a Tweet
I first realized the Michelin Men™
Were toward Eternity –


Gaby Bedetti
Category
Poem

Cultivating Our Garden

Landlocked in Kentucky, I looked forward to summer visits home to Cape Cod.
Pop and I would walk the sandy trails, play chess, and enjoy their garden  
but each year my mother grew more fretful if I strayed from her side.

Near the end of one summer, while preparing polenta and roasted vegetables,
I hatched a plan. I charmed Mom into allowing me to bring our neighbor Helen a plate.
After slipping a bathing suit on under my clothes, I let Helen in on my ruse and ran to the beach.

A decade later, I remember how the salty water held me up in the bright midday sun,
my body floating on the shimmering waves, the tide rocking me back and forth,

how on my last trip to the ocean, I felt weightless.


Len Lundh
Category
Poem

More Mysterious

(Being a scrap of paper found in a library book.
Will anyone knowing the full story please get in touch.)


On the front:
         s in
       geldin
   olding a
   n :57 1-5.
ses to be a
ned by Arno
cently brough
Hollywood Pa
West Coast trad
n 1:03 2-5.
t more than a

On the back,
and more mysterious
(depending largely on how you feel):
Two possibly Oriental eyes and
a nose, topped by a wedge of hair.


Liz Prather
Category
Poem

Triple Crown

This little wing impinged,
flat noodles stretched along a foot,
thin strings over knees.
My neighbor groans with her hair brush,
heart pumping half a quarter of its time.

Rocks convince us to build,
and clocks convince us otherwise
to run with hairs and tubes and plates
jalloped and gangled and gamboled
down the home stretch.

In front of her dresser, she swears 
that the grain who dies bears a stalk.
The spindled dangling bones
in a slipper whistle of a sack
hurtle over the ground.

One thousand pounds velocited
on a single thumb of a hoof
at speeds of young boys in fast cars
There’s ointments for long walks, 
and hot lathered washes in citrus.

An act of trust
unmatched in history
She has once again brushed out her hair, 
bound it in a bun, clipped secure, 
and halted resolute into the kitchen. 


mtpoet
Category
Poem

Morning Walk

Poem 5, June 5

 

Morning Walk

 

Before daylight can chase

night to its death,

I walk alone,

 

chilled to the bone.

Watching my breath

rise, I quicken my pace.

 

Never have I seen

birds so tame on the ground.

I come so close to one

 

I could easily

reach down

& put salt on its tail.


Pat Owen
Category
Poem

May Day

                                       May Day

May Day and doesn’t some ancient part of my brain
remember a grade school flag pole
bare legged girls winding crepe paper around it?
May Day, the first day we could go barefoot,
exhilarating freedom.

To think of it now feels like visiting
a foreign country, is that really me
in all those scenes?


Carole Johnston
Category
Poem

midnight butterfly 5

tanka

“Circus of the Soul”
starring Midnight Butterfly
run away with me
to the light show of your mind
join the poetry bizarre