there must have been some magic
in that old silk hat they found
a thousand dark-eyed sins burst out
and began to plague the town
Tag: writer
The Readings
Well, that was fast. Pleasant Street of Are You Thrilled delivered a fantastic little poem on a recent near-death experience. You an hear it/read it at her site. And as promised, I have added two readings below.
Click to visit the Open Mic for August page.
Click to read these are the angels.
Click to read carousel
Readings and Such Matters
So, in this post, I asked some of you to pick a poem for me to read, and some of you did. And I do very much appreciate it. I had three poems suggested and I’ve recorded all three. I will post one tomorrow.
I will post the second IF I can get somebody else to post a link to the August Open Mic post.
I will post the third IF I can get a second somebody else to post a link to the August Open Mic post.
And so on. I’ll go back and eve re-read some of my old posts, as debilitating as that may be, and scrounge up one reading for every post that you, dear poets, link to on your own sites.
Come on, make me work. Make me dance like your puppet. I like it!
trilune (20160810)
looking in your eyes i can measure
how much distance has grown between us
you took such care in planting the seeds
you split my bones with all your regrets
wiped me from your shoe like something foul
driven mad like apocalypse steeds
and now–i’m dust, some blood, little else
mere memory of a summer breeze
shadow moon your tide no longer heeds
——
Begging–a question
I want to do a reading of one of my latest poems.
But I don’t want to choose.
Will no one rid me of this indecision? (That is your cue to leave a comment and tell me which poem I should do a reading for.)
stone, blood, glass (20160809)
i want to turn
my hands to stone
let them harden
the way my heart
slowly becomes
a smooth orb
of cold marble
there is a world of mirrors
that needs smashing
and my hands
won’t cease
won’t heal
won’t quit bleeding
summerless blood (20160808)

the moon can but watch
these winds raw my sky
shadow-drunk and frantic
my bitter skin screams
language is a diamond
crushed to rust
like milk
shot through with summerless blood
whispering is wax music
count (20160808)
shuddering sun
or is it
the world moving
breaking
beneath our feet
i reach for your hand
count the rings
of your fingerprints
brushing against my own
there is no darkness
only birth
there is no light
only the song
of your breathing
shed skins (20160807)
the eucalyptus has shed
its bark
now a smooth white
shushing like sandpaper
under my palm
it stretches fifty feet or more
and twists as it grows
a split the width of my finger
the length of my forearm
rises up the trunk
how simple it seems
to grow this way
add a ring
lose some skin
start over each year
praying for rain
and easy winds
salted smiles (20160806)

warm belly,
remember this ferocious desire
for you are a prisoner of
women wet with throbbing
sadness
sacred sex, porcelain hearts, salted smiles
——