Submissions still closed. Pieces added to the gallery only at my request, based on nothing more than the whim of the founder.
Oh, the pent-up frustration. I'm feeling better already.
|More Journal Entries|
Tallmy words are green tonightTall by Bark
written in the air in a neon glow
standing on the corner in the snow
reciting poetry from memory
i feel very tall
there is power in words
and tonight i'm in control
looming large and strong and
and feeling very tall
have i had too much? no,
just enough to clearly see
my shoulders are straight, my
head held high
speaking green words
and very, very tall
Going, going, goneGoing, going, goneGoing, going, gone by swansisters
Three dollars, three fifty, four, the bristles
of Daddy's hairbrush, a handful of porcupine quills
rough as his unshaven face. In the trees,
moths roost like hens, their wings so still
as though Daddy had painted them.
The auctioneer, his black felt hat drooping
with the heat, strides across the snow of their wings,
Daddy's wristwatch nesting
in the palm of his hand, a raven. "Nevermore,"
Daddy would read to us. "Never again,"
Mama said bundling up Daddy's things with prickly twine.
He painted everything: house, barn, yearlings, tractor. "Sold,"
yells the auctioneer, a weathercock in his arms,
wings rough as the hides of Daddy's painted calves.
"Death is too smooth to paint," Daddy said.
But the faster he painted, the faster he died.
I cut the bristles from his brushes,
but he simply tied horsetail hairs to sticks.
Daddy even painted himself, skin translucent as moth wings.
I would sit on his lap. "Paint me, "I would ask,
patting his stubble until my hand stung.
October LightOctober light is shining like the horn of jubilee -October Light by RichardLeach
the trumpet blown after seven times seven years.
All debts are canceled and every slave set free
in that sweet year that follows forty-nine -
a year we have not known. The high and mighty pay
to have the calendar reset, and our forty-ninth year
goes on for thousands and thousands of days.
We owe and owe, our burdens borne and borne.
October light is shining through leaves that were green,
and now are red, orange, yellow, gold. Most will fall soon,
though oak leaves may stay on the tree till spring, brown
and dry and dead but fixed in place till new growth comes.
Are those who delay our freedom the living trees?
Or are they already dead but unfallen leaves?
Accidentat the corner of boone trails and owenAccident by LiliWrites
she learned the brevity of flight:
glinting bumper for launch pad
trajectory approximately 5 feet
across the median.
as proud, as swift
as any prima ballerina
but the landing
this I keep for her -
the listless weight of limbs
defying gravity, the beastly beauty
of a body bouyant before
Moonlight KayakingDrip.Moonlight Kayaking by Bark
You kayak in the moonlight
Black sparkling water
Smooth and easy
I dream of you as the liquid
in my IV slowly drips
My fevered imagination speaks to the moon
And is answered in a strange language
Waves of silence turn slowly
I see you from the shore
Reach out to you
But you're too far away
The swarming stars are friendly
And tell me there'll be another time
For moonlight kayaking
Mark Wade, ladies and gentlemen......Mark Wade!Mark Wade, ladies and gentlemen... by RichardLeach
This fine musician has set my poem "Under Water" to music, sung it, played guitar, recorded himself and posted the excellent result on the web for your enjoyment at soundcloud. Click that link to listen. Here are the words:
I jumped and then I sank too deep.
I do know how to hold my breath
but the surface is too far away.
It happened on an August day.
I should have drawn a deeper breath.
I jumped and then I sank too deep.
A cruise for tourists round the bay -
a chance to sit and catch one's breath.
But now the surface is too far away.
The young crew with a sense of play
anchored for us to swim, no less.
But when I jumped I sank too deep.
I will not exhale, will not inhale,
I hold my breath, I hold my breath,
though the surface is too far away.
I break the surface. All is okay.
I take a breath, I take a breath.
And who has never sunk too deep
and found the surface too far away?
Music and performance: :ico
PressureSomething broke.Pressure by neonxaos
A hard CRACK while sitting in
a soft chair. No pain registered.
The absence of it
is like watching explosions in space.
You follow the curve of your skull. You remember
how skulls are formed like tectonic plates.
Your head wants to be a planet,
volcanic, living, in change.
You continue to your left shoulder,
the one with all the problems.
But today, it has nothing to say.
Your rib cage moves
like oceanic waves, expecting a storm
that hasn't come.
You stand up,
you consider your legs,
nothing feels wrong,
But you can break
more than your body.
I Cannot Forget.I am a modern girl;I Cannot Forget. by Meggie272
I debate complexities.
I get migraines.
I don't know, either way I'm used to the cold sterile
of doctor's waiting rooms
and the bitter bite of medication.
There was a time, about a year ago, now
when even the thought of a germ
made me scrub my hands raw.
I have no qualms about describing myself as such;
this is who I am, I cannot pretend to be my sister
with her proud, broad, sunburnt fisherwoman's face
or my father, and his hands that can soothe panicking horses
and create order out of metal chaos, make something
that moves out of piles of bolts and puddles of black
sticky oil on the floor.
But even so
there was a child once;
a little bob-haired girl, and that girl was part of the dust.
Her hair was tangled and she wore truly atrocious clothes
and even at the age of six she knew that
knotted trees and soaring stripes of ocean over hill
were her - they were owners of something that she owned too.
I cannot ever forget the heat of t
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