Monday, December 16, 2013

Two Poems by Maureen Kingston


The Redline(r)
 
My lyric's
trolley tracks
transect,
smile,
needle
in subversive
cross-stitch,
hop the
segregated
sampler’s
electric fence,
to link,
to outthink
the gated
‘hoods
of poetry.
 
 
 
The Un-Found Poems
 
Duotrope’s® 0.00% : zero calorie journals living on air : with no
acceptances : do they really exist? : I mean : beyond the head
of a status pin : beyond family and friends? : why of course they
do : you say : but how can we know for sure? : the Pushcart®
tells us so : (winners not nominees)
 
 
 
Maureen Kingston’s poems are forthcoming in Gargoyle, Melancholy Hyperbole, and So to Speak.
 

Saturday, December 14, 2013

A Poem by James Mirarchi


ZOOM
 
Move cursor over nose, mole, waistline,
stray grey hair, camel toe
CLICK
Make bigger
until they become familiar allies
Soothing strands
to weave with
into collective patch
Fall in love with pixels
Magnification joins us
Bigger is OBVIOUSLY better
Pull back
into romantic distance
A medium shot
Feel the bonds loosen
 
Get closer again
Print out x-rays
Infrared exposes us in inky shadows
Husks filled with floating dinosaur DNA
A few have pristine diamonds inside
 
Only frame rare x-rays
Hang them in abode
Bravely heed them about once a year
 
 
 
James Mirarchi grew up in Queens, New York. In addition to his poetry collections, Venison and Dervish, he has written and directed short films, which have played at festivals. His poems have appeared in Crack the Spine Literary Magazine, Poydras Review, gobbet, Boyslut, Bluepepper, Orion headless, The Mind[less] Muse, Dead Snakes, egg, The Recusant, Subliminal Interiors Magazine, Bad Robot Poetry, and Clockwise Cat.

Monday, December 2, 2013

A Poem by Bill Jansen


Front Page

At the Bon Jour Cafe
a front page athlete
splashes into the Oregonian.

Plaster dust on my bagel
from a cupid shaped hole
in the ceiling.

The cafe is on 3rd Avenue.
A empty paper bag
floats across traffic like a single mom.

I ask the waitress for a new bagel.
Or a Lifeguard's whistle.

Then a bronze wet hand
rises out of page one
and steals the salt.



Bill Jansen lives in Forest Grove, Oregon.  Recent work as appeared or will soon appear in Gap Toothed Madness and Asinine Poetry.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Three Poems by John Pursch


Bardo
 
Drifting in pungent augury, 
clairvoyant waders eschew 
wombs of crescent greed, 
smooching till daylight gasps. 
 
High winds gust in coed gridlock,
hovering off to text peer scenery.
 
Urgency rescinds a flickering 
film of grainy features, 
mixing dawn with 
universal thighs. 

 

Who the Moon Is

It was so easy to finally die. The kettle had reached a quiet boil, the empty mug sat ready to be filled, the dimly lit kitchen peacefully receptive. The motive of Socrates had made itself abundantly clear only days before, in the flash of insight reserved for local hound dogs, foreign dignitaries, and the lithesome nubility of our seemingly arbitrary yet eminently rational preferences. Indeed, when the time came, the cup overflowed and steamed silently; the next in line woke easily and at peace, trudged off to the bathroom, lit the spare chamber in futile search for the unremembered, and returned in gratitude to splendid darkness. In the end the tea was hot, the overflow saturated a waiting towel, and something unobtrusive and omnipresent hummed on as the ink ran out, night fading ever so gently into the setting of the moon.


Cyclic Cellophane

Rags evolve, debaters fold, and swallows indemnify trepidation’s thermogenic martyrdom, colluding with equestrian jugglers in cathartic seasonal exploits. Feudal channels shunt hammerhead contraptions down mucilaginous pie lawns, schlepping doubtful carrion for orthopedists in jaundiced jai alai surge. Babies tee up origami pines, shirking polyester brawls, secreted at rawhide terminals. Goofballs emote in tensile oscillations of hallowed cilia beneath anachronistic drumstick cliques of doting operatic somnambulance, reading awkward stencils from boardroom stirrups. Orthodoxy camps in oar-lined mortuaries, winding anterior pleasure in towel clerk simpering, morphed to secluded shin depth. Shelled hooves break interred mumbling fossils, wispy bottles saturating warmly sallow pants, plucked through airless phyla. Forensic sheepskin nestles in elevated truck twangs, sealing sumptuous hues of cyclic cellophane in hiatus glue. Thawed offenders presage interior locust wheels, rubbed to lullaby infringement, leaning every watched whirl to pendular domicile subtraction pith. Moistened archers spark in tightly lectured stony hose retrieval putty, shearing tough loci for slackened cherubic walnuts. Overlooking the septic pallor of everyday greed, scalding itself repeatedly in showers of terminal flesh, polluted desire flops headlong from bridal canal to birthright’s flatulent incipience, swaddled in terrifying broth, gaping at the passing eye’s libidinous wink. Cougars shame peach trees with herd relief, park subsonic testimony in aisles of slanted fusion, and fizz within cephalic sanctuaries. Enhancements scroll by silently, flaunting obsequious extremities in cross-legged poodle sanctions, imbuing sloughed-off gubernatorial chandeliers with frottage. Plumes age till croutons pass customary goggles, inspecting levitation syndicates for soupy spanners, leaving nautical phonemes in charnel disarray. Barely flavored awareness clouds the steepest incendiary treadmills, shoving countless shuffling feeders into gargled waistline landfill, back to trusty blackened sinkhole determinism’s ruddy yelp, slashing down hillside demon rants of tulip flaunt and roaring iron bluster, testified in brooding thrusts of threadbare ideation. Extraction vows elucidate heedlessly sportive ellipses, doting on clover potables, segued into fine sand. A flair for comical inanity erodes to dusky penance, truthful discord, rancor unseen since dashed penumbrae embraced the lunar motifs of centuries spent in turgid shackles of unicellular ululation. Grazing coattail skew from cauterized duodenal emblems of nationwide distraction, there chimes a tomb of headwaiter virulence, flattened to the cry of flung fedoras and wartime somnambulance, grimacing to say “Cheese.”
 
 
 
 
John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. Nominated for Best of the Net in 2012, his work has appeared in many literary journals. His most recent book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks . He's @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

A Poem by John Pursch


Pistachio Operands
 
Punch cards saunter to the neutered tune 
of tenacious anthill soap dish trauma, 
streaming scorned pejoratives 
beneath feisty cube steak siege. 
 
Darkrooms reload, threatening 
entombed Choctaw cruft with traitor fluid, 
itching seepage for artless biplane scuffles. 
 
Swing shift depilatories staple hammocks 
to masticating shanty dwellers before 
chiral onset instigates crepuscular lung landfill. 

Heat almost shames a nearby connubial silo 
to sled down awning feathers, putting up with 
bogus stint mutation chews in steady offal’s 
scintilla of asymptotic nods.
 
Boarding the sweaty seminarians, 
a distant birch tree barks at striplings, 
trending to bubbling serrations 
of equestrian cork. 
 
Bumblebees beget ethereal favoritism, 
deputizing the Queeg of Phalanx in situ, 
flooding keyed thespians 
with cue ball cuneiform.

 
 
John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His work has appeared in many literary journals and was recently nominated for the Sundress Best of the Net 2012 Anthology. His first book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks . He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

Monday, October 21, 2013

A Poem by Les Merton


convergence
 
headstones
crosses                    epitaphs
dates                          names
broken urns
praying hands
abandonment
rushes - ferns - brambles – gorse – leaves – nettles
lichen - butterflies – winged angels - snails - weeds
passed over
 generations
 
rest in peace
 
in-a-grave-above-a
soak-away-of-bones
 
 
 
Inspired by Jackson Pollock’s Convergence
 
 
 
Being creative: writing, publishing, editing, performing is a way of life for Cornishman Les Merton who lives in Redruth, Cornwall. He's just edited compiled and published Dialect Poetry an anthology of British regional dialect. He believes use it or lose it applies to all forms of dialect.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

A Poem by Les Merton


O.K.
if you can accept   the treble space
as
            a line break
and the lowercase i 
                        as someone emphasising
                                                this is me
[u cud b red ee 4 unconventional txt]
                                                and understand
UPPERCASE LETTERS in a sentence that
            SCREAM TO THE POINT OF DISTRACTION
And be quoted as thinking ART is a ----
---- diverse range of human activities
            !!!! stop right now !!!!
concentrate I’ll be asking
            ????????????
for $$$$$ * ££££ prizes
O.K.
 
 
Being creative: writing, publishing, editing, performing is a way of life for Cornishman Les Merton who lives in Redruth, Cornwall. He's just edited compiled and published Dialect Poetry an anthology of British regional dialect. He believes use it or lose it applies to all forms of dialect.

Monday, September 30, 2013

A Poem by Bill Jansen


Damnit, Roy

Would welding sparks hit the city
like tourists from the sun,
if not for Roy?

The city
a thought-pattern
of get-real blondes
dream drones
piss
in handbags
concealed
spin
abortions
balanced news
food carts
bike psychopaths
savvy suicides
radar glossy
Susan the weather girl:

Pole-dance tonight-
cloudy this morning.
Mammoth tusked Indians
quiet
as cigarette smoke
in dusty lobbies
playing backgammon
on a Turkish rug.

Lottery tickets
like cufflinks
on a stray dachshund
with 3 pieces
of photo ID.

Overpass noise
the thrill
rolling joints
on a diaper changing station
at your Mary's Dance & Dine
Broadway and Ankeny
girls girls girls
Visa Visa Visa
like soft wood rotating
on a lathe of Chuck Berry.

On the marquee:

A Pioneer of the Industry
We miss you Roy.

Yes, we miss you Roy
and no absolution
dispensed
by rainbows on skateboards
with fractured wrists
can replace you,
though the mayor is a Samurai
with bee stung lips.



Bill Jansen lives in Forest Grove, Oregon.  Recent works has appeared in Gap-Toothed Madness and Asinine Poetry.

Saturday, September 28, 2013

A Poem by John Pursch


Humpback Flash Gun

How far from heart-shaped taxis 
in uptown district squalor breath 
do grappling hugs smile in tonal 
happenstance construction, 
gone to flavored eczema 
in shingled reliance? 
 
Frozen to benefit hearings, 
cannonade umbrella chance pelts 
illusory myopic ethical pralines 
with dosage aspect infusion, 
ejecting blunt tracheas from 
mirrored forensic eyelet screws. 
 
Off to starlit monochrome ingredient birth, 
weaving engendered jelly roll plies, 
cantering poppies grow fairly well 
beneath the surfeit’s cooly enacted 
roaming fetters. 
 
Newbie janitorial stasis sinks 
ageless instruction pod brew, 
devolved to skinned chalk stirrups 
and prescient tonsils 
for graveyard dice cups. 
 
Used tarpaulins capture 
squid reagent lice in training burdens, 
smelting axial toxins for tundra hunters 
on ballpark delicacy parole, 
speaking terminal basis bowling tips 
to ashen hemp arrestor gents. 
 
She found a lasting long-legged laziness 
in futuristic waveform eyes 
and melted into loneliness with 
humpback flash gun syncopation alarms, 
replaced by temporal street closet doubt. 
 
 
 
John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His poetry and fiction has appeared in many literary journals. His most recent book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks . He's @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

A Poem by Darren C. Demaree



Adoration #4

for Cynthia at Beechwold Diner

If you sing, change
octaves with kids
dancing, booth-bound

& with bacon
in their hands, you
are glistening,

a separate
woman, joining
our frame, our shine.



Darren C. Demaree is living in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children.  He is the author of "As We Refer to Our Bodies (September 29, 2013) and Not For Art Nor Prayer (2014), both are forthcoming from 8th House Publishing.  He is the recipient of two Pushcart Prize nominations and a Best of the Net nomination.
 

Monday, September 16, 2013

A Poem by Sarah Thursday


Ramble

I do not have it
it did not come today
      
all my thoughts
are disconnected

how loud my cat is purring

I didn't sleep well

I had a crappy day

I miss all my friends
for a hundred different reasons

how unclear my future is

how teaching can be exhausting

I have too much love inside
but I won't give it away easy

there are too many tightropes
of going too far
of not going far enough

how I know what I need to do
but can't for the life of me
be the one who does it

I'm always questioning
my honesty

when I should fight
when I should let it all go

I can't stop biting my nails

I can't find a home
in someone else's heart

we are all compartmentalized
like a bento box
all on the same plate
but always on separate sides

I pulled all my anchors
or cut them or dragged them
either way I'm drifting

even though I own my house
and I have a steady job

I'm so damn independent
I want some more dependence

or a place to rest my head
and hear a heartbeat

that knows what I know

that will anchor me
and I can be home
 
 
 
 
Sarah Thursday was mostly raised in Long Beach, California.  She teaches 4th and 5th grade, is obsessed with music, and has only recently dove into poetry again. She has forthcoming or has been published in Stylus Magazine, The Long Beach Union (CSULB), The Atticus Review, Eunoia Review, East Jasmine Review, Yonic South, poeticdiversity, and a project called Please Judge: Short Stories Based on the Songs of Roky Erickson. She has also made five chapbooks over the years. Recently, she has become the editor of Cadence Collective: Long Beach Poets, almost by accident, but completely on purpose.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Two Poems by Les Merton


small press poetry library
(acrostic)
 
Rusty staples, yellowing pages,
Inspired words live on
Poetry from passed-over names
 
 
 
A Positive Word Sadly Neglected In Poetry
 
Yes
 



Being creative: writing, publishing, editing, performing is a way of life for Cornishman Les Merton who lives in Redruth, Cornwall. He's just edited compiled and published Dialect Poetry an anthology of British regional dialect. He believes use it or lose it applies to all forms of dialect.

 

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Three Poems by Les Merton


END
 
We are right up against it
There is nothing we can do
 
War has been declared
The war to end all wars
is being over quoted
by the media and informed individuals
 
A conglomerate of planetary missiles
is set to be launched towards us
if the people of Earth
don’t agree to evacuate
their beloved planet
 
Where can 7000,300000 people
of various nationalities, colours and races go
 
Yes a few - an elite few - will probably
be sent to various planetary outposts
some could even live on space stations
 
But, the majority
would have to stay put and just wait
 
There will be defences
The Powers That Be
have all missiles primed and ready
 
The end time
as been forecasted by many
over the centuries
 
Now it is a reality
 
Rather than wait for the destruction
The Powers That Be
have issued pills
 
the container they come in
is neatly labelled with the instruction
take three pills one of each colour
at hourly intervals
in the prescribed order
 
Take the Red Pill first
this ensures a feeling of well being
 
Next take the Blue Pill
it’s sole purpose is to create a desire
for another pill
 
Which will be
the only pill left which is the Black Pill
 
It is very doubtful that before anyone takes the Black Pill
 they will bother read the small print
which simply reads
 END
 
 
 
morning observation
 
abandoned coat hangers
            create sculpture
                                    balanced
on an art
            graffiti riverbank bench
                        a leaping salmon
catches the light
            and the moment



BRICKS IN THE WALL
 
                                    meditation
yoga                         love                         ahimsa             harmony
              bricks      in the wall
                                                  for world peace
            nonviolence             freedom             truth
spirituality                         pacifism             diplomacy
            understanding            co-operation



Les Merton is Cornish and proud of it. He lives in an historic heart of the tin mining area and he has become a prolific writer with 20 books to his credit, (many of which are available from Amazon and other online retailers.) Les has been published in magazines around the world and he is the founder editor of Poetry Cornwall which started in 2002.  In recent times his first play, The Last Cornishman, was performed and he appeared on ITV's That Sunday Night Show.
 

 

Monday, September 2, 2013

A Poem by Mike Cluff


Alabaster
berries
cause
devilfish
extreme
fomenting,
guarded
hopes
in
July
keeping
lobsters
moving
nearer
olives,
producing
queasy
reactions
scuttling
towards
underevloved
victims
wanting
xeon
yardmarkers
zeniths.



Mike Cluff is a writer living in the inland section of Southern California. He is now finishing two books of poetry: "The Initial Napoleon" and "Bulleted Meat"-- both of which are scheduled for publication in late 2013/early 2014. He believes that individuality is the touchstone of his life and pursues that ideal with passion and dedication to help the world improve with each passing instance .He also hopes to take up abstract painting in the next several months.

Saturday, August 31, 2013

Announcing Kind of a Hurricane Press's First Annual Poetry Contest!

SUBMISSIONS FOR THE 2013 KIND OF A HURRICANE PRESS EDITOR'S CHOICE POETRY AWARD ARE NOW OPEN!

First Place Winner gets $200 (US)  Payable via PayPal

for more details check out the Kind of a Hurricane Press Editor's Choice Poetry Award Site:

Friday, August 30, 2013

A Poem by Perry L. Powell


Our Collections
 
We started our collections with the
impasse and set our endowment in
sour satin.  We mounted the byte chariot into
moonlight and let the dead worm fatten.
 
We praised the lump in the bend of the
neck and tied a corset round the coral
jury.  We let the panorama fall strangely
silent and the square vent its fury.
 
When the syllable magnetized the encoded
caravan, not a gap refracted its darkening
value.  But the pedestal equipped in taller
increments as all the panpipes went askew.
 
While the tropical family stood nonplussed in
rain, not a dining frog withdrew a quiet
slap.  As the overflow and metric
garment dropped to a rambunctious lap. 
 
 
 
Perry L. Powell is a systems analyst who lives and writes in College Park, Georgia. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in A Handful of Stones, A Hundred Gourds, Decades Review, Haiku Presence, Indigo Rising, Lucid Rhythms, miller’s pond, Mobius The Journal of Social Change, Poetry Pacific, Prune Juice, Quantum Poetry Magazine, Ribbons, small stones, The Camel Saloon, The Credo, The Foliate Oak, The Heron's Nest, The Innisfree Poetry Journal, The Lyric, and Turtle Island Quarterly.
 

Sunday, August 25, 2013

A Poem by Marianne Szlyk


Catalogue Poem (Anthropologie, May 2012)

Convivial Midi
Between Lines Maxi
Mythography Mini
Sunny Repose (black)
Paradox Dress
(gray and white polyester, $210)
Leaps and Bounds Cardigan, Dark Grey
Sanguine Slingback Heels
Orange
A single bud adorns Sacha London’s
sky-high peep-toe shoes
with great aplomb.
Blue
Abundance
Necklace
Beaded
Day
lily
Clip
Ch
eck
out
 
 
 
Marianne Szlyk is an associate professor at Montgomery College Rockville and an associate editor of the Potomac Review.  Several poems of hers have appeared in Jellyfish Whispers.  Other poems of hers have appeared in Of Sun and Sand and Blue Hour Anthology Volume Two.

Friday, August 23, 2013

Two Poems by John Pursch


Lopped Itches

Aftosa fuses onto postal tongues
in grazed luddite metronomes, 
proffering worm ornery down 
urgent alley mosquito hires, 
cruft hinging oafs to sticky 
crow quips, furled incisively.
 
“Cram estimable fester sheiks 
what felt editorial shape knacks, 
swarthy love astute unfounded milt aware,” 
Penelope grain hoof et tweeze tine bagel 
imitation sawdust comportment squabble.
 
“Yeast, hit’s whiling bullish 
spouts of raisin droop, 
licking floors of oars 
in sunken sequins, 
thwacking bauble tour phlegm!” 
Bunky chastely rasps, knotty 
Venn timing migraine dams 
when enemy hens connive 
toucan a vernal situation 
pomade for three, frowsy 
inter alia waddling, 
emitting lopped itches.
 
 
 
 
Aching Aloud

Heed the titrated otter’s watery tribunal eyes before hive mentality erases the alligators from alluvial mentions of gumption and latitudinal anguish, pressed to varicose booties for playtime deities on nameless skeet coroner sheets of grassy carousels, driven to dribbling by hoarse beatitudes. 
 
Splotches crocheted by gaudy iguanas in seething behest establish additional plumber humps from falling trouser commissary heaters, swearing haughty cisterns of huffy efflorescent teapot feet, scorching tabled integument with surreptitiously placated camshaft bricks, eating audibly. 
 
Proxies intimidate cloaked events from aching aloud, shaving blurred cemeteries at drowning pole slides, kindling idiomatic synchrony for ossified seduction’s glacine semester bonk. 
 
Creaming stoned toenails with femoral lipstick gaggles, punchy slugs elaborate on dappled lancer steeplechase gloom, exposing polio olio in prawn retinue beach laments, soothing musty overboard tire irons before inducted tactile tallies can limp to brunch. 
 
Moody blarings repeal salary haddock in pendant billows below orchestral gymnastic sleet, healing causal shamrocks on eiderdown elastic pleasure suits, munched and rosy. 
 
 
 
 
 
John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His poetry and fiction has appeared in many literary journals. His most recent book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks . He's @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

Monday, August 19, 2013

A Poem by Mike Cluff


Border Crossings

Cakewalking across the Ohio
dividing safe from death
every winter storm gets worse
fragments of nature's anger
grinding and pushing down the
hope that bubbles up
in any immigrant's soul
justice for none of color
kelp would never survive this far north
lynchings do
many, too many times over.

Nips, neverstopping, of arctic cold
overwhelm those who are weak
putting them under bloody ice floes
quickly, without qualms
remorse is a quality some people
seldom display to those who are not
their own
unless utility is rationalized via
viscious impluses burbling up
without compassion with
xylophones producing cacaphonies
yammering  "repression, drawing and quartering, tar and feathering" upward to the
zenith of haughty, horrible hate
always growing, mutating
beatitudes of the master's, master race's religions.



Mike Cluff is a writer living in the inland section of Southern California. He is now finishing two books of poetry: "The Initial Napoleon" and "Bulleted Meat"-- both of which are scheduled for publication in late 2013/early 2014. He believes that individuality is the touchstone of his life and pursues that ideal with passion and dedication to help the world improve with each passing instance .He also hopes to take up abstract painting in the next several months.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Two Poems by Christina Murphy


Summer Reflections
 
A particular boardwalk painted blue
challenges the sky for supremacy
 
afternoon suns heat the sands
and carry the sounds of children
 
splashing in the water
as small waves break
 
over a tan shore mottled
with bits of sea shells.
 
Time here hangs devoid
of impact or purpose
 
sunbathers are statues
in a gallery of sea life
 
there is no need to remember
and much desire to escape
 
the life that is marked by
mundane tasks and full necessities
 
the sun will keep all secrets
and only whisper to the stars
 
that nothing escapes the ordinary
orbits of space and time
 
not the heart, not the mind,
not even the sun, the sea, or the planets
 
held steady in the embrace of the universe
and the tempestuous calls of the infinite
 
 
 
 
floating rooms
 
floating rooms of clouds
work of the snows; 
light slowly muted  
a flock of spirits
adrift
in a blizzard of darkness 
indistinguishable from prophecy
 
 
 
 
Christina Murphy’s poems have appeared in a range of journals and anthologies, including, most recently, Cease, Cows, Chicago Literati, and Dr. Hurley's Snake-Oil Cure.
 
 

Sunday, August 4, 2013

A Poem by Mike Cluff


Alpha Order

Jokes caused panic
killing the nectarines and
lilies lying between
Millicent and Nestor
neutered by his lack
of advancement,
progress towards their
quotient of castigation.

Radishes growth in lieu of the ratcheted
stench of atrophy
true and being tried
unendingly betwixt Omar and Pauline,
vases are then visited by vultures
waiting and wanting their liquid
xenophobic
yearly revitalized by decaying
zebras, broken, unstrung zithers and
asters fetid in
backyards covered with clover and
dandelions.

Evangaline become both Millicent and Pauline's new names
future lives to be admonished
slyly under the edict used at
hallucinations and hootenannies
indeed by ill-timed gestures,
jesters and jokesters.



Mike Cluff is a writer living in the inland section of Southern California. He is now finishing two books of poetry: "The Initial Napoleon" and "Bulleted Meat"-- both of which are scheduled for publication in late 2013/early 2014. He believes that individuality is the touchstone of his life and pursues that ideal with passion and dedication to help the world improve with each passing instance .He also hopes to take up abstract painting in the next several months.

Wednesday, July 31, 2013

An Experimental Haiku String by Kelley White


Morris’s Magnetic
Literary StuffonMyCat
Haiku
            --for his beloved Feather
 
 
sleep smooth moment
 
she is chocolate
I lick her languid beauty
in love’s drunk rhythm
 
sordid worship
 
singing tongue music
I lathered her skin moaning
lie together love
 
 
Stradivarius
forest moon symphony
 
shadow spring vision
please whisper sweet cool nevers
luscious goddess fluff
 
 
 
Pediatrician Kelley White worked in inner-city Philadelphia and now works in rural New Hampshire. Her poems have appeared in journals including Exquisite Corpse, Rattle and JAMA.  Her most recent books are TOXIC ENVIRONMENT (Boston Poet Press) and TWO BIRDS IN FLAME (Beech River Books.) She received a 2008 PCA grant.