A Baptism Of Travel and Other Poems A BAPTISM OF TRAVEL Homer, is a long bus journey essential to a poet’s production? Perhaps ship or train or plane would do if we agree it should be in the dark in a narrow tube of thought flying or floating west into the promising night of raucous… Mary Kennan Herbert weiterlesen
Schlagwort: USA
Paul Tylor
Owen Oliver My twelve-year old nephew Leo is a genius. At least that’s what my sister, his mother, keeps telling me. He is not one of those annoying prodigies that debuted at age five as a head-bobbing solo violinist with the New York Philharmonic. He also is not a math „wizard,“ who dazzles my sister’s… Paul Tylor weiterlesen
Shiloh
New Poems THE BIRD Feathers flew, the thrown body rolled over and over, a scent of a funeral spray filled the air. My stomach was squeezed like a wrung out washcloth, and I choked on the verdict. Yes, I saw the bird! And now I wonder if there was some intent struggling behind the steering… Shiloh weiterlesen
Mary Kennan Herbert
James Joyce goes to the beach Poseidon changed himself into a horse to mate with Demeter, who turned into a mare giving birth to Arion, a flying horse (horses and wings, an irresistible double dose of symbolic power). Whether the horse latitudes or Chincoteague ponies, a beguiling combination of marine and equine symbols emerges from… Mary Kennan Herbert weiterlesen
Shiloh
Illinois Poet An Old Watch I only saw the back of her and from a distance her slim, shapely body, her blonde hair curled under a large, brim, straw hat, and her colourful, sporty clothes looked young and lovely. Nearing her I noticed the brown spots along her arms where her hair stood up, like… Shiloh weiterlesen
Christopher Stolle
Indiana Poet This Happens When Your Lover Leaves To Her Deep down, somewhere on the surface, there is fear seeping from an earmarked cloose vein. Chunks of nightmares and drama traumas glob from the gaping, disconnected cylinder flux. Blood rains across the silky innards, refreshing this half-cadaver from possible drought crops. In these valleys and… Christopher Stolle weiterlesen
Shiloh: All American Poetry
The Dot I saw one lonely balloon, colouring a humble sky, growing smaller into a drifting red dot. I, too, grew smaller and smaller wasting away from the eye of the balloon, appearing like a dot, only in a different place. Skin and Bones The fresh skin is not bruised, nor the growing bones broken.… Shiloh: All American Poetry weiterlesen
Holly Lalena Day
Three Pieces Pat Buchanon Make me believe you, Pat Buchanon, icon preaching from the shaky t.v. screen, sandwiched between Kmart blue-light specials and ads condemning herion my own brand of shakes. Raise my body, cruciform from this nightmare of cold sweats and invisible centipedes this place empty of everything and nothing, the words „junky“ and… Holly Lalena Day weiterlesen