Thursday, April 2, 2020

John C. Goodman - Three Poems

1. don’t look away
there was a quiet moment
when the clouds held the rain
there are no goldfish in the sky

teacup with a broken handle
on a lonely windowsill
filled with light

our actions define us
our words defy us

pieces of the past, jumbled puzzles
where we started was not the beginning
where we stop is not the end

the light that shatters the glass

the road is as along as it is, no longer, no shorter
no faster, no slower
no wider, no slimmer

do you love her more than you love me?
measuring the infinite

shucking off the past
the blue light lies soft on the horizon

how romantic were the lush colours dancing in time
how dry and cold the classic stone poised and still

2. reconnoitre
reconnoitre the vine leaves
in lockstep becoming
papier-mâché bulldozers

For I sing and I love it and would give up everything for that

happenstance of brevity
the cold beauty of stares
revolving on marguerites

“take a stab at it”
said the man with the dagger
and the polished soul

shoes that fit no one’s feet
screwed into semblances
reduced to moth wings

seldom do the vectors smile
preferring perversion to agoraphobia
and ignorance to definitions

remember the closed doors
knobs are hostile to insurgents
remember the closed doors
locks and bars
secrets and indiscretions
remember the locked doors
the darkness entrapped
3. blush
a blush is as good as a squint to a maneater

a bobcat with ratchet gears
for tears

forever and forever is an indication of never more

looking ahead looking behind
are the same 
a ribbon of prose
crystal gardens of stolen ticks
a bland reunion of tocks

and somewhere love is left
like dust motes under the bed
swept into corners
vacuumed up on Sunday mornings

vapid and reproachful
the lees of emotion
trembling in teaspoons

the measurement of passions
the more
the less
ranking judging grading evaluating judging

how could I love more than I love now?
how indeed
the cold wind blows under winter doors

chilling the ankles

Tuesday, March 24, 2020

Eduard Schmidt-Zorner - Sweet temptation and Caboodle

Author's note: The contents is composed of mostly words of Irish origin.

Sweet temptation and Caboodle

I love to caboodle in bookshops and libraries,
dream of a caboodloir, where I can hide, caboodling,
in my paradise,
spending time with a poem in a café or chocolatery
could caboodlicide to find my favourite story, a discovery.
The change from cosmopolitan
to caboodlepolitan,
from coffee addict and caboodloglodyte,
who worships the hardback, sniffing coboodlessence
and cacao presence,
converting me into a caboodle and caffeinator
indulging sweet pastry, pralines and as predator
following the scent
the hint of clove and cinnamon
with a book in my hand.

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

Heath Brougher - Two poems


Casticas icemenue drawnaul frickplisted—
heart wouldensee innung raspid rash dominion
dampensweet the hazels of euphonyrain
as gladness rubs scorches of oucide difference
on the reshins of thought, of bent mentality,
flowering further
than butteredflies;
merciful lhand of bright obliteration,
of perishing the styrofoams wid the lightwinds
capsuling desinigrative clucks to keep
vanisheyed in perished eyes banisheyed
reaming in a blacken beauty brought from beyond
hinhanuther plaize sow fri dizdent indanwarreed
rhresheepes phiermouth trumbonian abreezer–
Hank uv thi mouwnds, shirk froam thi grownd.