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.

Tuesday, March 10, 2020

Jeff Harrison - Scram Munch Creature

Scram Munch Creature

scram munch creature, fifty hogs are to fit in this glade
scram munch creature, Edvardvark, Edvardvarkian gingerbread carriage
scram munch creature, do not founder on this illustrious fragrance
scram munch creature, though you are already dishonored

scram munch creature, I'm your above, & you're positively my below
scram munch creature, I must (munch), or you munch (must), restore these bears
scram munch creature, few moon, scram, few moon ( / scram)
munch, moon, creature, scram, few, munch, moon, creature

scram munch creature, my charms are a thousand times weather-beaten!
scram munch creature, do you claim to be acquainted with the accrued circle?
scram munch creature, the collector first beheld the horse, then,
scram munch creature, the collector wandered with her own contemplating light!

scram munch creature, your tumultuous dejection is not amusing my murderers
scram munch creature, something about damsels staring from clouds (fleecy)
scram munch creature, you are versus what it's all about, at the very least
scram munch creature, the gigantic air is crowded with your immense numbers

Tuesday, March 3, 2020

Mary Kasimor - Three Poems

1. whale bones     w hisper to butterflies

whale bones          deporting oceans   capillaries fl ee
the hall         flower frozen in dead        heat compost 
tangles from              3-d. building memory’s awkward 
trance        l eft                 thumb mar ks. 
distance painting          behind ion.s and running 
forward is. the                     future. confusing foam 
chemicals        crude hearts sucking on a joint. sliced 
into meat                          emptying out of m irrors 
a tene ment with. 50                         in visible bodies.
drawing out                          hunger is. the war
drinking its d      eath.   th.in embroidered 
togeth.er talk through b one.     whistles a game 
must be.                guessed only with ze roes      visible. 
bouncing on          a nimal crackers syringes float. in 
lef.tover circles        oceans you own       time 
simmering in                                the pot with its 1: 30 
face. never going away          where b utterflies hide 
blue         in hands.                   from another controls 
the voice    s of whale. bones whistle            departure. 

2. why

the moon justifies 
the square id 
                             the body in motion 
the land
the blood spoke  
moving the dust
and seeds practice 
after women imagined
silver in graves 
unearthed in faces 
and voices 
of water

3. painting crows

it made bright green noise
                           a crow waiting for the bus
a short poem hiding in the mirror
i left my tongue behind
filled the day with chances 
at 2 am before time let go
you were a remainder 
you took me apart
time lead us to the dead 
to an endless amusement 
dull and stupid shook their hands
there is no time left
other birds with ink trace the crows
The hero was last seen in the landscape
the story held gravity 
details stuck to their faces 
from bored meat
home from the monastery 
slept without dreams 
veins bubbled up in the water 
life depends on one table 
fleeing with candles
no one waited
the dark road was made into a movie
heroes complained
getting lost and then found was critical
the old women who woke up every morning
with death in their hair
kisses hallucinating from their lips