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.

Heath Brougher - Two poems

***
Tapskilia

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.

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

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

dropped 

the blood spoke  

why 

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