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 


  1. great to see these vibrant poems from Mary Kasimor. What a rich treat for me. Thanks! Sheila

  2. Sheila, Months later, I see your response. Thank you so very much. Mary