Saturday, January 15, 2011

Friday, January 14, 2011

Gossamer Threads

Carmen Taggart

Disappointment, and frustration erupt,
Words as sharp as the knives you so carefully tend sever the ties that bind,
Neither of us knowing how to fix them or even if they should be fixed,
You simply drive away.

I can’t see your smile to know that you are still mine,
The voices in my head tell me that you are moving on,
The phone a poor substitute for the feel of your embrace,
A tentative thread binds us still.

I want to be in your arms,
Your hands cupping my face,
Eyes locked as I tell you that I love you,
That you will always own a piece of my soul.

I settle for phone calls and laughter,
Weaving a net of gossamer threads,
Our spirits dance across the divide,
Cold comfort as we relinquish our ties.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Ambulance

Panos Panagiotopoulos

I'll be reborn tonight, into the streets I'll be reborn
tonight, I have a thought, it's pouring out of my eyes
it flows down from the open window like a desire but it's a thought
and it sprawls like a red stain across wet asphalt.
Take me on an ambulance ride into the night,
tonight, I'll be reborn and we can spread ourselves like a
red stain on wet asphalt, chasing that thundering thought down,
I want the sirens howling above and behind us,
a trail of smoke and sirens behind us, tonight the city is
a red stain on wet asphalt, into the streets I'll be reborn
as a thought pouring down the open window like a thunderous desire.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Gossamer Threads

Gossamer Threads
Disappointment, and frustration erupt,
Words as sharp as the knives you so carefully tend sever the ties that bind,
Neither of us knowing how to fix them or even if they should be fixed,
You simply drive away.
I can't see your smile to know that you are still mine,
The voices in my head tell me that you are moving on,
The phone a poor substitute for the feel of your embrace,
A tentative thread binds us still.
I want to be in your arms,
Your hands cupping my face,
Eyes locked as I tell you that I love you,
That you will always own a piece of my soul.
I settle for phone calls and laughter,
Weaving a net of gossamer threads,
Our spirits dancing across the divide,
Forever entwined.
My Bio ~ Carmen Taggart writes and photographs when the muses speak from the mountains of Pennsylvania. Most recently Carmen's writings have been published at The Camel Saloon, Ink Sweat and Tears, and Ink Bean. More of her ramblings and musings can be found at her virtual home http://www.musidoras.com

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Cold Feet

Rebecca Gaffron

my feet are cold but my hands are warm,
rejoicing in sentient flames reawakened,
fearing this too will pass.
your tear drops into the corner of my eye,
a drowning man's cold fingers clasp mine
one more time.

Two Poems by Zaina Anwar

Fragment XI
(The Oyster)

One day, the oyster
would give birth to a pearl

so white and glistening,
it would cultivate light

as if through a prism
in the anonymous depths

of the raging
sea.


Fragmentation

He came to me
with hot caresses
and lilies and solemn
promises.

By the time he left,
my heart
was a broken mirror.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

True Art

Joseph Farley

you paint yourself
and others
blue, green, orange,
making exotic beasts
from women and men
already carved
in bone and sinew.
even this wild beauty
can be made
more sensuous,
more animalistic
with zebra or
tiger stripes,
fur and fangs,
and then the descent
into nature
begins.

MALE SUPREMACY

Larry Ziman

boys trying to prove they’re men,
men trying to prove they’re heroes,
heroes trying to prove they’re gods,
gods trying to prove they’re worshipped

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Carnival

Sandy Benitez

Miscreants and midgets amble
ahead of me. I fall behind.
Soles of my converse sneakers
sticky with bubble gum and taffy

droppings. A red velvet curtain
parts like a rose in bloom
and I pick up the pace so as not
to miss the bearded lady's show.

She appears in a long, black gown.
An hourglass figure reminiscent of
Marilyn Monroe. My eyes become magnets,
attracted to the surreal image

standing before me. I imagine Dali
courting her, asking her to smile
as he paints her face among landscapes
of melting clocks and cracked eggs.

Behind me, a lizard man snaps his tongue
like a whip. Flies swarm away.
In the distance, a werewolf howls
at the tapioca moon. The crowd

dissipates into fog, leaving remnants
of footprints--some human, some animal.
Things better left unknown.