~Boogster
A SHAMBLES
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Stage DirectionsSTAGE DIRECTIONSStage Directions
The actor rose,
the moon on his face. Say it was the third take.
As if they had never met the electricity tightened
in her eyes and in his.
I saw everything in a flickering silver light. They did not know me. It was perfect.
She shot him once in the chest and he died, and he let one hand fall across his face, and the grey trees quietly shook in the wind.
Still the moon shone on his face
and was the same as ever and lit the grass as usual.
[Exeunt]
I was so finely poised between things &
by ~Boogster
A Man Mourns His MuseA Man Mourns His MuseA Man Mourns His Muse
We were all paired on Parnassus. But when the city sank
under the howling water I left him.
Snap. I caught him old on his deathbed. He spoke
quietly. I leaned in, deftly:
Once I dreamt of flickering elms the dancing cars
O I chased them till I wept. I could not match them
for speed. They threw
spooling loops of light
as though they knew I would not catch them.
In another dream I skated &nb
by ~Boogster
DoubtDoubtDoubt
He has excited green eyes,
walks chin out, air in his hair and on his face so that he cries just a little,
the wind in his eyes. He walked past a beggar the last day and blustered not today, please, not today and he felt odd, lonely, I think, though he had me, as if opportunity was someone
he missed too, at the station, leaving.
by ~Boogster
ForgetForgetForget
Only brush the leaves from your eyes,
push open the gate and get out
of the woods into open fields - two steps more and the sun dips
at your shoulder
and a cold shadow flops
at your feet.
There is space here. You'd forget
if only the halo sun would god damn it stop burning your bald patch.
The guillotine horizon knives you openly.
Left the gate unlatched
didn't you and that's the thing: now they can get out too. Remember: I wrote you.
by ~Boogster
Favourites
School of PoetryBill, oh Bill. No school ever enrolled a more agile fish. Under his tongue,School of Poetry
begonias in suburbia became roses in deserts and roses exploded, superfluous as sand. We never spotted him composing outside the classroom, his oscillating pencil
a conductor’s baton, eraser unused. We rumored he was born on a farm, left bowing grain and barn-raising
for the hallowed columns and arches
of letters.
Slam poets and sonneteers grinned as Bill glid down halls, linking vowels like strings of lights on Christmas trees. We knew
by ^SparrowSong
Mimesis IDby `PoeticWar
Intentionsby ~pajokar
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- Website: http://motink.blogspot.com/
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Why don't you join the poetry contest from [link] ?
It's free and every nitwit such as myself who enters gets a small gift
but someone like you might win one of their $10 000 or $100 000 prizes.
--
mimesis, the poetry journal
Buy Mimesis issue one here.
Buy Mimesis issue two here.
J
--
mimesis, the poetry journal
Buy Mimesis issue one here.
Buy Mimesis issue two here.
--
mimesis, the poetry journal
Buy Mimesis issue one here.
Buy Mimesis issue two here.
looking forward to those prose selections!
--
| MIMESIS |
--
<salshep> <ordie>I should wite something awsome
<salshep> It's true
<ordie> You're write. That's my one-size-fits-all reort.
#Cabal. Because someone needs to be.
--
"It's a frame of mind, you see!"
- Frederic Chopin (Eternal Sonata)
--
I LOVE YOU!!!! and this is why [link]
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