As Gregory Samsa awoke one morning
from uneasy dreams*
from uneasy dreams*
as Gregory Samsa.
* from E. Muir and W. Muir’s 1933 translation
Joseph Salvatore Aversano
Author: jshb32
THE GENTLEMAN FARMER
If I were to plow/plough my own fields, I’d plow it to get work done. The plow with its cultivator teeth of uppercase W’s. But I’d plough for the sheer joy of it, as an expression or lifestyle. The market would no doubt respond more favourably to the plow. But what of the plough? Well it would win over gourmets and those who live to eat. It would be met with approval if brought up over cream tea. As all ploughing would be done to the soundtrack of Pachelbel’s “Canon in D”. It is the ploughman who wells with a fullness of being who can say, “for today I have ploughed.”
Joseph Salvatore Aversano
Risqué Business
Loveliness. Simply. Squarely. Inscribed in a square. Whirling. Wobbling. Come. And fallen off. Into. Loveliness. Which because it is its own self. Does what pleases it most. Spanning and climbing and sliding. The. Loveliness. Terrain. So that moving. Twisting. Lifting. It. Is. Lovely. All face. But not facile at all. And not beyond. Most definitely not beyond. As if. The comma. Between the here. Passing. And the there. Waiting to pass. Which waits. And, then. Waits for itself. Waiting. So that there is never space. For anything. But loveliness.
Vishal Prabhu
Poem
unzipping technicolor from a mizrahi fabric sunset
Joseph P. Wechselberger
Bird dream
Last night I dreamt yet again
about that flock of white birds
flying over the ocean.
A few weeks back, early March,
Jane and Anne insisted that
we pile into the carriage
and take a trip to the sea –
the last time I’d left the house.
I didn’t feel much like going
but let them force the issue.
It was quite a longish day
and I was over-wearied
when we finally returned.
about that flock of white birds
flying over the ocean.
A few weeks back, early March,
Jane and Anne insisted that
we pile into the carriage
and take a trip to the sea –
the last time I’d left the house.
I didn’t feel much like going
but let them force the issue.
It was quite a longish day
and I was over-wearied
when we finally returned.
I swear, while there, that I saw
a white bird dive arrow-straight
into the sea and fly out
with a small fish in its mouth.
That’s when I first had the dream;
and since then on many nights.
David Kelly
Sunset prayer
Trees cool in the dusk breeze
leaves rustle and shimmy
lizards seek their dens
black sheep close their eyes
owls blink awake
and a glum old couple
their grown son gone bad
sloth-shuffle to Vespers
leaves rustle and shimmy
lizards seek their dens
black sheep close their eyes
owls blink awake
and a glum old couple
their grown son gone bad
sloth-shuffle to Vespers
David Kelly
Garden-girl
I watched you
with your head down
in the young oxygen
as you fondled the stalks
unravelled the sap’s mood
and listened to the plant babies
singing to themselves
in their lush cradles
with your head down
in the young oxygen
as you fondled the stalks
unravelled the sap’s mood
and listened to the plant babies
singing to themselves
in their lush cradles
David Kelly
Two poems
eating a tree the Buddha grows to death
snowgrazing milk for two
petro c. k.
Bomb(l)ast
His letters jostle for position in his speech notes. The j’s, q’s, and z’s displace dotted i’s and crossed t’s. A c devises a coup, but the cavalry of k’s cuts off the offensive by paragraph number two. Still skulking somewhere off his page, a group of l’s corrals the vowels.freed speech
the vowels divide
by zero
the vowels divide
by zero
Colleen M. Farrelly
Three poems
crowded with green shifting this flesh to make room
to a small white bowl adding another dead bee
worrying flower i sever my head
Lisa Espenmiller
the other bunny 