I have watched the leaves turn colors.
Now, with frost, they lay dead on the ground.
Read more "BLEAK BUT TRADITIONAL – LANCE GAMBRELL"Month: July 2019
Coffeehouse Poem # 337 – Erren Geraud Kelly
Coffeehouse Poem # 337
A young woman has
Haunted me all morning
Every time I see her
Beehive hair style
I want to get
Stung
She carries a purple mat
Around and I wonder
If she’s going to
Yoga
Or going to pray
Both acts are a religious
Experience
Her spandex pants
Are the colors of
The rainbow
I imagine her bending her
Body
Into the holiest of
Hollies
KEEPING MY APPOINTMENT… – Deborah L. Wymbs
KEEPING MY APPOINTMENT WITH MY ATTORNEY ON A GORGEOUS DAY
School is in session,
Time for another life lesson on the living of life:
Small trees bend from the pressures of an invisible partner,
The wind takes the lead during an unrehearsed tango—
A day of bouquet beauty.
Two young men skate board warriors with tattoo armor
Scroll down the steep asphalt city hill.
I look to the pastel blue sky.
Am I looking at it or looking through it?
Its beauty is my bookmark.
I chose my attorney by the appearance of his desk,
The picture story relief, an atlas of events carved into wood,
Tree rings of life beneath layers of dark stained beginnings.
When will this fiasco end? I ask
And the answer he knew I wanted to hear,
Soon, with hopefully attached loosely.
3 POEMS – SIMON PERCHIK
*
Even the night was made from wood
has sheets, a gown, the kind
brides wear only once
though you pace in front the bed
the way mathematicians mull over chalk
scraping it against something black
that could be pulling the room apart
with the faint sound from dust
coming by for what’s left
and the corners –vaguely you can hear
her lips breathing into yours
setting on fire the stars
that would sweeten your mouth
with the never ending hum
emptied from wells and springs
for smoke, no longer knows how to talk
how to glow when side by side
as planks and weeds and this pillow.
*
And though this door is locked
it leans into the evenings
that hollowed out the place
for its marble and grass
where you still hide, afraid
make the dead go first
–they already know what to do
when the corners are no longer enough
and with your finger become
the sudden breeze filled with moonlight
and distances opening the sea
holding it over the fires –pilings
are useless here, these great walls
cringe from the cries rain gives off
where a morning used to be
and you are following it alone
as if there was a light in the window
waiting for you to come by.
*
This fish is still gathering the smoke
left over from when the sea went back
to face some crackling beach grass
–side by side you too are warmed
by salt and standing naked
you can see a woman is striking a match
though when you are dead
the glaze on this dinner plate
will afterward heat your eyes
–they will never close, this fish
is looking for tears to fit in its mouth
tell you eat! bite into its eyes
though nothing will cool or be at home
where you keep the ashes warm
by collecting the bones and sand.
Read more "3 POEMS – SIMON PERCHIK"THE SOLID BEAMS AND POLES… – TIM STALEY
The solid beams and poles that support society
are made of cottage cheese, mostly.
It’s not penis or Washington Monument.
It’s penis and Washington Monument.
Personally
I’m betting the ozone
doesn’t affect me
personally.
People have said to me, you can’t write songs.
You can’t play an instrument. But I’ve got
10 gold records, said Sonny Bono.
Several cavemen
who were supposed to be out killing
just sat around
under a huge cottonwood
swatting flies and gnats,
flicking fleas and ants,
feeling sorry for themselves
about the heat.
I have a 6-ounce box of feta cheese.
It says Masterfully Authentic on the side.
There’s a crack in the great clevis of my gullibility.
I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with yours.
In his man cave
when he’s not crying and masturbating,
he’s streaming Phish.
I wish I didn’t know your language
so I could hear your words
as pure music.
Cavemen masturbated unabashedly
when they woke prematurely
at the lip of the cave.
Anything I say, only half believe.
They say your body’s 60% water.
There’s my great grampa with a Bowie knife.
On his buckskin pants he wipes the blood
from our collective blade.
Clean—it flashes white in the sun.
Never buy used knives.
Who knows
who they’ve been inside?
AJ has a jacket his gramma
made from an Egyptian rug.
It’s thick and there’s
dead grass in the fringes.
I can’t purchase it on the internet.
It’s an intergalactic crisis.
We all love the environment,
but we have placed creatures above people.
A rat is a rat, said Sonny Bono.
Do you ever wonder if you pledged your gender to the wrong agenda
sometime before you were born?
It’s amazing men have accomplished so much
building and killing in this world
when all the while they could have been
masturbating.
Have you ever masturbated in a hammock while a deer looked on?
Just because you’ve never seen a vegan zombie
doesn’t mean there’s no such thing.
I’ve walked a mile in 0.0000614% of America’s shoes.
That’s 200 people.
Lewis Warsh says, you have to blame someone
when something goes wrong.
You’d be amazed how less pathetic this feels
with a gun.
A man washing dishes by hand
is like a dishwasher with a mind.
I’m standing outside the Village Inn
with Clint Eastwood
and a hologram of Sonny Bono.
We’re the armed guards.
I wish every month I bled from my dick.
I wish I could turn my boner
into something else besides a boner
for 3 to 5 days a month.
I’m sure to flinch the first
flash flood of stringy blood
sluicing out of me.
I want to see my dick that way.
Jay-Z cancelled his concert in El Paso.
My favorite part of The Great Chicago Fire
is how the flame, after 3 long days,
leapt back inside
Mrs. O’Leary’s lantern.
Cher wanted to be an entertainer
more than I’ve seen anybody
want to be an entertainer
in my life, said Sonny Bono.
A faint birthmark above your collarbone I find for the first time
and glance away.
If anybody asks,
that’s what happened to the berries.
for more visit http://www.poetstaley.com
Read more "THE SOLID BEAMS AND POLES… – TIM STALEY"LORIE – MICHAEL LEE JOHNSON
Lorie
Lorie, you want to see me clearly
through this joy of my naked body
avoiding the sweat of my emotions,
just breathing on my neck
rubbing this baseline of my groin-
will not find us here again.
Go away, leave me thinking
louder than your breath-
body moves quietly
in a lazy sway of indifference.
8
Cacti Fur 