MKP for Me; a poem
by Robert Jacober The world around me spins and twirls We’ve all gone mad and jump like squirrels By end of day my mind’s in tatters Full of junk and naught that matters My leg is jumping on its own My muscles twitch and move the bone I search for peace I cannot find A sound of static fills my mind I rush through dinner in half an hour I brush my teeth while in the shower Throw some clothes on out the door Dirty clothes...
Remembrance; a poem
Philos 18 REMEMBRANCE by Loren Ruh Smith I was reading the Italian poet Pier Paolo Pasolini his writings of the `tradition’ revolutionary poetic tradition that it’s unknown, misunderstood, or forgotten by the revolutionary currents that are just noises in the streets, repetitiously. They’ve always been there, noises in the streets, the tradition reports but the fight goes on without remembrance without remembrance...
LEARNING TO WEEP; a poem
By Eric Diamond Because so much depends on a walk around the lake, I take the long trail that circles the green and muddy water. Brown bees settle on tall field daisies. Lush moss blankets a fallen elm. Two deer startle in the brush and clamber up the hillside. Distant voices muffle through the forest. The air smells like bluegrass and butterflies. To each and all, I say this: You are not my son. If my son were here, he would spot...
I RELEASE; a poem
By Paul Goldman I release every single infinitesimal ion of my being: my thoughts, my emotions, my desires, and my beliefs, everything at once. In this glorious instant, my soul soars to heights beyond imagining, as I traverse the farthest reaches of the Universe. I am nothing, I am each quantum nano particulate of matter sailing the electromagnetic seas at the speed of light. I release, I release, I release… (c) Paul Goldman...
BEAT POETS, T’ANG DYNASTY; a poem
By Gabe Heilig Damn! From the clouds’ soft cliffs cold winds keep rising. Li Po, you scribbling tramp, are you still out there, tracking with me? Send me a poem. Send it tonight. Hell, send me a bridge!— these snow-filled streams are too swollen to cross. Above us, squawking arrows of geese point to no answer. We earn only a poet’s wealth. Our words and wallets never were lovers. Only drunken ghosts watch over our restless...
Daddy
By Kenny D’Cruz I know your hands. I know the shape of your fingers and your finger nails. I know how I feel when you open your face and laugh. I know the way you raise your right eye brow and talk from the side of your face when you are joking. How you hold your glasses when you laugh so much that you wipe your tears on the back of your hand. Your mischievous guilt when you let off a smelly windy one. How you used to hold my...
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