Archive #28
October, 2015
Wally Swist Finds The Way And
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Please Welcome Our Newest Poet To VerseWrights, JD DeHart JD DeHart
Oppression's Face Let me not wear the brass mask of oppression or raise the rod of correction to the weak and sincere. Let me not dress in cotton to cover a course inner fabric. Let me use words as a freedom and not as an expression of distance, creating chasms out of sentences and chaos out of semantics. Shadow of Myself There is a shadow of myself where I used to be. An outline, really, and that is all. My finger traces the experience but cannot contain it in my palm. I create my own expectations then find them jarringly unmet. No situation turns out exactly the way I expect, no space feels and smells the way I wish it to. I am obscured by my own expectations and several sets of eyes evaluate me, or simply think about dinner or politics, or do not see me at all. Read the poetry of JD DeHart Reas a profile of JD DeHart Amauri Solon Offers Two New Poems Amauri Solon
First Dawn Ever Last night's Nightmares Last year's Last night Still present In my semi Waking up Waking down (Should it be) Through dark Clouds Emerge The first dawn Ever Ebb Tide Tethered to poles boats lay on the wet sand no fishing today Early morning inhabitants of the empty village doing their daily chores - dogs smal crabs and a humming-bird no fishermen aboard their boats only the sun casts shadows on the empy streets No breeze to sail no clouds to cover the sun lazy the river stops still Ebb tide Read the poetry of Amauri Solon Read a profile of Amauri Solon Poet Eusebeia Philos Gives Us A Definition...Of Sorts Eusebeia Philos
The Desire of the Sane after Michelle Boisseau The desire that molds a stranger into a lover, a lover into the departed and the departed into pale flesh, the desire of the sane is one part silence and two parts scream. The desire that nurtures a seed into a plant, a plant into a vine and a vine into a trellis, the desire of the sane hangs itself from the weakest branch. The desire that transfigures a lie into a belief, belief into creed and creed into the unreachable, the desire of the sane climbs for the sake of the leap. The desire that paints canvas into art, art into flesh and flesh into defacement, the desire of the sane slashes the canvas of painted souls. Read the poetry of Eusebeia Philos Read a profile of Eusebeia Philos Poet Gary Metras Takes Flight
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Laura Traverse Encounters Birds Of Sway Laura Traverse
Woods The turkeys are in the trees! Tails turned up, red rims showing, heads cocked, feet gripped up ten, fifteen feet. There’s seven of them, large things, their red heads counteracting the swing and heave of balance on those spindly branches, two, maybe three, inches thick. It looks like they are swaying, catching gusts with a tail flume, leaning into balance with a forward fall, and they hold on tight, wings pressed firm as their tail continues to guide, to counter, the prevailing winds that threaten their stay in the trees. The whole thing, the whole pack, it seems like a trick of the eye, a defiance of normalcy, of “physics”--a round and rather large troupe of turkeys sits heavily in the thin upper branches, waging war with the wind and winning. Read the poetry of Laura Traverse Read a profile of Laura Traverse We Warmly Welcome Poet Mary Jo Balistreri to VerseWrights Mary Jo Balistreri
Reading Rilke The sky presses down on the land, a darkening. Rain begins a steady drone on worn limestone paths, swishes like a brushed kettle drum on the log cabin roof. Inside I read, and then surrender to weather encrypted with its own stillness. The lamp’s image ghosts through the window, hangs like a lantern from the limb of a birch. Light wavers in the wind’s sigh. I reach for distances not yet touched, no difference between near and far. Wisps of fog steam across the glass, clouds vision. The perfect paper shell of the abandoned wasp’s nest disappears. How slippery the word reality. Read the poetry of Mary Jo Balistreri Read a profile of Mary Jo Balistreri Poet Gareth Spark At The Musee
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