snippet from the midnights

it was a long distant thing

wound through midnight

only years not just slender

rather deep meanderings

crossing radio waves rode

such music never knowing separation

immediate transpiring

heart

heart

savoring  wu li dances

deeper the space  purer the ecstasy

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dancing_Wu_Li_Masters

recently published by Poetry Warrior

Pdlyons's Explorations

Jenny

my fingers have touched

your face

your razor cut hair

rose bud lips

every square inch of how you define your

slender secret self

vulnerable to love

shielded by the city

defensive diaphragms

nicotine & coffee

shadow sister

manhattan monochromed & cool

believing anything was possible we were the same

beneath warm tones of old bones

pictures of girls and oceans

first born anxiety

visitation eased by distance

horizons met and thus reset

soft steady ache like something summer upon green lawns

time to talk in silence

—
The Poetry Warrior, The Real Poet’s Ezine.

www.thepoetrywarrior.com

jenny published by poetry warrior 6 issue aug.09 www.thepoetrywarrior.com.

Thank you to Abigail Beaudelle editor.

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‘Glendalough Sonnet’ and other poems by Angela Patten

Poethead by Chris Murray

Glendalough Sonnet   Rain and relatives, relatives and rain. In Glendalough’s monastic town a jackdaw baby thrusts his downy head out of a round tower putlock and raises an ungodly yellow beak to squawk at gawking tourists snapping cellphones, the spines of their umbrellas dripping on the ancient bullaun stones where monks once mixed their potions and the holywell was rich in lithium which turned out to be a great cure for the occasional pilgrim who, like me, suffered from the watery weather or a sodden slough of Celtic despond.   Angela Patten ©, The Cumberland Review 2015   Inchigeelagh Getaway   Gaeilge, Inse Geimhleach, meaning “Island of the Hostages”   The land is a sponge sodden with salt water and rain, the mossed path a tangle of Herb Robert and buttercup. Giant leaves of gunnera and the green spears of rushes stand guard around the pond. Laburnum hangs its…

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The Yearning / El Anhelo , a snippet by pd lyons

Pdlyons's Explorations

so back in bed with the morning coffee. needed to make some poetical notes, rummage for a piece of paper . found a hardly used note book from 2012 in the dresser drawer as one does. anyway scribbled what i needed to and then found this little bit of a poem. thought; should blog it. later in the kitchen doing some clean up popped on a CD hadn’t played in years Carrie Rodriguez, the last song on the cd done in Spanish. “La Punalada Trapere”. Had no idea what it meant but thought it might be cool with the poem. in looking for a you tube to post here, found one with her doing the song live on a radio show, she tells the interview where it comes from, her great aunt Eva Graza.

so here is the poem, which i would title “The Yearning / El Anhelo “, which…

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Anne Sexton’s Last Letter to God by Tracey Herd

Mrs Pip's World

Anne Sexton’s Last Letter to God

This is the last letter I will write
sitting at my kitchen table
with the blue coffee mug
at my elbow and the pot
roasting each bean to perfection:
faraway continents
in my cluttered suburban kitchen.
The sun is sharp through the blinds,
crisscrossing the kitchen’s
clean tiles with yellow and white.
I walk a knife-edge of light.
This is the last letter I will write.

I have been a witch, clothed in rags
and shreaking. I have borrowed
the wings of angels and given them back:
a poor fit, and yes, like Icarus
I had no sense and didn’t much like
falling back to earth. I have had lovers
by the dozen, some poets and others
and a faithful husband that I left
in the end. I have written painfully evocative
letters from Europe and many poems,
but this is the last letter…

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two poems, ROWING & THE AUTHOR OF THE JESUS PAPERS SPEAKS by Anne Sexton

Pdlyons's Explorations

ROWING

A story, a story!
(Let it go. Let it come.)
I was stamped out like a Plymouth fender
into this world.
First came the crib
with its glacial bars.
Then dolls
and the devotion to their plasctic mouths.
Then there was school,
the little straight rows of chairs,
blotting my name over and over,
but undersea all the time,
a stranger whose elbows wouldn’t work.
Then there was life
with its cruel houses
and people who seldom touched-
though touch is all-
but I grew,
like a pig in a trenchcoat I grew,
and then there were many strange apparitions,
the nagging rain, the sun turning into poison
and all of that, saws working through my heart,
but I grew, I grew,
and God was there like an island I had not rowed to,
still ignorant of Him, my arms, and my legs worked,
and I grew, I grew,

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Ah fish gold fish swimming not

the time light travels

the time sight registers

the time thought conceptualizes  ~

that which we call fish

already moved on

the truth of it unperceived.

 

 

Ah fish gold fish swimming not

watercolor collage paper

2018 Chapbook Contest Winner — The Sundress Blog

Katie Burgess’ Wind on the Moon Named Winner of Sundress Publications’ 2018 Chapbook Competition Sundress Publications is delighted to announce the winner for our seventh chapbook competition, Katie Burgess. Her chapbook, Wind on the Moon, rose to the top among many other outstanding works. Stacey Balkun, Chapbook Series Editor of Sundress Publications and author of Jackalope-Girl Learns to […]

via 2018 Chapbook Contest Winner — The Sundress Blog

On The Cigar Factory Floor | Dominican Republic — Edge of Humanity Magazine

Photographer Jeremiah Gilbert is the Edge of Humanity Magazine contributor of this documentary photography. From his project La Aurora Cigar Factory. To see Jeremiah’s body of work click on any image. La Aurora: The original cigar factory in the Dominican Republic Located in Santiago de los Caballeros, La Aurora is […]

via On The Cigar Factory Floor | Dominican Republic — Edge of Humanity Magazine

George Monbiot: America’s New Revolutionaries Show How the Left Can Win — Vox Populi

The little-known history of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez’s victory in a New York primary hints at the coming transformation. Even at first sight it is exhilarating. The overthrow of one of the most mainstream and senior Democrats in Congress by a 28-year-old Democratic socialist with a radical program and one tenth of his funding is, you might […]

via George Monbiot: America’s New Revolutionaries Show How the Left Can Win — Vox Populi