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Archive for August, 2010

the house

the house was like a graveyard
filled with rows and rows of memories
buried under simple headstones

as i stumble over rocky ground
the twilight closes in
fog engulfs the tombstones
as the engravings haunt me

christmas time
family dinners
tackle football
sunday church
chasing cows
loose teeth
batting practice
and
thirty-four puppies

a mausoleum sleeps
on a small hill
struggling
i reach it
"here lies this marriage. 1971-1986"

four names
engraved below
become blurry
and i turn with a shiver
as the echoes bounce off the walls
of our once lively house

http://skywriter.diaryland.com

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longing to dream again…

i dream
of snowy while fields
barren lands
wrapped cold and frozen
trees
draped in
an ermine of white
northern winds…

warm
white beaches
glistening sands
sweat
trickles as
gulf breezes blow
i awaken
longing to dream again…

http://skywriter.diaryland.com

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Work in progress: Part 2//Rik

(I’ve lost the original part 2 thread, so will have to start a new one)

This is the 31st chapter in the work in progress. If this one doesn’t make
sense, then you’ll have to read the whole thing. All the chapters to date
can be found at:
http://www.kalieda.org/poems/Snowdrop-Part1.html
http://www.kalieda.org/poems/Snowdrop-Part2.html

As ever, this is a draft, so any and all comments (even relevant ones) are
much appreciated …

  *Haven*

  The mists remember the mosaics of shape.
  As the boy leads her to the bones of a church
  stones coalesce, their layers stretching
  to fruit a spire. A face of the Christ
  frosts in the air and fixes its pane
  to a frame of lead. Girl lowers her eyes:
  the cartoon of actions too crass to accept
  as real, as unreal as the riot of dreams
  that led to slaughter – scarlet on white.

  The arch to the nave knits its doors
  as they reach the walls of the resurrection.
  The planks are patched with puckers of moss
  and the hinges rust, hung on the nails
  married to the stone – miserable doors
  closed on the world. When the lad hammers
  the sanctuary ring, ripples of echoes
  scull through the fog. With scrapes, the postern
  cracks and swings back, bids the pair: come in.

(to be continued)

Rik, knee deep.

http://www.kalieda.org/pctp
A different approach to workshopping your poetry online …

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from the journal of noah's wife

my sisters are gone
my neighbors
their houses lie
fathoms deep
i dream
of black hair
undulant
as seaweed
stone faces
bare feet

they float
limp as cloth dolls
above the roofs
through windows
like angels
in god’s soup

an octopus
the grip of this storm
on my heart

http://skywriter.diaryland.com

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from the journal of noah's wife, pt.ii

the lions swat the planks
with dung-encrusted tails
the elephant stamps
i look down
the tunnels of their mouths
the color of muted blood
and always damp
the teeth
are white as desert stones

http://skywriter.diaryland.com

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Visions

Square screen sits softly singing its’ song;
"listen to me tell my tale, it’ll not take long,
watch with me friend and you won’t go wrong."
Melting into your favourite chair,
press the buttons and you’re taken there.
Half-formed pictures float inside your head,
to the outside world you’re already dead.
You don’t want to look, but can’t turn away;
you stare at the screen and you hear it say;
"I’ll corrupt your mind and kill your soul,
I think you’ll find you’re not in control.
You’re being is mine to do as I please,
from my hypnotic grip there is no release.
Join with me and we’ll become one,
there is no way out.
                             Your freedom is gone."

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from the journal of noah's wife, pt.iii

transfixed i watch
in the eyes of those who drown
the terrible knowledge of god
http://chucklysaght.envy.nu/MyDailyRant.html

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HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM CHARLES BUKOWSKI

HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM CHARLES BUKOWSKI
"Xmas season is when the populace really becomes beastly. they cram and
run and flurry wild and mama empty-eyed; me, me, I got! we got! my
family! safe! goods! roof! food! a drink in hand! whoopee!-what
sickening stuff. it’s pressure and haste, a MUST. nothing easy or good
about it.

then . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR. ugggg."

-Charles Bukowski, letter to Ann Menebroker, November 23, 1966,
quoted in Screams from the Balcony: Selected Letters 1960-1970, Black
Sparrow Press, Santa Rosa, 1993

- posted by Bill Chinaski

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Re: guitarist shot dead at concert

"MIDIcian" ™ wrote

> IMHO, it was a 100% (politcal) assassination, just like Lennon’s 24
years
> (to the day) earlier.

> Stan

Whether political or not, it’s a dirty shame that it’s come to this,
artists being gunned down onstage.

Autograph Of Zorro" {from *Shadowville Live*}:
<http://www.kannibaal.nl/zorro.mp3>

"Autograph Of Zorro" {digital video}:
<http://www.lulu.com/items/86000/86128/1/preview/45-Zorro.mpg>

The Netherlands/Shadowville cross cultural exchange
project <http://www.kannibaal.nl/shadowville.htm>

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Man-eater

Man-eater

Predictably, Roy says "the manticore"
in one too many syllables. His brain
dissolves words into code and can’t restore
them to their proper formula. The rain,
too, cannot be a single sound comprised
of discrete drops combining for a whole
white noise of water. Forests are disguised
by every twig or leaf. A lump of coal
is just a hundred textures. Faces tear
to nose and mouth and chin and eye and eye,
and turn again to skin and tooth and hair–
inhuman, borne of disparate parts that lie
uneasy side-by-side. So he becomes
a monster building monsters out of crumbs.

Julie Carter

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