Thursday, August 25, 2011

August 2011, First Selection

The Stage

Sitting in the middle of quiet timber
the moon- a perfect white peach
spying on us through late summer leaves.
You drank from the bottle
and I from a glass
guzzling the cheap red wine
to ease the twisting knots in our stomachs.

We read poems by Plath,
reciting each line loudly as if we were on stage
with only the stars as our audience.

The fire was never big enough for you
and as you frantically continued to throw in more wood,
snapping large branches over your knee,
I saw all our inhibitions melting away in that pit.
Months of desire and tension fueling a fire nine feet tall.

The words flew out of your mouth
like the orange embers escaping into the sky.

You told me you loved me.

And like a strong chemical reaction to too much wine
and a lifetime of never having heard those words from a man
I felt my body levitate
and saw my blood pumping strongly throughout my veins.

Looking broken down and defeated
you sat down next to me
pulling my chair close to you
and I rested my head on your shoulder.

At that moment I felt as if the curtains would close
and a loud applause would erupt between the trees.
But we weren’t on stage
and it wasn’t an act.
Silence and fumes consumed us,
sending us into a deep, drunken sleep.

When daylight broke
and the piles of wood had turned to soft ash
and the empty wine bottles littered a bed of pine needles
a wave of reality swept over me.

I smoked my last cigarette
while watching a soft pink fog rise up from the lake.
He loves me.
And soon he’ll be leaving.

--Ashley Warren

August 2011, Second Selection


August moon. . . so what?

She's everybody's lover--

Summer, leaving, moon.

--Lilyan de la Vega

August 2011, Third Selection

What Never Changes

What never changes, always
Changes, remains an aftertaste
Or forethought. The sand always
Arrives, changing grain by grain.

We sit,
We watch through half-closed lids or
Listen, our hands itching
To plunge into the clay of
Creation, make it our own.

Always, and no matter,
We are the recipient, the Giver
Goes before us, adoring
Our clumsy intentions.

--Rebecca del Rio

August 2011, Fourth Selection

words like ice

freeze up

the liquid stream

words like water

wear down the rocks

they flow around

rock, master

of its name until

it isn’t

--Patrick Mizelle

August 2011, Fifth Selection

Prayer for Wilt

so long, big dipper.

you--so long, longing,

--were you—reflecting? critical?

inner warrior against racism,

fit athlete, sweet pleasure to meet, legs still fleet

under blue, furry white skies--high fives

venice beach leisure. eternal rest, eternal activity,

conscious alive circle

passing to realms of mystery

your spirit’s next curiosity.

bye, elegant solitary man, human, hummin’ man.

thanks for sharing your glories

artiste, playing basketball

hoops, round ball

like earth

joy uncontained, the man in the boy, you, gracefully tall

quick wall with a finger roll

century of points: one game!

scoring, exploring women too

loving, bragging

abusing, respecting, growing

glowing in the mirror above your bed.

you--disliking “hero” tag, people’s person

learning kindness

ciao, hasta la vista

to ineffable unknown may you go,


passing through that wondrous door

go where you’ll soar, like you danced down a shiny wooden floor.

- - Morgan Zo Callahan