Sunday, December 4, 2022

Poetry

Apiary My friend Sharon raises bees. In her veil she cranks the handle of the silver bee smoker calming the hives. Bearding, swarming in the intimate harmony in which nectar becomes honey or beeswax candles for any altar. Scouts return with tales of pollen. The gilet jaunes swirl around the point Zero buzzing with anger at the money the rich will spend to...
The Fog of Pain You told me not to worry. As many speakers would be along the way, entering through the different doors, could tell us about the stars’ songs, theories, and critical turns. But, do you know, in the rain-wet afternoon, among the full house audience, I was absent?...
NOSTALGIA OF A WORKNIGHT She’s weary as an unused toy—unwrapped, not touched. She’s not hidden but by herself in back of a toybox, under the snapped off arm of her last doll. She thinks a shelf might be nice. She’d like to hear the soft click as her nightlight went dark and slipped into a sleep...
Paradise lonely feet on a subway train at half past midnight she misses paradise where every day she would collect a pocket full of shells why not give her home away for another trip to the coastline without a name our lady train rider flashes back to the nights where she would stumble drunkenly with another girl who split...
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma even the violence seems germane. same old Wichita, ain’t it? bomb every last life boat, make the bird on the bill soar free above that ancient tomb. a camera’s just one eye but damn if we don’t know how to whisk a crowd after wrongful frenzy.   the NRA pays less taxes than me  you won’t find that shrapnel wound in their tax ID #. the business end of muzzle is only prelude of holy creation. “be...
Yarn I. Spread out like a tangential curve, perched on window balconies, I would stare at each abraded line of the sun The sky was my favorite thing, how if I lay horizontally, departed from the forces of gravity and the will of life, everything was united A quiet murmur would rush across the diaphragm, knots and levers humming slowly...
11 243 Meters, Purple Mediterranean                                                  The airplane wings draw new summer fragrances in the fogs they’re expected by tomorrow's smiles like a dawn or maybe a dusk with a calm, lazy eyes the day can witness the providence through all the blue truths the winds lose their hearing with the speed of a fatal...
On the Crossroads O’ father, hold my fingers in your firm grip and help me cross the road.   Suspicion I’ve burnt myself half, fortuitously. And deliberately, left the rest unburned.   Bike Accident Helmet transforms into a skull. The road runs as usual.   Insomnia Night burns into an ashtray. I fly to you with the wings of ashes.
Heirloom When your mother raises her hand; earthy brown, skin cracked open— sun parched field— iron hot temper and hits you the pain melts your flesh, bones, marrow. When your mother raises her hand to strike you the pain bites (your pet rabid dog). She throws the foliage of her swallowed dreams— barren land that was hers and her mother’s and her mother’s mother who couldn’t...

Poems by Kalyani Bindu

A Fever of Living Some nights step lightly, like lily-shadows in blue water- apparitions in transit, between dreams. She awakens in a translucent purgatory- a tread from an incipient dream to a feverish slumber, to a body - a map of nocturnal metamorphosis, lacerated fish belly sewn with orange seams, eyes like butterflies in rivulets of pee, unmade and...
RIVERS Should I multiply or divide my soul in rivers under sheltering domes? I have left bits of me in the Elbe and the Rhine. I have left liquid tears in the lighted Seine. Paris, Berlin, Dresden -- each city is an epic, a tome. In rose gardens in the day or beer-gardens at night I have ranged and roamed. The...

Poems by Jeff Schiff

Ode to Muezzins Muezzins used to climb the minaret to make the call to prayer… (after Stefan Kaegi) Oh to be on call five times daily and feat days ready to roll cocksure in your three-balled alabaster minaret outpost honeyed and hyssoped throat nose to the windscreen positioned just so between your faith and a vintage Shure 55SW anodyne mic an array...