Morning poem by John Horvath Jr

Morning Incomplete

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Along the seashore at the cabin muffled waves through night
Embrace us in our sleep brief unhurried ’til the morning light
Upon these empty sheets reveals the stains of love imagined.
Morning doesn’t give a damn for dreams of lovers parted.
Morning wakes and shakes fresh dew off all imaginings.
I can lie here, dream you lay beside me
Morning after morning after we have parted,
Turn to caress and taste your beauty,
Wake wet with tears from missing you, sigh
Like breezes born for nothing but an empty
Space to fill. Beside me you my emptiness must fill.

I will miss you, simple meters, reasoned rhyming,
Closure certain as the morning. Unwise, but I will
Miss you near to sunrise every morning,
At first light and in the darkness
Of my bedroom lonely; lacking kisses,
Shallow breathing become the slightest breezes
Laughing at me when I’ve risen, falsely risen early
Ready waiting for your eyes to open gently.
I will miss you in the morning.

Morning doesn’t give a damn for dreams of lovers parted.
You think that you are going someplace certain–so untrue:
You simply return unto that place where alone you started,
Where daily daylight stains you bleach away, half-hearted
Try recapture simple dreaming. Embrace the dreaming: hold
Off certainty of someplace solid nine-to-five and evenings lonely;
Doze ’til bedclothes cover over eyes that close, then come to me.
I shall take you with me, darling, to the dreamscape where we started–
It’s only morning that doesn’t give a damn for dreams of lovers parted.
Our dreams are conquests over limits,
together time and space in sleep are bested.

***

Till Death Do Us Part poem by Laura Greenall

Till Death Do Us Part
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The contract is over
In death we have parted
I am alone now
Alone and broken hearted
The poison drink is bitter
The pain of it cuts deep
But soon we’ll be together
I’ll join you in death’s sleep

If I should dream then
It will be of you
And now that the time’s come
I bid my life adieu

***

BLUES ON THE RADIO poem by Tony Nesca

BLUES ON THE RADIO
laura,
tears run silently down her
cheeks
coffee in front of her
old blues song on the radio
mom too tired and hungover
laura wanting happiness
wanting understanding
mom too tired and wasted
ain’t no purpose she says,
there ain’t none
mike at home lighting a
rock
tears on his cheek
heavy metal on the ghetto
no family
friends an illusion
“c’mon,’ says reggie,
“it ain’t so bad”
laura hands mom a smoke
mom shaking the hangover
chills
shaking hand lights a match
laura
looks out window
kids playing in the snow
mailman on corner blows out smoke
a firetruck makes its run,
ain’t no purpose she says,
there ain’t none
mike shakes reggie’s hand
“we’re not going to make it, are we?”
reggie smiles
laura cries
“no…”says reggie,
“but who the hell does?”

***

JUST ANOTHER NIGHT TOM WAITS ON THE STEREO Poem by Tony Nesca

JUST ANOTHER NIGHT TOM WAITS ON THE STEREO
out my window on the 18th floor
view of downtown skyline and
old warehouses of the exchange district
looks like chicago
beautiful and terrifying
urban madness
down at street level
hot summer night
some young punks get into
punching clawing beating
with vicious precision
ungrateful at their luck
of having been blessed with
geography
would you rather be in afghanistan?

the violence continues
i call the cops
i scream at the moon
STOP THE BULLSHIT
why, i say,
WHY?
there ain’t no solution
there can’t be
we were wired faulty from the beginning
it’s not about toxic emissions
or environmental rape
or serial killers salivating
at the
crotch
or planes slamming into the
world trade centre
or america with its hidden agendas
or canada with its indifference
or europe with its pseudo-sophisticated elitism
or street gangs running the streets
killing
like that’s all they know,
it’s about US
US,
every last one of us…

i look back down at
the street, the cops are hauling
the punks away
i smile,
there’s a knock on my
door,
mike says it’s time for a drink
“i got to tell you about emma” he says,
happy
red cheeks
electricity in his hair.
“let’s hear it” i say…

***

Trampled Poem by Tony Nesca

TRAMPLED
laura’s a dominatrix
says her job
is to sit on men and women
as heavy as possible there’s no
sex, she says,
but that is sex, don’t you see, i say…
“i trampled a woman so hard the other day
i think i broke one of her ribs”,
well it’s a wonderful life i say,
you got 20 bucks she says?
i hand it to her
she gives me a kiss
“still fucking the stripper down the hall?” i say
she winks, “don’t tell mike.”
shakes her haunch out the door
walks into her place
reggie’s there with shiny eyes
got kicked out of the whorehouse
staying with mike and laura
she hates this
they argue constantly
all sorts of characters in and out of there
scene building up to no good timmy
asks laura to walk all over him
50 bucks says laura,
fuck you says timmy,
he shakes his head, he downs a scotch
he thinks of venice where he spent a summer
a long time ago
a delicate moment with his nephew
in the world of gondolas and passion and
everything else
he downs another scotch
laura’s screaming at someone
mike’s trapped somewhere in his head
i see emma from my gigantic sliding windows,
she walking in the sweltering heat high heels on the cobblestone
GODDAMNIT, THERE SHE IS,
DON’T STOP YOU FUCKING WHORE
YOU BRILLIANT COLLECTION
OF MADNESS
YOU DAYGLO BITCH QUE
***

Stop Digging Security Poem by Rochelle Hope Mehr

nearing the end
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what wants to build when all is destroyed
what is the fear
security was always wanted
to be living on the plane of the mundane
the casual, nice, neat, work-a-day world
where everything fit
even the stringencies of crisis had an appeal
as long as you had your place

what is this vacuity
this dearth of imagination
this is the level
where you run out of dirt
where there are no more bodies to exhume
where you have to stop digging

***