92Y Unterberg Poetry Center’s 75th anniversary and beyond –
robin@artvilla.com
PoetryLifeTimes
Poetry Life & Times
editor@artvilla.com
www.artvilla.com
Artvilla.com
92Y Unterberg Poetry Center’s 75th anniversary and beyond –
Oceans in the Moon
Oceans in the Moon,
Swell and ebb,
Lost in shadows;
Shone through the web.
Shifting shape,
Glowing orb,
Echoes in pale yellow;
Splashed on wet grey kerb.
And yet it rises from deep within you,
And reaches out to depths unknown.
And somehow it sings out loud to bring you
To a place you know
Is home.
Tides on La Luna,
Cusp and bulb,
Cast in shallows;
Laced through the dark.
Swelling pearlescence,
Unclasping and unheard,
Soothing mist and mellow;
Loves do not yet disturb.
Emma Scott 6.4.14
Paul…
Cake ‘bakes’ in your loft space,
Dough crusts streak your cheeks.
Cracked leather blue car seats
Thumb pressed; the Handbrake creaks.
Newborn kittens squealing wet,
Nestled in crumpled sheets.
Mud ‘bakes’ grip our crevassed knees,
Hands and hard soled feet.
Echoes of church choir songs,
Gravelly heights voices reach,
Where we perched on ‘uni’ rooftops,
Above lectures where they teach.
Broken bike and black-bruised boy,
To shells on white- Kenyan beach.
Tangled frayed fingers frets and strings
To strummed rhythm and symphony.
Still vivid, yet years spin shadows
Into thinning hair, face and skin.
Through shallow aging layers,
Looking out, and looking in.
Life ‘bakes’ thrusts our trembled minds,
Hearts and soft souls to swim.
Happy Birthday Paul from Emma Xxxxxx
Half seen
I’m a flickering flicker,
Not a full burning flame.
A rook on the edge of a checkerboard game;
A row of bold letters but not the full name.
The mist in the darkness,
Not the shadowing Moon.
And a step on wet moss,
Not the wings at high noon.
A hand on the shoulder,
Not a grip on the chest.
A prayer and a sigh,
Not a sign of the Blessed.
But an intake of air
And a flutter of Heart
And a crackle of twig
And a space to depart.
On second glance back
To the space in-between.
It’s part of the Whole
And it’s only half seen.
Emma 10th March 2015.
Illusion
by Ron Olsen
The greatest compliment ever paid
Came from Gene D’Angelo
When he said
“I’ll have to send three guys after you
To bring you back”
He didn’t of course
So I left Columbus
For Pittsburgh
And Baltimore
And Los Angeles
To find myself
And to eventually
Interview his daughter Beverly
In a park
In Beverly Hills
Princess Leia was there too
So my ego was fulfilled
And the circle turns
And reality
Slaps me back
From my Star Wars illusion
None of it really matters
For a boy from the Midwest
Does it?
What is accomplishment
Really?
This, or something else?
It’s left to you
To connect the dots
I no longer can
We spend far too much time
Trying to determine who we really are
Only to eventually discover
It matters not
Not at all
Even though it’s everything
©2015 Ron Olsen / all rights reserved
This tumble down day of tears and clay.
I do not stand in awe, at the world’s throng
As I gaze across black hills rolling grey
Turbulent clouds on the darkening land
Reaching the peninsula of my eye
Its sudden scene, its solitary strand,
My thoughts of time, existence, shadow
Robin Ouzman Hislop Editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life & Times. (See also its Wikipedia entry at Poetry Life and Times). He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010 & Sonnetto Poesia. Previously published in international magazines, his recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review, Appalachian University N Carolina, Post Hoc installed at Bank Street Arts Centre, Sheffield (UK), Uroborus Journal, 2011-2012 (Sheffield, UK), The Poetic Bond II & 111, available at The Poetic Bond and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: Phoenix Rising from the Ashes. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, The World at Large, for future publication. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.
robin@artvilla.com
PoetryLifeTimes
Poetry Life & Times
editor@artvilla.com
www.artvilla.com
Artvilla.com
Thallium
Janet Kuypers
from the “Periodic Table of Poetry” series (#81, Tl)
started 2/7/14, finished 2/8/14
I swirled the wine glass in my hand.
I watched the red wine swirl,
creeping it’s way to the lip
as I hypnotically observe the vortex.
I like drinking my red wine from those
low, wide-mouthed glasses
so you could smell the sweet aroma
without even drinking. But now,
now I check my fingernails,
looking for dark ridges. I wonder if I
should pull out a few hairs
and check the roots for telltale stripes.
I scan my brain to check if I have enemies,
the coast seems clear, but still I fear
that this precious liquid I hold in my hand
could be the vehicle for my demise.
And no, my liver’s fine, it was just tested,
and I’m not talking about alcohol poisoning
unless it’s because someone put something
in my drink I wouldn’t taste, or smell, or see.
But my brain now flashes to Thallium,
this superconductor, once used to treat
syphilis, gonorrhea, or even tuberculosis
is such a highly toxic heavy metal
that it was used for rat poisoning,
and sometimes even for hair removal
(yeah, trace amounts of Thallium can even
make you lose your hair). But the thing is,
I’ve heard that if you drop it into somethnig like,
say, red wine, no one would be the wiser
and you could kill someone without your victim
even knowing they were ever in danger.
If I keep this up, I’ll really start to worry
whenever my stomach hurts, whenever I feel
nauseous, or even have diarrhea.
If I feel numbness, or tingling and pain,
I’ll second-guess myself. I’ll have to check
the shower drain for excessive hair loss,
and I’ll check my fingernails and follicles again
to make sure I’m in the clear.