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poetry issues #17

curvy
curvy
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Thursday, 15 March 2018

The 17th issue is out, comprising a mix of formal and free verse. Read it here, and/or request a hardcopy, if you can't find one near you (which is most probably the case, except if you're in one of the common distribution areas or extremely lucky).

 

 

Impossible Grammar

 

I strive to tear down

the importance of the object

to the subject.

 

To breach meaning

I need the connectors to quit

their chatter.

 

The gerund at the end

forces me to think of action

as consequence.

 

Go, went, gone.

Paper skin, I will write on you

your conjugation.

 

 

 

Undecided

 

I was so fond of leaving

but then the crocuses bloomed

so I decided upon staying.

 

We just keep on astraying

when our conditions are poor

and I was so fond of leaving.

 

Then I thought that trying

was the grown-up thing to do

so I decided upon staying.

 

Seduced by the bird-singing

I had no choice but to stay put.

And I was so fond of leaving.

 

But the seasons are turning

and winter has a point to prove

to the one so fond of leaving

who decided upon staying.

 

 

 

Maturity Reversed

 

You’ve seen it in old westerns

how men in pain grind their teeth

in urgent operations in the desert.

That’s what it takes to beat the need.

 

Like a magpie desiring what shines

I habitually take dives in greed.

Indulging in you, who make me smile

I forget what it takes to beat the need.

 

Although I’ve dealt with most temptation

and have dared to declare myself free

in your presence I lose my persuasion

and don’t know how to beat this need.

 

 

 

Parents

 

Logs drifting down the

river, pretending to be

rooted, green-leafed trees.

 

And I

confused

by the false paradigm

 

I’m swimming

against the current

of my own disposition

hoping that

one day it will turn.

 

Can the fish ever change

the course of the sea?

Can the log ever grow

new rhizome or fresh leaves?

 

 
 

Birth

 

It's remarkable how life keeps on

creating life with irrational optimism

feeding on the throw-up of emotion.

 

Even as mere victims of darwinism

we still bridge what we aspired to be

and reality. Survival lies in surrealism.

 

The cat is licking her newborn lightly.

Her tongue a cloud flirting with the surface

of a velvet mountain of oblivious joy.

 

At times a long caress will suffice.

First you feel. Then you open your eyes.

 

 

 [You will learn more about the Poetry Issues project here.]

 

 
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