Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on March 20, 2012
When we awaken
from our vigorous dreams
of increase and appetite
all that will remain
of the world that spawned us
will be photographs
peeled like onionskins
from the land and
ashes of the life
we have
consumed
in our
pursuit
of more
Submitted by Clayton Medeiros on March 19, 2012
No ambient light
Disturbs the darkness
The full moon edges to new
Venus and Jupiter light
A late evening horizon
Mars rosy bright in the east
The big dipper turns
Orion rises
Your hands reach up
To touch the stars
Submitted by Clayton Medeiros on March 19, 2012
On the wooden table's raised grain
Trade winds blow journal pages
One after the other
In search of poems
Among scribbled papers
Filled with crossed out words
Soon replaced by phrases
On their way to poetry
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on March 18, 2012
There is something ominous
deadly
about the waiting bed
covers turned down
pillows resting:
mechanical supports
camouflaged as
tender nursemaids,
like the piers
that support a house
built above ground;
awaiting the building
the body
their promise to hold up
to do the work of resisting gravity
that infernal pull
soft but structural supports
nonetheless.
I stand naked, consider getting in,
lowering my body house onto this
soft support
but I hesitate.
thinking of coffins.
Submitted by Clayton Medeiros on March 17, 2012
No Irish is to be had among
My Acadian and Portuguese
Tippling Forbears
Participatory hosts
Ready to nourish every guest
With perpetually filled glasses
Platters continually passed
Holidays an excuse
To ramp up the effort
On March 17th with
New England boiled dinner
Freshly corned beef
Potatoes cabbage carrots
Once in awhile for reasons
No one understood
Parsnips
Happy Saint Patrick's Day
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