Much Effort
–Svetlana Kekova
Photo by Emile Guillemot on Unsplash
Much Effort
–Svetlana Kekova
Photo by Emile Guillemot on Unsplash
What I Drink
–Natalya Gorbanyevskaya
Photo by Samantha Lam on Unsplash
Untitled
–Natalya Gorbanyevskaya
Photo by Joshua Humpfer on Unsplash
Drowning Another Peasant Inquisition
–Andrei CodrescuJealousy runs only skin deep.
Underneath lies the joy of not possessing.
Thus spoke the sage caressing
his one and only claim to loveas all were seated, thinking.
Between friends silence is your best bet,
he continued.
O oneness of bodies firmly planted breasts
and proudly set cocksas on the streets, the rest
are pulled along by long streaks of bad luckof which we know the reason.
The many windows framed in yellow light
are pulled together making
mind structures, more mind chains
around the masses, falling through the season.One day to see
One day you will be freeThat day you come and see me
That day you see me, hear
Photo by John-Mark Smith on Unsplash
I Don’t Miss It
But sometimes I forget where I am,Imagine myself inside that life again.Recalcitrant mornings. Sun perhaps,Or more likely colorless lightFiltering its way through shapeless cloud.And when I begin to believe I haven’t left,The rest comes back. Our couch. My smokeClimbing the walls while the hours fall.Straining against the noise of traffic, music,Anything alive, to catch your key in the door.And that scamper of feeling in my chest,As if the day, the night, wherever it isI am by then, has been only a whirOf something other than waiting.We hear so much about what love feels like.Right now, today, with the rain outside,And leaves that want as much as I do to believeIn May, in seasons that come when called,It’s impossible not to wantTo walk into the next room and let youRun your hands down the sides of my legs,Knowing perfectly well what they know.
On Virtue
O thou bright jewel in my aim I striveTo comprehend thee. Thine own words declareWisdom is higher than a fool can reach.I cease to wonder, and no more attemptThine height t’explore, or fathom thy profound.But, O my soul, sink not into despair,Virtue is near thee, and with gentle handWould now embrace thee, hovers o’er thine head.Fain would the heaven-born soul with her converse,Then seek, then court her for her promised bliss.Auspicious queen, thine heavenly pinions spread,And lead celestial Chastity along;Lo! now her sacred retinue descends,Arrayed in glory from the orbs above.Attend me, Virtue, thro’ my youthful years!O leave me not to the false joys of time!But guide my steps to endless life and bliss.Greatness, or Goodness, say what I shall call thee,To give an higher appellation still,Teach me a better strain, a nobler lay,O Thou, enthroned with Cherubs in the realms of day!
Requiem for a Nest
the winged thang built her dream palaceamid the fine green eyes of a sheltering boughshe did not know it was urban turfdisguised as serenely delusionally ruralnor did she know the neighborhood was rifewith slant-mawed felines and those long-talonedswoopers of prey. she was ignorant of the acidity & oilthat slowly polluted the earth, and was neverto detect the serpent coiled one strong limb belowfollowing her nature she flitted and dovefor whatever blades twigs and mudcould be found under the humming blueand created a hatchery for her spawnnot knowing all were doomed
Photo by bennett tobias on Unsplash
what I mean when I say I’m sharpening my oyster knife
I mean I’m here
to eat up all the ocean you thought was yours.
I mean I brought my own quarter of a lemon,
tart and full of seeds. I mean I’m a tart.
I’m a bad seed. I’m a red-handled thing
and if you move your eyes from me
I’ll cut the tender place where your fingers meet.I mean I never met a dish of horseradish I didn’t like.
I mean you’re a twisted and ugly root
and I’m the pungent, stinging firmness inside.
I mean I look so good in this hat
with a feather
and I’m a feather
and I’m the heaviest featherweight you know.
I mean you can’t spell anything I talk about
with that sorry alphabet you have left over from yesterday.I mean
when I see something dull and uneven,
barnacled and ruined,
I know how to get to its iridescent everything.
I mean I eat them alive.
what I mean is I’ll eat you alive,
slipping the blade in sideways, cutting
nothing because the space was always there.
Photo by Louis Hansel @shotsoflouis on Unsplash
I am waiting
–Lawrence FerlinghettiI am waiting for my case to come upand I am waitingfor a rebirth of wonderand I am waiting for someoneto really discover Americaand wailand I am waitingfor the discoveryof a new symbolic western frontierand I am waitingfor the American Eagleto really spread its wingsand straighten up and fly rightand I am waitingfor the Age of Anxietyto drop deadand I am waitingfor the war to be foughtwhich will make the world safefor anarchyand I am waitingfor the final withering awayof all governmentsand I am perpetually awaitinga rebirth of wonderI am waiting for the Second Comingand I am waitingfor a religious revivalto sweep thru the state of Arizonaand I am waitingfor the Grapes of Wrath to be storedand I am waitingfor them to provethat God is really Americanand I am waitingto see God on televisionpiped onto church altarsif only they can findthe right channelto tune in onand I am waitingfor the Last Supper to be served againwith a strange new appetizerand I am perpetually awaitinga rebirth of wonderI am waiting for my number to be calledand I am waitingfor the Salvation Army to take overand I am waitingfor the meek to be blessedand inherit the earthwithout taxesand I am waitingfor forests and animalsto reclaim the earth as theirsand I am waitingfor a way to be devisedto destroy all nationalismswithout killing anybodyand I am waitingfor linnets and planets to fall like rainand I am waiting for lovers and weepersto lie down together againin a new rebirth of wonderI am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossedand I am anxiously waitingfor the secret of eternal life to be discoveredby an obscure general practitionerand I am waitingfor the storms of lifeto be overand I am waitingto set sail for happinessand I am waitingfor a reconstructed Mayflowerto reach Americawith its picture story and tv rightssold in advance to the nativesand I am waitingfor the lost music to sound againin the Lost Continentin a new rebirth of wonderI am waiting for the daythat maketh all things clearand I am awaiting retributionfor what America didto Tom Sawyerand I am waitingfor Alice in Wonderlandto retransmit to meher total dream of innocenceand I am waitingfor Childe Roland to cometo the final darkest towerand I am waitingfor Aphroditeto grow live armsat a final disarmament conferencein a new rebirth of wonderI am waitingto get some intimationsof immortalityby recollecting my early childhoodand I am waitingfor the green mornings to come againyouth’s dumb green fields come back againand I am waitingfor some strains of unpremeditated artto shake my typewriterand I am waiting to writethe great indelible poemand I am waitingfor the last long careless raptureand I am perpetually waitingfor the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urnto catch each other up at lastand embraceand I am awaitingperpetually and forevera renaissance of wonder
If You Are Over Staying Woke
–Morgan ParkerWater
the plants. Drink
plenty of water.
Don’t hear
the news. Get
bored. Complain
about the weather.
Keep a corkscrew
in your purse.
Swipe right
sometimes.
Don’t smile
unless you want
to. Sleep in.
Don’t see the news.
Remember what
the world is like
for white people.
Listen to
cricket songs.
Floss. Take pills.
Keep an
empty mind.
When you are
hungover
do not say
I’m never drinking
again. Be honest
when you’re up
to it. Otherwise
drink water
lie to yourself
turn off the news
burn the papers
skip the funerals
take pills
laugh at dumb shit
fuck people you
don’t care about
use the crockpot
use the juicer
use the smoothie maker
drink water
from the sky
don’t think
too much about the sky
don’t think about water
skip the funerals
close your eyes
whenever possible
When you toast
look everyone in the eyes
Never punctuate
the President
Write the news
Turn
into water
Water
the fire escape
Burn the paper
Crumble the letters
Instead of
hyacinths pick
hydrangeas
Water the hydrangeas
Wilt the news
White the hydrangeas
Drink the white
Waterfall the
cricket songs
Keep a song mind
Don’t smile
Don’t wilt
funeral
funeral
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash