e c l e c t i c a p o e t r y
(These are excerpts—click on the titles to view the complete poems)
The Word Poem feature is taking a hiatus this issue.
If you'd like to participate for the Oct/Nov issue, the words are still trigger, scrap, steam, and platinum.
so many years apart and always
there's room for more dead
People cautiously folded back
Glass sheets and glass bedspreads,
Slid gingerly out of glass beds
Deus in Machina
began to hiss, as if to themselves, like a reptile lullaby in iron.
Roadside, US 64
Jesus, I believe,
waits in your mobile home, waits
for your praying knees.
Means of Dispersal
Hovering over phials of curiosity
Some rank with the rot of failure
Others yielding green secrets
She waits for the flood like a sea-wife
willing the ocean to return her Captain.
Bone brothers licked
clean of skin's misdirection.
The final white
A B Datta
Around this time the sky birthed guilt
& it rained into your bones every day
Ruth Ann Baumann
How green is his wet grass and
how lovely under its sick black sky! The voice offscreen
is always a woman's
Rape of the Sabine Woman
A young pigeon lights on her hand.
It preens when a boy points,
sleeps when a Frenchman meows
A Lost Language
And, as the last inhabitant fell still,
a language, too, was drowned.
Tuesday morning my mother woke up to a murder of crows having a panic attack on the power lines that demarcate our front yard.
He hears it
in his monologue,
when he speaks for himself,
when he pronounces his fate
Thinking this is nothing but art, my uncle clicked.
One after another.
I see Jupiter just before dawn
So fat I think it's a helicopter hovering
Over bad traffic on the expressway
run next to the canvas like a poor
farm girl beside the train tracks