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ADDING 2 TO TWO
Werner Reichhold
Jane Reichhold
Employing my cat’s tail to dust off the printer
its tiny lighthouse signals “out of paper”
out of an arrested thought busted and checked for
virtual fountains of older woods in progress
now oil now liquid:
a square of roots climbing intravenous heat.
Wasn’t the gray-haired driver seen in the software’s seat?
Two persons having the same dream calculating reality
thin singing
of one in love
the plucked
string vibrates
with another
gentle evening
madrigals chorus
of long-lost love
from the lute I find
the thrill of desire
Please, guidebook serve mapped help, show us the camels’ path to wells.
Shock stay away from comprehending what it may hold: a fata morgana.
I am flattered. I feel tongue-tied. I saw Moses’ basket floating by,
shades of faces not compatible with linear discoveries.
Read about fresh loans for a home if one buys in to an abounded child left
plus two pit bull puppies. All of the three Americans have equal chances.
cadence
the cat purrs a tune
just as old
accompanied by a stirring
below the belly's billow
coming inside
to a willing body's music
falling rain
arches over the dryness
as it enters a new life
a teacher wears
the face of years
borrowed
folk wisdoms fluent
from fresh new mouths
tongues
entering dead mothers
voices
the village maidens
resurrect lives as song
In the thrill of taking on a partner, both DNA tests show healthy solar plexus
and allergies for – damn - I forgot the angelic sequence.
Dining out - and then the uproar: the chewy part was a grilled Wolf’s brain.
Modifying joy, assuming the biography of a Queen salmon read aloud.
women
of a certain age
beyond caring
surprised by the intensity
of the simplest touch
a string quartet
pulls up so slowly
a heaviness
tied deep in a female body
feelings buried by the years
dripping – isn’t that stilled by the lilac’s blue? Spasms
of a verse-club counting moments netted in a wire’s red.
Tempted by Egyptian walls the one relief I kissed
a secretary revealing papyrus blessed by a Nile of nymphs
steps worn out stone after stone worn in feet
INTO MY HEART
Werner Reichhold
Jane Reichhold
Impalpable
milk into night sky
one way to go home
turning loose
a herd of snowflakes
the lover's lips unseen
tautly in us
a denial of waiting
seeds
are we mistaken
when they fly by
honey webs of wings
a thousand stirring wings of organ-eyesed water
scrape and tarnish your hands to reveal in the cottonwoods
where you have a dark vision as you buy me coffee and muffins
the limits of consecutive grammar remain muted, even startled
strolling through the museum of rotted wood and dust
when we are changed into minnows within a river
for these reasons I reach across the knife point's voice
while the foolish greenhouses of women soak in cold milk
what we feed
the bacteria
they give back to us
on the right shoulder
a mattress blocks Hwy. 1
seen from my window it rests as a large mountain with a few dragonflies
over a pond is a light musical form pictured as a disturbed state of mind
the way you look in
hot spring’s waters
bubbles staring back at you
the weight of Greg Venter
I am aware of genometry
taking another look
the way it pesters you
the song the alphabet
computer-light
no virus found in this incoming message
the letter with it said they could not come even though the invitation was open-ended in an ecstasy derived by turning from this world to leaves sung in a birch's domed goldness rushing upward that drifts away with the plenitude of holidays which last only for an hour or two or three a day who is afraid about the other you who's with me, still some of life's mysteries can be solved by ampersands or the dots of ellipsis
tattooed
her skin + art
in the Tokyo museum
their bones stiffen into skulls of roses as the boat
of the blue one touches the red one's stomach
you lie down between two pillows of broken rhythms
reach to stroke a brow and press against your lover's face
automotive taillights, something that cups the plates the napkins
before realizing that other people also have emotions
clouded as if painted by El Greco such a baroque evening
when all the living fluids swirl within the hiding
every draft begins in serenity
river gulch
stretching amphibious bones
crawfish
let’s get level
swarms of aromatic vibs
Note: The two poems above are part of an experimental collaborative inter-genre poetry form. Instead of adding the new link (here the links are tanka or haiku sequences, ghazals, prose or graphic) at the end of the previous link, the new material is inserted into the middle (or a spot the author designates) of the previous link. This forces the poem to “open up” instead of simply getting longer. The work is to make sure the added poem links at both the beginning and at the end to the previous material so the poem remains as well linked in the second half as the first.
THE REDNESS OF THE ROWAN
Andrew Shimield
Diana Webb
Frank Williams
John Carley
the morning jogger
puffs along
the redness of the rowan Andrew Shimield
here and there a thistle seed
still drifting Diana Webb
just a few coins
in the beggar's bowl,
why the sudden grin? Frank Williams
superheroes queue
outside a phone box John Carley
a spoon of a moon
tickles the plumes
of June's monsoons AS
her new umbrella
about to unfold DW
***
in a dream
the drunk wrestles
with his cardboard box FW
patching up the cracks
with instant ethics JEC
after the snowman
melts into the lawn
picking up his smile David Cobb
a pink ski jacket
for the trip to Aspen AS
together in the shower
the kissing of bruises
one by one DW
her decree absolute
by a box of truffles FW
the humble cockroach
positively thrives
on DDT JEC
a haze of chaff
over the moonlit field AS
amid baskets of fruit
an apocalyptic note
from the preacher DW
no sutra can reach
past the noise of jazz Taneda Santoka
***
all-night long
the drip drip dripping
of the bathroom tap FW
a sudden gust -
my ice cream spiked with sand JEC
the mountain range
from thirty thousand feet
looks so small AS
inner city ducklings
take the plunge DW
mixed with the post
an elastic band
and some blossoms too! FW
here and there a paper boy
still grafting JEC
Composed via email: 1 November –9 December, 2007
Participants:
Frank Williams, Diana Webb, Andrew Shimield, John Carley (sabaki)
Introduced verses:
David Cobb (Williams, with permission) Taneda Santoka (Carley. trans:
Yachimoto and Carley)
THE RING MASTER
Andre Surridge
Patricia Prime
visiting circus
handing out flyers
a chimpanzee
a resounding crack
from the ring master’s whip
starts proceedings
beside me on the bench seat
a clown in an ape costume
all fingers and toes
girls on the trapeze
swing from a cross bar
a team of horses
with coloured head plumes
prance around the ring
to a marching song
bareback acrobats
the lion tamer
slips as he evades a claw
you clasp my hand
miniature dogs
jump through hoops
at the command
of a blow on a whistle
by their mistress in pink tights
in the front row
children eating ice cream –
their sticky hands
clowns
dressed as firemen put out
a flaming car
everyone gets soaked
including the ring master
mingled with smells
of animals and smoke
sawdust
CONTINUOUS FOG
Carl Brennan
Lewis Sanders
Continuous fog...
at breakfast remembering
impatience with mom
My mother's name – just there
by the honeysuckle
The stonemason's art –
Gregorian chant echoes
where gargoyles doze
Strange voices
in the dark, my father's
sudden laughter
Curly Joe haircuts w/goatees –
this long night's evil buffoons
Fog in the hollow
my long midnight walk
by the creek
LILACS IN BLOOM
Carl Brennan
Lewis Sanders
Lilacs in bloom –
permeating the suburbs
of my scheduled binge
Moonrise now above the trees
and the night birds’ song
A lone bat flying
hypnotically – the ragged
spiral closing in
Only in the moonlight
my lone shadow
crossing the field
Red wine affords its courage –
approach the doppelganger
In the mirror
myself remembering
youthful days gone by
TEACHING THE ANTS
Carl Brennan
Lewis Sanders
Teaching the ants
a ferocious dance – poison
one cannot see
At the hospital: summer
sun and the lone cricket
A drunkard plays Bach
on steel guitar – the pawnshop's
broken fans
A crow winging
we talk of death
and boyhood days
The flatscreen warms up – nymphs
frolicking without dresses
First day of summer
my slow steps
slower now
HEADLANDS
Patricia Prime
Andre Surridge
Waihi Beach
on a white shell
striations of red
we sit on driftwood
among the holiday crowd
the sun
warming our bones
together
we take in the seascape
with a deeper breath
children
playing in a rock pool
discover
sea anemones that close
tight round small fingers
incoming tide
a besieged sandcastle
crumbles . . .
sifting sand through toes
we talk about the past
beyond the cape
the outline
of another
in evening stillness
you and I dig for pipis
pulsing
brighter than others
a southern star
far-off the sound
of the moonlit sea
returning
along the bleached road
to the car park
we tread lightly as I take
the keys from your hand
dozing
in the car
I dream
the day again
fish & chips for supper |
