whimsy-table

Nature is relationships in space.
Geometry defines relationships in space.
Art creates relationships in space.

~M. Boles and R. Newman


table

I’ve fallen for painting furniture. The shape of this old black table compelled me to paint it with acryllics.

A close up of the top:

u table

The unending sentence says:

“love is here,” he said. “I will stay,” she said, thus opening a window in the sky for birds and stars to pour forth which is how we learned everything is Love is here, he said. I will stay, she said, thus…

Satsuma

satsuma


Satsuma

Crescents of tangerine cool nipples

that purse like lips as

O of navel grips its slice &

taut shiny glans raises its

section to the sun, hot through

blue-green leaves of eucalyptus;

tongue slides between citrus & skin,

belly arcs smooth,

teeth release juice bursting

through this moist cavern,

tongue, lapping in slow pulses,

swallows wet open flames.

Thanks to the editors of HOT FLASHES: sexy little stories and poems for including this poem.

Hot Flashes

Left Coast Writers

January 17, 1991: this endless war

91

January 17, 1991

The day after war begins I
reach to hold, be held
beneath the crescent sliver of waxing snow moon
I feel your chest press   retreat   as we embrace
silken hair weaves through finger-
tips. Men and women die
in a city no longer theirs   no longer
home. Your arms wrap me
as water holds wreathes
and Iraq retaliates,
missiles strike Jerusalem,
ten year old girl cries within the brown
mantis face of her gas mask.
Pressed peach of our cheeks
parts my lips near the tenderness of your neck—
I want to feel
your breath on my tongue
your tongue as I breathe.
And what of those in Baghdad
no warning?

Thank you to the editors of We Speak for Peace and Literary Well/Pozo Literario for first and then reprinting this poem, respectively.

http://lit.carayanpress.com/eweaver.html

Dark in Light

Dk in Lt

Dark in Light

Wanted to show you the moon
but cruised off the wrong ramp
and wound up in a war zone
where there is no curfew:
men standing solo in the middle of the street
or huddled, talking beneath burned-out lamps;

wanted to show you the soccer moon
but drove down darkened roads with bars
enclosing windows and doors,
barbed wire spiraling a hardware
store and nursery—planks and daisies
out of reach;

wanted you to count the seas
across that haloed orb
but drove alone
through neighborhoods as treeless
as that dog-song moon;
beat-up cars driven
beyond unmarked borders
pulled over by uniforms
with clubs and guns,
jagged tension cutting concrete air;

I want to know who
declared this war of Americans
against Americans:
children peer from sheeted windows,
women hide behind hollow doors,
a man looks up from an empty street,
each of us equal
distance from the sun’s reflective sphere.

Thank you to the editors of Something Like Homesickness and Literary Well/Pozo Literario for, respectively, printing and then reprinting this poem.

http://lit.carayanpress.com/eweaver.html

Guerillas

popcorn

GUERILLAS

After years of losing scores of kernels each time the VCR turned on, the popcorn made a pact that the next group would ensure that none after would go the route of exploding into unprotected starchy balls. In a burst of hot air, white puffs flew out of the kitchen directly at the video unit, through the reprehensible metal trap, until all one hundred and seventy three kernels were tightly packed into the source of their chaotic metamorphosis.

Returning from her room, Sally found the popcorn maker empty so went to the living room where she found her son Jason mesmerized in front of the popcorn-packed Panasonic. Drawing the wrong conclusion, Sally slapped Jason and sent him to bed.

Meanwhile, the popped corn huddled deeper, inadvertently disconnecting two wires, and waited with wide angry mouths for her fingers to enter.

Thank you to the editors of Quick Fiction for first publishing this flash.

Beautiful format, this great publication puts out fantastic flash twice a year: http://www.quickfiction.org/

Simultaneity

horse closeup

Simultaneity


When you touch me—I am

breath rather than a woman breathing.

One thousand wings, a single beat,

split sky with summer rain.

Breath rather than breathing

fills the empty glass.

Split sky with summer rain

to reveal horses carved in stone.

Fill the empty glass

with wine of roses, lilac, heather;

reveal horses carved in stone

but not hands that formed their symmetry.

With wine of roses, lilac, heather,

toast grass that fractures concrete blocks

but not hands that formed the symmetry

of streets concealing streams.

Toast grass that fractures concrete blocks

beside the woman reaching towards you;

on streets concealing streams

she begs for food, shelter beyond grasp.

There is a woman reaching towards you;

her face is old, possessions few,

as she begs for food, shelter beyond grasp,

and I see you, I see myself within her mask.

Her face is old, possessions few;

she came to laugh—she came to love,

and I see you, I see myself within her mask

reflecting how the earth breathes.

We came to laugh—we came to love;

one thousand wings, a single beat

reflecting how the earth breathes

when you touch me.

~ Thank you to the editors and staff at Screbendi http://scribendi.unm.edu/ for first publishing this poem.

Poems, Prose, Photos & the Art of Being Human