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Thursday, April 29, 2010

THIS KIND OF FIRE by Charles Bukowski

sometimes I think the gods
deliberately keep pushing me
into the fire
just to hear me
a few good

they just aren't going to
let me retire
silk scarf about the neck
giving lectures at

the gods need me to
entertain them.

they must be terribly
bored with all
the others

and I am too.

and now my cigarette lighter
has gone dry.
I sit here
flicking it.

this kind of fire
they can't give

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

IT'S ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED by Kelly Wantuch (John Ashbery eraser-Cop and Sweater)

seasons forgot
those listless men’s
breathing        doom

take them away
grow a        wall
behind a prized mind
              of a dark few

drain the desert sand
leave the stars

so much could have happened

today the living
wave        possibility
from the universe

Thursday, April 15, 2010

New Views on Gender- very nicely done editors Rebecca Gibson and April Buck!

I am impressed with this publication and actually feel proud to have my poem in this beautiful artful book. It is easy to see the hard work and dedication the editors have put into this. It sets a standard I hope other editors will try to achieve. It can be done with greatness, one just needs to have pride like Rebecca and April have shown in their work.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

FATE by Kelly Wantuch (Ekphrastic on Andy Warhol's 129 Die in Jet)


There was time, and later
There was wreckage thrown in
The ripe wheat fields of Wakarusa.
Grasshoppers floated above
The fiery battleship
Ashes like drunken angels
Falling from the sky’s stars.
Crows cried out when Andy
Warhol’s remains were found.
Marilyn’s cries soaked the earth
Stinging the praying earthworms
Burned skin reminding us all
Of our own future extinction
Taken when least expected.

THE END by Kelly Wantuch ( Ekphrastic of George Segal's The Restaurant Window)

They no longer acknowledge  
The ruptured windows of matte
Patina reflections in  
Their cold burnt coffee re-warmed.
Yellowed Polaroids cascade out
Of dusty gathered albums stored.
Pigeons rustle and moan among
Dry bread crumbs thrown. A red balloon
Slips through the boy’s fingers drifting
Into the dark mist an unknown town.
They are just forced to wait longer.