Ellaraine Lockie

BLESSINGS

All of them at Starbucks on Thanksgiving morning
Solo men whose women don't exist
Or are home cooking in concert with a country
of women and a hick town of men

Surrounding families speaking German and Japanese
who will later eat turkey and cranberries
at someone else's house
Secretly wondering why the ballyhoo
The British couple trying not to think too hard
about pilgrims and revolutions
A man wearing an embroidered kufi

Yet why not an international day of gratitude
A day away from differences, right here now
Push tables together, carve up a pumpkin cake
Dress the morning in coffees from other countries
and celebration of the one we're in
Hold hands in a blessing that bars
bloodshed, politics and religion
Cheerio, ohayo, salam, dankbar

Heather Haley

http://www.heatherhaley.com/vidPages/purple_low-res.html

or

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dxAD6tE4bG8&feature=player_embedded

(Copy either address and paste in your browser window to view videopoem.)

Jeffry Jensen

THE AGE OF AUGMENTATION

As I slice sacrificial limes under
a barbecue tree, balls of tar ride
angry waves onto the beach.

A dilapidated beard carries out its tribal
duties under a full moon with empty
hands running up the rearview mirror.

As I slam a stone into a garbled circle
three bumps from a bridge, Sunday
motorbikes surround a forest going deaf.

A disappearing chin counts the number of
clueless tree trunks splashing images in
the bottom of a turbulent conscience.

As I slide down the dark side of a dirty
morning scratching post with cat attached,
thunder puts the paranoid back in best-sellers.

A defeated spine goes Baroque on the back of
a beast that had scrubbed up real big in
the hands of a theologian on augmentation day.

Sharmagne Leland-St.John

TICONDEROGA WIND

Quietly she listened,
With a subtle Mona Lisa smile;
As he ever so softly whispered,
"I finally figured out your style."
"Oh what is it?" she ventured
Her voice now growing thin...
The lacy curtains barely stirred
And the smile became a Cheshire grin
In the passive Ticonderoga wind.
Then with the lightest of eagle feathers
You could have knocked her dead.
"You use a lot of adjectives,"
He matter-of-factly said,
As he lay there, Pasha-like
Upon her pillowed bed.
Is that good or bad she wondered,
Her soul and body bared,
As she anxiously and deeply pondered
The information that he shared.
And as she leaned back to listen to the raucous blue-jays sing
She was eminently aware of one extremely important thing –
Without a myriad of adjectives and verbs
She'd never reach the required one hundred and fifty words!
Then she provocatively turned towards him with gentle nips
And licked the words right off his tender, smiling lips

Eric Lawson

LAUNDRY LIST

1 blood-stained, sliced up clown costume

3 pairs of rainbow-striped socks

1 pair of neon-yellow parachute pants (“It’s Hammer time!”)

1 pair of knee-high “fuck me” boots

1 over-sized, multi-colored sweater. A Cosby sweater!

1 pair fingerless gloves I stole from a bum

2 shredded cop uniforms (don’t ask!)

1 zebra striped sleeping bag

4 pairs of boxers, complete with skid marks

6 pack of Heineken

2 napkins with smeared phone numbers from drunken girls I bought drinks for at some local bar last night

1 blood-stained bed sheet. Gotta wrap that dead clown in something, right?

1 pair of matching tee shirts with the giant, bold letters FBF (Fuck Buddies Forever) written in glitter across the chest

1 Gin and pasta stained Twister mat

17 blood-stained rags (dying clowns just keep on bleeding!)

Your mom (MILF!)

1 formerly felony-free record


HALLMARK MOMENT

It is a clear, crisp autumn night
The curtains are tightly closed
The living room lights are turned low
My favorite late-night TV show
Makes me laugh and smile
I am alert and resting comfortably
In my favorite recliner
A fan oscillates a welcomed breeze
I lift an ice-cold Heineken from the
Coffee table to my mouth
The soothing brew eases my mind
And my thoughts drift idly
My girlfriend, ever the trooper,
Hands me a slice of pumpkin
Pie with a side of ice cream
She gives me a gentle kiss before
Settling into her book
I take another drink and ask myself
Why there aren’t greeting
Cards that cover occasions
Such as this
My girlfriend mumbles something
Rhetorical about a weekend
Getaway with friends
The wind picks up and dies down
My mind wanders randomly
I recall childhood adventures and
Silently wished that I owned
Some mementos as keepsakes
I vow to create my own greeting
Card to commemorate this
Perfect moment, here, tonight
A log turns in the fireplace and
Crackles as the glow intensifies
And just when I thought it couldn’t
Get any better, my girlfriend
Drops to her knees in front of
Me, unzips my fly, and smiles
From ear to adorable ear


DANCING BEARS ON CRACK

In retrospect,
Mixing crack-cocaine
Into the dancing bears’
Pre-show meal
Was not wise

NO!

F A R
From wise

It was a
Poor business decision,
Morally bankrupt,
&
Mentally uNsOuNd

The silver lining
Is that the

a - c - r - o

b - a - t - s

Have somehow learned
To do their
Death-defying routine
Without
Any
Arms

Lauren L. Kimmel

WHAT THE MOON SAW YOU DO, I CAN BUT COMMENT UPON

I am glad that I didn’t have to see
what she saw. Last night. The way

you love yourself, child, you’ve no need
for enemies. Lord knows the boy hurt you.

Must you finish the job? Mamas don’t
let your babies grow up. All they do

is find clever ways to cut the cord,
and send blood spattering like a silent

movie firehose, out of control. Unstoppable.
And hilarious.

Isn’t it hilarious? I could scream it, I
could clench my eyes shut and swallow

the rubbery pink ball of pain and anger and
sadness and more. I could scream red

spittle on the surface of your smooth round face
and I’d have better luck spitting at the moon.

Jeffry Jensen

TIJUANA ON THE HALF-SHELL

The girls stick to a bald guy like Elmer’s glue.
Burgers buried in grease sizzle on a side street.
20 arms stretched out behind a plastic curtain
donate blood for some sex money.
While a laid-off bus driver downs his first drink,
the bald guy leans on a sticky handrail and fingers
pesos like they are being devalued on the spot.
The girls bust out laughing as they each
grab for the arm of a pressed white sailor
who has testosterone calling the shots.
Slices of yellow cheese bubble over the
horizon as the laid-off driver stumbles into
one last strip club for the night.