Saturday, April 29, 2017

David Norris shoots

Alicja Kuberska writes

A stranger

It seems to me, 
I know her from somewhere.
The familiar eyes look at me.
A smile lights up her face.

She holds a diploma in hand
And believes that she can easily
Change a man and the world.
Naive girl.

Young mother
Matured with love.
Secrets of the night were to be
The happiness of days.

Power suited business woman
Sells her soul for pennies
And is screwed by corporations.
One day she will wake up.

Time is merciful
It steals moments from memory
Leaving only small fragments
And whispers of her, behind

Young Woman With Diploma -- Neysa McMein

Michael Drummond writes

Metamorphosis on a Lost Rainy Day

The wipers wipe the rain 
Off the bus-wide windshield
Their movements are symmetrical 
Perfectly timed as they pivot
So precisely and simultaneously. 
These two wipers have erotic movements
As would an Indian woman carrying a jug of
On her head, her hips swiveling to absorb 
The instability of her shifting feet 
Walking down the path 
Wherein not a ripple 
Is formed on the surface of her vessel 
These windshield wipers are alive 
Showing but their profiles 
Each with a swiveling head 
Teeth clamped on to the wiper's mid-riff.
Each head has a well placed 
Cobra eye: simple rivets perpetually staring 
At each others' movements and fastened onto
their necks are two steel chop sticks 
Which are perfectly parallel 
Pivoting as they do 
An inch and a half apart 
The animal's ’esophagus’ 
Climbs up the outside chopstick 
A narrow, black rubber hose 
That spits out a chemical mix 
Onto the windshield 
Only to have it wiped away by the blade 
That the cobra fangs fasten themselves onto 
These wipers constantly pivot in and out 
In towards the middle 
Out towards the periphery 
Until the rain passes 
Wherein they come to stand still 
Staring down at each other down 
At the middle of the windshield 
Asleep with their one eye each observing us 
Like a silent, still guard 
Waiting only for the next rainfall
Proposed Colossal Monument for Grant Park, Chicago: Windshield Wiper -- Claes Oldenburg

Arlene Corwin writes

*Impetus For An Arlene Poem*

Impetus for an Arlene poem
Can come
A phrase, a word, a letter
From a friend or alphabet-ter,
Bettering the source.
Any boost
Can force this chicken off her roost,
Any force create a course,
Any impulse impetus.

Wondrous is the geist creative,
Case that’s dative.
Speech from everyday,
Voiced and unvoiced vocabulary.
An Arlene poem
Reaches its home in a conclusion -
Something summing up the theme.
Simple words leading to rhyme,
Un-meteoric meter.
(She, confessed and plodding thinker)

An Arlene mind needs to combine  
Instruction, art and entertainment,
Synapse sparks from cups of coffee
Speeding up the poky brain incentive.
Sassy, saucy, brazen, shameless,
Truths so deep they must stay nameless.
All this to become a stanza capturing
The nature of death, age, romance,
The everything
Implicit in the impetus. 

*a quote from a Duane Vorhees letter.

 Continuum - Collage on Paper by Artist Robert Hardgrave
 Continuum – Robert Hardgrave