Robert Lee Haycock shoots

Get Out

 

Matt Borczon writes

I used to love

the hum

of an amplifier

the salty

taste of a first kiss
the gut punch
of Jim Carroll's Catholic boy
the tears
that come with children
first love
last love
all the bullshit love in between
car crashes
cheap bourbon
the sparks
that came out of
Tina's high heels
that night we dropped acid
every escape
Harry Houdini ever pulled off
folk music
and dulcimers shaped like women
my life
before anxiety and depression
before medication
before the uniform
before the hospital
before Helmand
before the blood
of soldiers and children

before the war
I used to love
like tomorrow
would never come.

 

 she played a dulcimer -- Loui Jover

  

Dulcimer king David Schnaufer

Akinbode Israel writes

A WIDOW BY THE WINDOW. 

. 

A widow by the window, 

Peeking over a large street;

Children playing under the sun, 

Sweating away their Today. 

. 

She looked the more and saw

Little girls rubbing white beards,

Flaunting their games on beds,

Soaking their Tomorrow in petrol. 

. 

She looked again and saw

Men punctured to boys, 

Playing football with shoes, 

Shoes of responsibility. 

. 

She looked through the window;

Nothingness sat, 

Emptiness posed, 

A sleeping portrait.

. 

Widow by the window;

Angels by the rainbow

Reporting to God, 

Then I saw God cry. 

 

Grief (Widow at the window) -- Felix Nussbaum

Rik George writes

First Quatrain 

My scribbled verses are written down with zest. 
I offer them to all the world from west 
To east in all their metric variety 
And you may choose the one you like the best.

Three Quatrains

The weather gurus promise us 

Grey skies and a threat of rain tonight.
We welcome the wet despite the cold
It brings, and the briefer time of light

We’ll have because the sun is hid 
Behind the clouds spread out across
The welkin. Dark the day ahead,
The gurus say; the sun shall lose

The power to warm the earth and sea. 
The moon as well will hide its face
Behind the clouds and dripping rain
Until dry weather resumes its place.

 

 Shore at Low Tide, Rainy Weather, near Trouville -- Eugène Boudin