Friday, October 4, 2019



Sirinya shoots

Sirinya shoots

Satchid Anandan writes

No Time 

There is no more time, but
there are some evil deeds
yet to accomplish.
To divide lovers,
to spread hate and harvest death,
to lead a revolution
that denies happiness
to everyone, equally.

All this calls for hard work.
I have the time for it,
and the impatience too.
Frida Kahlo. Moses 
Moses -- Frida Kahlo
Image result for leonard cohen songs of love and hate paintings 

Satchid Anandan writes

Learning Languages

I would love to learn languages,
Santali, Balochi, Catalan, Slovenian.
In all these tongues
we can say ‘love’;
we can say ‘kill’ too.

It is too late;
no time even to design a time-piece
maybe, I can design a verse-piece

Languages walk past the age of love
bent over a walker.

I too will go,
to the land where I have plenty of time
to learn languages
and then
I will kill you with love. 
Towards the Forest II, 1897/1915 by Edvard Munch.
Towards the Forest II -- Edvard Munch

Alyssa Trivett writes

Friday/Near Weekend Bliss

I couldn't scrawl a poem 
on the way to work.
My coffee corpse eyes
were rolling down the 
overflowing river
and my carpal tunnel
shocked rollercoaster drop wrists
shook like a swaying couple
at an outdoor Alanis Morissette concert.
I counted seconds at the stoplight
and said a quick prayer today
would go okay.
Now that school is over
I hear fireworks every night
knocking on my window as
unemployed birds wanting to 
have conversations about why
Gary painted his house yellow or
about our new mailman who rips open birthday cards.
I don't keep track.
I just sit in a windowless room
spewing lines seven and a half
patrons will read.
If is worth anything, nowadays,
in a jibber-jabber status update
satisfaction of notifications
and gas tank on E lemme fill up
'fore it hits $4 a gallon again
and neighbors crowd my lawn
to discuss it and siphon
chewing tobacco at me
as I chug down coffee bits
in my morning talk show routine
of my own introversion.
Related image

Naomi (Lady) Mitchison --  Percy Wyndham Lewis

Saturday, September 28, 2019

Scott Silsbee writes

My heart is growing
a little bit smaller
with each passing day.
I know I shouldn’t 
talk about it.

Painting --  Juan Miró

Scott Thomas Outlar writes

Acidic Cycles/Meltdown Fever  
Rain falls heavy on my head/poison daggers
tease with cancerous intentions/inventions of decadence
A sky that won’t be silenced…
screaming hardships across the ocean
Burning oilfields in the distance/money making schemes
of madness/wounded is the animal…
once called human – Paradise lost
to the wages of war – What’s the score?
No one’s sure anymore
The fields of chaos weep…
plucking the poppies/popping the pills –
A Medical Industrial Death Machine
dares to dream
of keeping the populace fast asleep
Double down on the bleeding nightmares…
oozing out the prison walls/privatized –
lock you up and burn your eyes
from the truth/too harsh/lost sight
A flight into the realms
of cognitive dissonance/Stockholm Syndrome
A love of the oppressor
as the federal budget bloats/the Beast
sinks its teeth
into open veins/a strange
toxin dissolves into the blood
A knock on the door…
Is anyone home?
A vampire dressed to the nines… 
sleek suit/sleazy art of war
Roll out the red carpet
for the whore of Babylon/babbling
in strange tongues/twisted carnage
on the tip
of a tidal surge
swarming out at sea/a prophecy
of devastation unto damnation
Pestilence and plagues/vaccinated haze…
the waves rise/fall/
collapse inward/implosive indoctrination
from the cradle to the grave/betrayed
Shovel ready
jobs that never surface/left buried
where the bombs dropped/radioactive plumes
drift skyward/torch heaven
rain falls heavy on my head
Image result for urban deluge paintings 
Urban Deluge -- katy kuhn