| "I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..." |
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BOB BRADSHAW Mango And PearsThe mango holds the blush she had in the first painting. But it mocks her like rouge on an old woman's face. Her posture isn't as erect. The pears that attended her in her prime pale now with a yellow color in their cheeks. Like women with hidden bruise marks they carry a sadness, a resignation that wasn't there just a few days ago. ©2007 BOB BRADSHAW |
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| Poetry endangers the established order in the soul." |
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PoetryRepairShop MM.01:009JIM MANNING Wolf Myths say that if one sings soulfully and with fervor over the bones of a wolf, she will rise from her bones and walk away full-bodied. Like a modern Indian chanting over buffalo bones, to revive his sacred food, I sing psalms of praise and forgiveness to the wolf; from hot, humid arroyos of Oklahoma where I ran free and above the steep asphalt canyons of L.A. where I am bound by voluntary servitude in glass and steel mountains. The horned owl, the cougar, deer, elk, air and water all need the wolf to make their land wild again. What do I need? I know about raw power creating the mountains, know about water sculpting ridges and gouging out deep canyons. Now I walk over moss-padded boulders, under beards of lichen hanging from ancient trees; lie on river banks watching the future-- primordial water raging toward me, by me, into the past. I need the wolf to rip away layers of asphalt, scratch in my red dirt and howl over my bones to resurrect my natural man. ©2007 JIM MANNING |
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| Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry! |
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In his own words, MICHAEL A. INTERNICOLA 'came to New York City to go to film school and in those seven years I've written five books, made a movie, sold manicures and pedicures and served many many drinks. I earned a B.A. in English from Canisus College in 1994.' MICHAEL A. INTERNICOLA Detour you flushed my friendship like i was the biggest shit you ever shit and now i can't stop writing bad love poems about you. you keep me up all night like the after hours on 18th and 5th. you have rules like porn shops do the one man per booth thing. you crowd my mind like the coke heads crowd me at the club. i hate your pilgrim shoes and those sleeveless turtle neck sweaters you like to wear. i hate the hand me downs your mother gave me without your step father knowing. i hate that these are a bunch of other words you'll never read or want to even. i hate that i find no fulfillment in having great sex with strangers, even better sex than we ever had. i hate your stretch marks and your orange hair and your stubby feet when you were dancing, those playboy tank tops you wore inside out. the car alarm is going off again outside. i would rather die than have you ignore everything i'm about. i want to scream and jump over valentine's day or any other made up holidays that were invented for nice girls like you. ©2007 MICHAEL A. INTERNICOLA |
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