| "I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..." POETRYrepairs v07.09:101 |
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| VALERIE MACEWAN Beaufort County Fair Caroline at eight still rides kiddie rides and smiles. Big black women with huge butts wave to their children as they sail by. Laughing faces, taken in by the smells and the sounds, and the lights. Forgetting to see the dirt and the tattoos, looking only at stuffed dogs and unicorns, sawdust-filled bears and cotton candy. Fat men in blue work shirts with their name sewn above the pocket grip Marlboro cigarettes in toothless grins, their stomachs shaking with laughter as the kiddie cars pass around again. Almost laughter, not quite sin. Women in new sandals, tight skirts, and ratted yellow hair stand by the livestock pavilion, curse their children, and try to light matches in the wind. Over to the livestock pavilion puppies, bunnies, kitties, name it, they're all free. Theres a woman in a wheelchair And she yells at her costumed dog to stay. The dogs dressed like Mrs. Drysdale. Obedience is hard to photograph in black and white, and the newspaper man wanders back towards the midway. The carnival smells of unwashed socks. And Caroline tells me ?Look, look now...There's two, I saw all both of them. and I stare as the midway hocks up its riders and they spew from pandemonium back into the night. The Oxford English Dictionary defines REPAIR: Concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; resort, frequent or habitual going; making one's way; to arrive; to dwell; to heal, to cure, to recover; to renew; (AND!) to fix to original condition. In each sense, www.poetryrepairs.com |
| "Poetry endangers the established order in the soul." poetryREpairs v07.09:101 |
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| "Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!" poetryrePAIRs v07.09:101 |
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| KELLY WHITE Hick Down in West Virginia you drink ice tea from a mason jar. You say your grandmother was Robert. E. Lee. Clean-shaven, but you could feel that bristle when her lilac breath kissed your cherry cheek, scritchedy- scritch. Snip snip. (That's her scissors on your golden curls.) You used to carry your little tin bucket to the Last Chance School. It ain't standing nomore. They done tore it down. Kerplunk. You musta learned good 'cause you wore out the schoolhouse. Pretty little Shack of Higher Knowledge. Pretty little Mansion of the Wise. Guys. Some times it was a dancehall (least in the outhouse for the flies.) You eat fried chicken with your fingers and you never wash your hands. Poor bunny's eating lettuce. She flips her tail up when she runs. Tomorrow you might to call her. She'll be out of earshot then. Your tinsel teapot screams. You must remember that's her voice. Harambe! That kettle's running. It's gonna steam up your ice box. Contemporary' and 'International' poetry lover! Opportunity for student of non-English LANGUAGEto edit poetryREpairs subdomain (example for French: fr.poetryrepairs.us). Editor chooses/earns from affiliates. Send a paragraph 'about you' to editor [at] poetryrepairs.zzn.com . |
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