| "I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..." |
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| --- copyright KARREN LaLONDE ALENIER. 'Gift " is from her unpublished collection of poems Raconteurs in Tangier: The Jane & Paul Bowles Love StoryKARREN LaLONDE ALENIER Gift Without fanfare, she said, "Give it to me." Then the opium vanished in one flush. Vexed, he asked, "Why couldn't you let it be?" Their friend the playwright laughed hard and said, "Hush!" Then Tennessee's drugs vanished in one flush. "Come with me, Paul, to see our leg our lamb." Their friend the playwright laughed hard and said, "Hush!" "Tennessee paid the butcher in dirhams." "Come with me, Paul, to see our leg our lamb. Afterwards let's watch the blue people dance. Tennessee paid the butcher in dirhams." Fire, earth, water, wind — a blessed trance. "Afterwards let's watch the blue people dance." Vexed, he asked, "Why couldn't you let it be?" Fire, earth, water, wind — a blessed trance. Sans fanfare, she said, "He gave it to me." 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. Oxford English Dictionary
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| "Poetry endangers the established order in the soul." |
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| BOB BURNHAM--- copyright BOB BURNHAM. Bob Burnham Entrepreneur, Consultant and Author of '101 Reasons Why You Must Write A Book'. For Information on How to Write and Publish your own book go to Expert Author : http://www.expertauthorpublishing.com poetryREpairs.com welcomes essays on any topic related to poetry. |
| "Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!" |
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| DIANE PAYNE Real Food Chicken popping in hot oil, green beans bobbing beneath boiling water. No Hamburger Helper tonight. Real food. Kids outside playing while wife looks out the window, waiting for her husband. He said he'd be on time tonight. Says that every night. After a few beers and shots of whiskey, the father returns. Relieved he didn't kill anyone driving home, the wife will add an additional thanks to tonite's prayer. From the pans to the plates, food is passed around this family of five without a word spoken. Just the sound of spoons clanking on metal and the slush of food landing on mellomac plates. The children eat quickly, hoping to finish a meal without angering their father. Chicken makes him happy. He looks at his eight year old daughter, gives her a big toothless grin, then pulls the chicken tail off and drops it in her milk. "Drink up," he laughs. Excited, he puts his cigarette out in her mashed potatoes. "Eat everything on your plate. I paid good money for this food." One by one, they leave the table, except for the girl. She watches the chicken tail floating on milk, the ashes resting on potatoes, wishing she could sink beneath the soggy green beans. --- copyright DIANE PAYNE. " Real Food " was previously published on 'all the fine arts are species of poetry' |
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