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| POETRYrepairs v08.04:045 |
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| WILLIAM DORESKI In the Weeping Basement Hydrostatic pressure squeezes water through the concrete floor. We mop and wring until power fails and we're working in the dark. Flood has toppled a power pole, blocking our usual route to the grosser part of the world. Downtown the river has crept into parking lots and basements, closing shops and inspiring ghosts to rise from an old canal. Luckily these ghosts fear to pass over the sparking downed wires and so avoid our neighborhood. We huddle by the woodstove and count the hours. The northeaster raves in the treetops, a vast appetite. Water bubbles through cracks in the floor and spoils my old manuscripts and a shelf of books on psychic phenomena. We agree to someday move to the desert. With a jolt and hiss the power renews itself, the sump pump groans. Fluorescents rout the shadows, and whatever spirits had arrived retreat with crumpled little sighs. Back in the weeping basement you order me to place the towels here and there, and in the harsh but useful glare you resemble Grendel's mother out for revenge. After we finish mopping the mess and stuff the towels in the dryer we admit that the pressure of water pulsing underground frustrates and soothes with vitality we ought to learn to emulate. poetryREPAIRs: 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. |
| "Poetry endangers the established order in the soul." |
| poetryREpairs v08.04:045 |
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| YANA BERLIN---ABOUT YANA BERLIN--- Founder of http://www.Fabulously40.com: 'Join us as we embark on our journey to the best part of our lives.' poetryREpairs.com welcomes your essay on a topic related to poetry. |
| "Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!" |
| poetryrePAIRs v08.04:045 |
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| ANJANA BASU His Poem And though I knew she loved me I told her she had cold eyes and left her. Six o clock on a Holi evening Under the lonely street lights Between the scurrying feet of the passers-by I met her with a garland of jasmine in my hand She came in chiffon through the shadows As expensive as her heart And I gave her the flowers and said goodbye But she touched me drawing fire Her unkissed mouth falling open like a wild hibiscus Six o clock on Holi evening With the colours drying on the pavements I said she was ice and she made me a fool Under the streetlights between the walking shadows Chiffon smearing red where it trailed And though her eyes were warm I lied and left her With the flowers as tribute To her expensive heart ---copyright ANJANA BASU. " His Poem " was previously published on poetryREpairs 02.01:004 www.poetryrepairs.com 'all the fine arts are species of poetry,' |
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