| "I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..." |
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![]() BACK | HOME SUBSCRIBE | --- copyright RICHARD ALAN BUNCHRICHARD ALAN BUNCH At the Café Intermezzo(after looking through Wittgenstein's Tractatus)It was as though we were released from a long wait, in lines steeped with extraplanetary summers. No longer were we entranced by games using language pretending to reflect states of mind or to reflect split seconds between boredom and a divided self. In a round about way, we discovered something unforeseen: not just to hear echoes but how to see them, not just to say "the Big Dipper rises" but how to know as well as say "the Big Dipper breathes as it rises" when the day's wind began to sweep us clean with alternate perspectives as our eyes were dilated with insight. RICHARD ALAN BUNCH was born in Honolulu and grew up in the Napa Valley. His works include Summer Hawk, Rivers of the Sea, Night Blooms, and Hawking Moves: Plays, Poems and Stories. Thrice nominated for a Pushcart Prize, his poetry has appeared in Potpourri, Black Mountain Review, Poetry Southeast, Cherry Blossom Review, Poetry Repairs, Oregon Review, Poesia, and the Owen Wister Review. His latest poetry collection is Running for Daybreak. 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." |
| poetryREpairs v08.05:056 |
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| LYN LIFSHIN ALL ABOUT ME Haven't You Ever Wanted to Use the Word 'Indigo' the way it rolls of your tongue, blue, mysterious. It's rather old fashioned tho but when you run out of words for the blues, doesn't indigo give it a little class? Then, I think of Millay with her indigo buntings, curled on the same velvet couches I have tho they've been re-covered, not indigo but a chocolate brown. One visitor, visiting Steepletop in Edna's last years mentioned how shabby the sofas were. I think of how Vincent gave up her velvets, lovers, drugs for the stillness. Except for the buntings. But I digress. Indigo. I had to listen to the Indigo Girls but I liked their name better. I'd like to say I found the metaphor to cinch this poem, to pull any reader into Indigo ecstasy when I found some E Mail about the film Indigo Children but when I put the name into Google, What I read lacked all iridescent blue, the startling hypnotic glistening. Less there than the marine's startling icy eyes, indigo jolting as sequins from deep under ground as my real life pales --- copyright LYN LIFSHIN ALL ABOUT ME poetryREpairs.com welcomes your essay on a topic related to poetry. |
| "Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!" |
| poetryrePAIRs v07.03:056 |
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| MICHAELA A. GABRIEL [red right hand] a deformed churchbell rings suddenly, rings once, startling red spotlights into staccato dance. he turns into a sinister duke, coal-black hair, his face a stage for eerie light-and-shadow play. all the monstrous, grim-faced demons inside us wake up, gather in curtain folds, red hands clasped. every word he sings is true, murder stories at bedtime. i've never seen blue lights bleeding before. --- copyright MICHAELA A. GABRIEL. "[red right hand]" was previously published on poetryREpairs 02.01:008 'all the fine arts are species of poetry' ![]() |
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