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VAL MAGNUSON
Shells			

Expatriates of stormy kingdoms
Cast to a different realm
Spindles, volutes, turrets
Extraordinary univalves
Lodged in temporary castles
Among the vacillating swells-

With stoicism sit,
The children of the sea
Awaiting their collection
momentarily-

Frenzied winged and fingered creatures
The flocking multitudes
Ship corpses off to distant shores
With worms and platitudes

Chambered nautilus repossessed
Poets scrambling for stiff pens
To toast the "Glory of the Sea"
Viewed only now and then-

Tiger tritons trumpet
Queen Conch in rose hued gown
Bittersweet pieces rearranged
Along the spiny crowns

Turbans, helmets, tulips,
Periwinkled bonnets tossed
At the fighting conch's finale
Dollars and stars at cost-

The ocean has her fans
Peculiar speciments
Preferred by common hordes
And in conchology's metaphors

Fallen butterflies 
In states of metamorphosis lie
Eternity crunches on- 
--- copyright VAL MAGNUSON

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
"Poetry endangers the established order in the soul."
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CHINA

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LYN LIFSHIN ALL ABOUT ME
Terra Flambe			
 

someone was looking for
a way to smooth the 
waves up, the torture 
of it going up in
flame. I'm in green
flashing past on the
metro, feeling 
none of that jade
feel. Maybe if my eyes
were that color. Some
thing was thrown 
up in a dream last
night, a relief, like a
cat's hair ball
but not enough



--- copyright LYN LIFSHIN ALL ABOUT ME
It is not the person burning, no physical self-immulation for LIFSHIN. Hers is a confessional of the survivor, the unexpected one for whom suicide can NEVER be an option. Yes, there is an unstated playfulness in referencing Ezra Pound's 'station in the Metro' - the vague, dark, indistinguishable otherness with which strangers on the street pass us. Rather, But, LYN LIFSHIN speaks of a similarly random world and making that world hers through 'passing' observation.

Beyond the persona, out of reach, quickly coming into being then racing away is a world occupied by those who fight natural occurences.This is the world as youth see it: self-referential, approachable only in sleep. Youth envisions the great pangs of aging, illness, loneliness as unavoidable, everlasting punishment for crimes not committed, and it comes too quickly. Too quickly, so easily for youth, the world in which people act passes into the dream world to which youth reacts. The very idea that bad things happen (as LYN LIFSHIN's poem series confesses) occurs only in one's private world.
-JOHN HORVATH Jr.

I am guilty, the persona seems to say. Even fire and wave are not evil; evil comes from within - physically and metaphorically.

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WENDY L. HAMMOND
Last


If you must mourn
When i go
Gather in a room full of lilacs

Tell them to wear blue jeans 
And t-shirts, - not black
Bring poetry 
And music
So my ashes can dance

Don't put me in a box
No lids nor deep holes
Think of me feather like
Weightless and free

Unfolded, empowered
- Solidity

Don't surround 
Me with creaky chairs
Or tears
No fancy eulogies
About my living years

No tombstones, no graveyards
Processions 
Or long cars
Just a room full of lilacs
And a sky full of stars
To remind them

- Breathe

--- copyright WENDY L. HAMMOND. "Last" was previously published on058ymp



'all the fine arts are species of poetry'
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