| "I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..." |
| POETRYrepairs v08.05:059 |
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![]() BACK | HOME SUBSCRIBE | --- copyright JENNIFER COMPTONJENNIFER COMPTON Thirsty I must have water. I must have water. I crave coffee! O coffee! You do not do any more! You do not do it for me! Is this sad, so sad? I drink water. Cool. Cool me. This heat this heat! From the inside out. I burn it. My choice to burn. It seems. I imagine Rome. I shall take my menopause to Rome and burn it there. I shall take my heat to Rome. When it is done I shall be empty, cool. 'Thirsty' was previously published by Quadrant (Australia) Poesia (Italy) and by Valley Micropress (New Zealand); published here with the permission from the poet. 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 Aston University PS : Sponsor Poetry visit Poetry Sponsors |
| "Poetry endangers the established order in the soul." |
| poetryREpairs v08.05:059 |
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| LYN LIFSHIN ALL ABOUT ME Have You Ever Gone Back to where you were at 15, a star at least in your day dreams? You think about the people you were with, the fat girl, Judy Scott who did things with boys you never dreamed of. Imagine the middle aged in a condo or worse. Today in the Science Museum, I'm amazed how young so many people are which of course I was with my exhibit on The Eye. Can't you admit you'd like to be on display in a museum like that? Be in a wilderness diorama or have your own exhibit not so different from a new prize winning book? Looking out, I'm astonished how blue the river is, the same one my mother paddled down and the posed with the man she couldn't marry tho he signed the photo graph "to my angel." Don't you wonder sometimes, not just at science parks or metros, how very very young so many are? I think of myself with my science exhibit spread out, an enormous papier mache model eye half shouting "Look at me." Sometimes I can't believe I'm not still that Rosalyn Diane, looking ahead, as my mother must have on the Charles, to some one small whose name she would hang on to her wrists and legs and when she could no longer hold them, go on to write that she had --- copyright LYN LIFSHIN ALL ABOUT ME Most confessional poems begin with a 'person' and that 'person's recollection'; LYN LIFSHIN begins where she ends - going back to '15'. It's a vague post-adolescent age approaching the promise of 16 (driving, hanging out, dating a boyfriend). In a very real sense the poet is asking the reader to 'go back' to another time...and, subtly, also to 'go back' to the beginning of ALL ABOUT ME series. If you follow LYNSHIN's suggestion, the Woman in Saudi Arabia becomes another kind of fantasy... that of a young woman trapped by circumstance into a restricted role. poetryREpairs.com welcomes your essay on a topic related to poetry. |
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| poetryrePAIRs v07.03:059 |
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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 poetryrepairs 02.01:006 'all the fine arts are species of poetry' |
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