CHANGMING YUAN : Orange
LATORIAL FAISON : And I Thought I Was Free
ANDRENA ZAWINSKI : Beached Here
POETRYREPAIRS v12.03:030
contemporary international poetry - for your reading pleasure,
poetry from new and established poets and essays on writing


All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge




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Orange And I Thought I Was Free Beached Here  
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CHANGMING YUAN
Orange
The swirling light of a setting sun Turns every pip of summer Into a halfmoon-shaped dreamer Dreaming About a full and golden wheel Keep running towards another season Wrapped within the rind are ten fleshy carpels Ten thousand juicy associations
POETRYREPAIRS 12.03:030
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Orange And I Thought I Was Free Beached Here  
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LATORIAL FAISON
And I Thought I Was Free
You tell me that my words these words black words offend you but perhaps they bring fear to a faulty comfort zone and I will not waste time wondering why because poetry is. . . an experience your words, your existence, your experience and why should mine be any different my words, my existence, my experience just me a black woman and I thought I was free just words and I thought they were free just writers and I thought we were free but apparently we may never, ever be so long as it pains you to hear me . . . read me while I speak . . . and write poetically on being black and being me a black woman and I thought I was free. just words and I thought they were free just writers and I thought we were free but apparently we may never, ever be so long as it pains you to hear me . . . read me while I speak . . . and write poetically on being black and being me a black woman and I thought I was free.
POETRYREPAIRS 12:03: 030
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato





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Orange And I Thought I Was Free Beached Here  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

ANDRENA ZAWINSKI
Beached Here
(First Summer Apart)
I want to tell you something as waves spin the shelly sand, slap and slosh against the barnacles and green slick of moss on the jetty rail. I am glistening here in this high noon heat where gulls careen and skim the shore for food, And I want to tell you in crone calls darting between the spin and dive of splashy kites that I am peppered by your promises riddling my head. I want to tell you in this long day of days lost, that I am beached here with the memory of you, your dark eyes, the way the salty spray collected on your cheek and shimmered. I want to tell you something as water retreats further from the shore, further from all our Delmarva summers, tell you there were wild ponies on Assateaque today, dusty hair like yours matted with barbs of myrtle, pine, and dust, grazing in the long weeds mindless of porpoise sounding our horizon. I want to tell you I've stayed too long in the sun again, that a seabreeze soothes the heat beating down. I want to tell you something, as the thought of you digs in spiny sharp along my new layer of skin.
POETRYREPAIRS 12:03: 030
CHANGMING YUAN : Orange
LATORIAL FAISON : And I Thought I Was Free
ANDRENA ZAWINSKI : Beached Here

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