TANJA BARTEL : City of Autism
WENDY L. HAMMOND : No Regrets
JIM DUNLAP : A Griffin Profile of Bare-Breasted Women
POETRYREPAIRS v12.09:106
contemporary international poetry - for your reading pleasure,
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All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge


TANJA BARTEL creates the cityscape as a landscape of dis-ease

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City of Autism No Regrets A Griffin Profile of Bare-Breasted Women  
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TANJA BARTEL
City of Autism
TANJA BARTEL City of Autism: A Guided Tour Flipping past you are rocking bodies and flapping hands. The mannequins are on the outside looking into the windows  with no displays. Car motors are revving all at once, but if you listen, you can hear the subtle difference in tone; loose parts rattle and ting under the hoods. No one takes turns to speak. It is a rude society of churning chaos, where people do not look you in the eye, but just past your shoulder into the middle distance at something only they can see. Or else it is too damn bright. No one will ever ask you how you are. They only answer, but only if they feel like it. They have their own moment and you are not in it. Don't think at them. A red light that stays red. Those on the street do not seek shops at all, but the spaces between the shops: the grimy corners where one strand from a snagged coat flutters with hysteria, but is mesmerizing to watch. They do not enter the places you think they should. Aversion is all they see in the line-ups and idiot banter of people being friendly to complete strangers, with no benefit to themselves. The traffic lights are all buggered up: There's a flashing red hand, but is he saying, "Come to me?" The white guy walking is going nowhere, then disappears. What does he want from us? The spinning of all the tires in one place is a carnival. If only there was a pet store on this street. The way the puppies wag their tales, the movement of their ears would be a stunning attraction and worth the bus trip. The wait for a budgie to peep stops the world. If only a fluttering, tumbling kitten in every colour but brown was all I needed to get through this hour.
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City of Autism No Regrets A Griffin Profile of Bare-Breasted Women  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

WENDY L. HAMMOND
No Regrets
regret has a way of standing up one day, tipping its hat as it walks away turns its back like an old man going off to die and you realize your days are worth more than this that if you wallow around in it for too long it takes on form, and you're torn between having to touch it let it sting or making yourself pay for it - this thing, regret its forgiveness or the lack of it the deficit, that holds you back from a calm patience a merciful act that comes from letting go like the old man knows his time when its time to rest it is in the release you'll find - such peacefulness
POETRYREPAIRS 12.09: 106
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato





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City of Autism No Regrets A Griffin Profile of Bare-Breasted Women  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

JIM DUNLAP
A Griffin Profile of Bare-Breasted Women
To decipher emotions doesn't take a machine, Though emotional roller coasters might leave you green. The mathematics are simply so far from immutable - It's not easy at all to "unscrew the inscrutable". * Wild women warriors sweep through the night, Riding the storm like the Norns in their flight; Great jagged bolts of lightning flash by Silhouetting a goddess athwart the dark sky. Bold brigands of battle riposte sword to sword In bright, blazing lights that illumine the horde; Clouds rent and tattered show glittering stars As red as the War God who calls himself Mars. Like Valkyries soaring on carpets of sound, Fluctuations and differences wildly abound. Windbursts through the treetops whistle and hiss - As strong as the arc of a goddess' kiss. Through tumult and turbulence, warrior-maids sail, Dark Queens of Inferno who ride on the gale. Wild wingbeats flutter and soar through a mist, Dodging and weaving with each turn and twist. Lesser beings that cower in cellar and cave Can postpone many years their descent to the grave; But the shame of it all is the guilt that they feel In denying that anyone thought it was real. * Robert Heinlein in "Time Enough For Love."
POETRYREPAIRS 12.09: 106
TANJA BARTEL : City of Autism
WENDY L. HAMMOND : No Regrets
JIM DUNLAP : A Griffin Profile of Bare-Breasted Women
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