MERCEDES JEAN WEBB-PULLMAN : Exile's Dream
DAVID HARRIS : Sacrament of Spring
SAM VAKNIN : Selfdream
POETRYREPAIRS v13.01:011
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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Exile's Dream Sacrament of Spring Selfdream  
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MERCEDES JEAN WEBB-PULLMAN
Exile's Dream
Here, in the humid momentary heat of summer's solstice I find my shadow self, and passion; throw off old cancer's green claim, dream, begin to be whole again. Yes, night moves inside me, and I can set the stars in place. In my tremor's pulse my hands know of themselves what they are doing. Here, pink flowers speak to me by name. They open a valve in their soft petalled mouths, whisper secrets of abandon, and singing, and yes, even in my fingers and toes a new feeling is rising, an insistent urging sharply infused from below, a dark stem-colored flow.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.01:011
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I have many things to write unto you but   I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian




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Exile's Dream Sacrament of Spring Selfdream  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

DAVID HARRIS
Sacrament of Spring
It begins this way each year; Saturday sunshine finds you hiding behind blood-hued curtains cuddling your stuffed giant panda, beseiged by the voices of those whole girls chattering about their latest dates and crushes In your mottled mirror you study your damning imperfection; each freckle and blemish begets a scar; you bleed from these stigmata like a lonely martyr In your crimson gloom you review the pages of brief existence, crossing out each painful day with a livid black streak, hoping to annihilate your cruel uniqueness Curled around your soft inert companion, you envision the bliss of kisses poured over you in devotion yet, your reverie is shattered, and even your phantom lover lands encircled in the arms of some whole girl It begins this way each year; winter releases its savage grip; you are surrounded by the thaw but cannot feel it In the shelter of your crimson curtains you hide your burning tears from Saturday sunshine while outside your window those oblivious girls bathe in the warmth of earth's rekindling
POETRYREPAIRS 13.01: 011
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato




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Exile's Dream Sacrament of Spring Selfdream  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

SAM VAKNIN
Selfdream
At times, I dream myself beseiged. I rebel with the cunning of the weak. I walk the shortcuts. Tormentors clad in blood-soaked black, salute as I manipulate them into realizing their abyss. Some weep their sockets hollow, or waive their thorns. Much pain negotiated. A trading of the wounds. My chains carve metal and I am branded.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.01: 011
MERCEDES JEAN WEBB-PULLMAN : Exile's Dream
DAVID HARRIS : Sacrament of Spring
SAM VAKNIN : Selfdream
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