JANOS A HORVATH : A Job for Lazarus
JEAN HULL HERMAN : Touched with Fire
LYN LIFSHIN : Novemberly
POETRYREPAIRS v13.11:122
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A Job for Lazarus Touched with Fire Novemberly  

JANOS A HORVATH
A Job for Lazarus
The man walks down the treeline where old men sleep, many eager to lay dormant Cold winds blister the man who climbs from his retched rest, He calls twice; twice his own voice calls to Him in resurrection man takes up his work: Man as Death in his own birth.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.11:122
I have many things to write unto you but   I will not write with pen and ink
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A Job for Lazarus Touched with Fire Novemberly  

JEAN HULL HERMAN 
Touched with Fire 
"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?" - Robert Browning Andrea del Sarto If I must be touched with fire, Lord, ignite in me the red sprite of lightning! Let my strands reach out of the white atmosphere into your black robe of space. Let me be glorious. Lord; let me fling myself upwards, and play about the air. Let me surge across the miles of clouds that hide the cities of the plain. It is by your grace that the world will have seen me at last, is it not? I have not hidden my blue jet, Lord, but struck it forth to fan the top of Heaven, Let my hair become purple tendrils spread out regally across the tenuous ionosphere. I will have danced in blood-red glory, been, and instantly not been again. I do not want to be seen as Lucifer's advocate, easy and obvious. I do not want my glory to be contemplated as an accident of madness. I wish to illuminate this world for You. I wish to rise to Heaven at last, perhaps to be a Light for my Maker. copyright JEAN HULL HERMAN
POETRYREPAIRS 13.11: 122
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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A Job for Lazarus Touched with Fire Novemberly  


LYN LIFSHIN
Novemberly
one minute, the sun was out, it was fall. Geraniums under a quilt last night, a blotch of red opening. On the front step what looked like lint, has small pink claws and feet. Next the sky was the color of lead Geraniums under a quilt last night like a child you've tucked in or a body wrapped in the earth under leaves. In the swirl of sudden snow, what was left of the headless fur blows west. Like a child you've tucked in whatever was living, a just born squirrel I suppose, hardly a living thing excepet for feet. In fifteen minutes, the light came back, cars stopped sliding Whatever was living. Or just born must have felt the wild snow was a warning. I thought of the lover wrapped in dark cloth and left in the leaves while, not knowing I took a ballet class. The geraniums are still under a built quilt this Tuesday. One minute the sun was out, it was fall copyright LYN LIFSHIN
POETRYREPAIRS 13.11: 122
JANOS A HORVATH : A Job for Lazarus
JEAN HULL HERMAN : Touched with Fire
LYN LIFSHIN : Novemberly


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