STEPHEN MEAD : The Closet
JOSEPH OUELLETTE : Halloween: An Autumn Memory
NAUSHAD DULYMAMODE : Galaxy
POETRYREPAIRS v13.11:125
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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A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer and maker of short collage-films. Much can be learned of his multi-media work by placing his name in any search engine. His latest project, a collaboration with Kevin MacLeod, is entitled "Whispers of Arias", a two volume CD set of narrative poems sung to music
The Closet Halloween: An Autumn Memory Galaxy  


STEPHEN MEAD
The Closet
Curtains come up, wrap round, sway a little a little dance really in the movement  the moves air of weather  moon or sun  both sometimes stale  too still  silence loud with a mind of voices   the accusing                          the taunting                         the hateful                         the moral & coiled there the mortal coil  merely real  human in a room on fire  hiding eyes  tell-tale torches songs of longing  (no, no) be it from   the dug-out              the library              the galley              park               bar               school of tender gender  more than similar & different as people whose walls                            (environmental)                     whose walls                               (social)                        whose walls                              (political)                       whose walls are personal flames  that expand  by burning grow  opaque  grow  veins  lucent  that ache move the books that can't be shown the music heard by no one else the skin that is a greenhouse the hair wet midnight dew the mouth bolting over the other two  the other road the glass shards travelled  to touch  (locked, locked) reflect the doors  (open, open)  which are  (let me)  which could be  (help)  you
POETRYREPAIRS 13.11:125
I have many things to write unto you but   I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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The Closet Halloween: An Autumn Memory Galaxy  


JOSEPH OUELLETTE
Halloween: An Autumn Memory 
North Winds take Indigo bights out of a ripe pearl moon. Crisp salads of autumn leaves peppered with road dust and salted with early snow. Dancing light of a swaying farm lantern carried by the man shepherding laughing, running children house to house arrayed in costumes and castoffs. Wild, riotous patchworks of fabric, texture and color. Faces hidden, but flashing eyes fooling no one. Treasures, demanded in shy and halting style, freely given by mothers in their best transparent Broadway “who's this” and “oh your scary”! Porches dressed in glowing pumpkin yellow, corn stalks and hay bales out of place but oh so correct on this night of exuberant, gentle suspension of “who am I?”, this joyful extortion of bounty, This wonderful sharing of the night. Look and hear the counterpoint of fearful dress and crystal ringing voices of sheer unrehearsed joy. The tingling serendipity of a child's delight! Home now... run! The sack is full! Cold and windy evenings build the wonderful chill Remedied only by warm milk, under a cosy throw by a crackling fire. Treasures studied and valuated by appraising flashing eyes. Shouts of joy at the discovery of an unique and unexpected jewel not part of the usual Walmart blend. Two months till Christmas! Its begun! To bed.. Now! Excitement takes its loving toll. North Winds take Indigo bights out of a ripe pearl moon. The man, old now, sits with smiles of recollection, the children, long gone. The fire.... his warm and comforting aide memoire. copyright JOSEPH OUELLETTE
POETRYREPAIRS 13.11: 125
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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The Closet Halloween: An Autumn Memory Galaxy  


NAUSHAD DULYMAMODE
Galaxy 
In spite of the heat seeping from the stars In spite of the sun burning all my scars My life goes at an amazing speed towards the dark Look at the farthest spot in the sky Look at the darkest side of my life Look, but forget what you pry When the dice of life is thrown Truth already lies in your hand Forget for a while what is inside Crush all your feelings and hide Weep and enjoy the tremors Rising up your eyes Melt the agony of life Burn the fake desire Crush all your feelings And burn 'em in a fire Ripples die But who sees 'em People strive But a whole lifetime Brings nothing to 'em Jump to the nearest galaxy Close your eyes And feel all the energy Engulfing your body You are ready You are heavy You're dashing through space Intense heat carries you in waves Asteroid belts And meteorites At the speed of light Time crushes to a halt Well where's the feeling inside It's all gone...
POETRYREPAIRS 13.11: 125
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STEPHEN MEAD : The Closet
JOSEPH OUELLETTE : Halloween: An Autumn Memory
NAUSHAD DULYMAMODE : Galaxy


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