poetryrepairs #198 v14.03:030
S MINANEL : Nature's Balancing Act
AZZA EL WAKEEL : A Gypsy in a State of Love
C. J. MARECIC : Chrysanthemums
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S MINANEL 

Nature's Balancing Act
Time delivers the parallels in beauty's brow who's depressed by the fat under her chin but ugly's aging's easier somehow she never looked that good to begin.

poetryrepairs #198 v14.03:030

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

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
VIRGINIA WOOLF
The Art of Reading



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AZZA EL WAKEEL

A Gypsy in a State of Love
In an ornamented gypsy's dress My tresses decorated With red roses My neck and wrists with necklaces And bracelets of gardenia The jingling of my anklet Foregoing to your meeting Announcing my arriving steps The sound of my castanets Echoing in the open space Whenever I beat my tambour At the beginning of evening After the sun departed Leaving a touch of its setting On my cheeks My shyness of meeting you And my timidity's instinct The sparkles of stars splitting the sky The moonlight slipping from concealment A gypsy in a state of love Left without an earlier appointment Sure of my love Your picture engraved like a tattoo In my fantasy since birth Longing for you haunts my insides Yearning to find you runs in my blood But after I left to meet you After waiting so long After breaking the chains And overstepping the limits I woke up from my dream To discover that my braid Wasn't yet undone I was never decorated with red roses And gardenia Never ever wore an anklet

poetryrepairs #198 v14.03:030

I have many things to write unto you but
I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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We've not heard from AZZAEL WAKEEL since the recent unrest in Egupt; we pray she is doing well and able to continue her writing career.

Global Voices - The world is talking, are you listening?


C. J. MARECIC

Chrysanthemums
I am always chasing some damn thing or other. Sometimes it feels so close so damn close I can feel its lips its whisper its infatuation its evocation upon my fingertip comprehension though a wistful thought an indolent dream an unfettered heart a pretty tail a petty indiscretion my own fucking reflection in a moonless sky begs to interrupt the transmutation of this sympathetic tactile apotheosis still these hands restless searching curious hungry genuine these futile hands thrive rest upon the eloquent the elusive grasp of another fugitive distraction; it might as well be chrysanthemums I wish it were chrysanthemums I'd rather it were chrysanthemums I would follow chrysanthemums gleefully obediently into the austerity of winter if they'd warm these chilled hands, if they'd reclaim these empty hands with one more feral distraction one more fanciful dream one more journey homeward, or, failing that, with, at least, a liquid promise immured today within the alchemy of those spontaneous efflorescent suns.


poetryrepairs #198 v14.03:030

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition.
-- Oxford English Dictionary



C. J. MARECIC writes from Croatia

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S MINANEL : Nature's Balancing Act
AZZA EL WAKEEL : A Gypsy in a State of Love
C. J. MARECIC : Chrysanthemums

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