poetryrepairs #206 14.11:122
JIM DUNLAP : Dans les champs du ciel marchent les rêves ...
JEFFREY C. ALFIER : Early Babylon Blues
AVERIL BONES : Watching the Sky
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JIM DUNLAP
Dans les champs du ciel marchent les rêves de la nuit
Dans les champs du ciel marchent les rêves de la nuit and those dreams scatter letters, forming words as they fall. Comme un orage de mots, they spill forth and dance, promenade like society dames Une Fulguration de mots en chute du ciel in elegant pirouettes ... Quelquepart sur la terre, un poète les rassemble -- and the poet whispers words which tumble in lines on the page. Voilà ... un poème. il voit le passé, et il rêve l'avenir -- and his scintillating night-dreams transform on the page ... transform like the sparkling touch of a will 'o the wisp, the golden tones cascading from the Silver Chalice of Make-Believe. On the horizon, the white horses of the moon retire surreptitiously from the bright beams of the rising sun. Le Roi-Soleil arrive dans un nuage -- and the Golden King scatters poems like rose petals -- which wilt in the heat of day, or are preserved like flowers between the pristine covers of newly bound books ... livres de poésie.

poetryrepairs #206 14.11:122

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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Poetry by JIM DUNLAP appears in PoetryRepairs, Potpourri, Candelabrum, the Paris /Atlantic, Plainsongs and numerous other print journals, and on the HyperTexts.com and in Poetry Life & Times.

JEFFREY C. ALFIER

Early Babylon Blues
We angels saw the Lord, uptown lookin' downtown... 'Let us go down to see the City and Tower... see what they're smokin', these misguided architects.' For pride had made trespass to forestall the scatter and short-circuit The Man, down ol' Babylon way. So God evicted fools... and linguists got the jobs

poetryrepairs #206 14.11:122

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AVERIL BONES Watching the Sky
Watching the sky and listening to the passing and passing of cars, the passing of feet, and of time in the sand on the beach, I wonder how small I must be. Yet the weight of my body cycles with the moon, the colour of my hair with the sun's season. That these things should change me is no surprise. But do my nights of drinking worry the sun's hair grey and slow the night moon in her orbit?


poetryrepairs #206 14.11:122

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. -- O.E.D.

Amendment II
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

TOP

JIM DUNLAP : Dans les champs du ciel marchent les rêves de la nuit
JEFFREY C. ALFIER : Early Babylon Blues
AVERIL BONES : Watching the Sky

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