poetryrepairs #207 14.12:137
LEE PURSEWARDEN : In Four Winds The Ladies Argue about Their Future with the Poet
SUE LITTLETON : A Visit to the Cemetary
poetryrepairs #200 14.05
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In Four Winds The Ladies Argue about Their Future with the Poet
The first one says, I was writing love letters in a burning building barefoot, in a red nightgown something one doesn't wear to sleep in per se, I was thinking of St. Francis & his wine, red too, like the beaks of crows dipped in road kill. The other, quoting from scripture, said I will see him across traffic, waiting for me.  We had met but I didn't know him & when I was crying with desire, my fingers not enough, he will show me his cock, not as a sword, but gently, & he will bathe me & bring me coffee in bed, kiss my scars & come to Church, his hands, oh his hands will be like birds, like dragonflies along my spine my thighs, whispering pines & promises on boulders on the lake. The younger one said, No, as for me I will meet him in the city, not anyone I should be with, no – the other poets more my age, no one would approve.  I will imagine mornings in his motel, my clothes on the floor, my mother flying overhead. 

poetryrepairs #207 14.12:137

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

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

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The poems of Lee Pursewarden have been published in Naugatuck River Review, North Atlantic Review, and poetryrepairs.comt.  He works as a copy editor in northern California.

A Visit to the Cemetary  
It's Sunday, I told the three cats (I talk to them to avoid talking to myself). Sunday is a good day to visit the cemetery but from where I sit the only grave to visit is mine and I'm not there yet. I am sure it would be pleasant at my gravesite-- it's Spring, it's a charming little graveyard (“little” being a strange word in this sprawling monster of a City) and my polished black granite headstone is all filled out … well, nearly all filled out. Those other graves I would visit are in two small-town cemeteries three thousand miles due North. I remember every pertinent grave at the first cemetery, My parents, all my mother's family— grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins-- even my father's brother and his wife. So I went to the Internet and I fed in the names of my paternal grandparents because I had never been to their graves. A photograph appeared, so clear you could see the dry Texas dirt clods at the edge of the scorched grass. I stood figuratively at the foot of that small plot in the Eastland County Cemetery, imagined a pastures-bleaching sun overhead. Chiseled on the sturdy grey granite marker— “James A.” and “Minnie B.” Littleton. James Arnold Littleton and Minnie Moselle Bond-- I am the only one left to recall their full names. The headstone was provided, no doubt, by my solvent uncle, their elder son. Their younger son, my father, was a bit feckless. I know there must be other Littleton relatives here besides my maiden aunt Aubrey-- if I only knew their names. I gazed at the photo of the headstone for a long time, remembering childhood's Texas summers -- fried chicken and homemade sweet watermelon rind preserves, biscuits and pan gravy, Christmas fruitcake -- Mamie's gentle patience, Jimmy's faded blue eyes. I am the only grandchild they ever knew and this is as close a visit as I will ever make.— but I promise I will return.. I regret I can't bring flowers, perhaps a poem will do.

poetryrepairs #207 14.12:137

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

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SUE LITTLETON gives us a subtle poem on how we channel emotions onto objects --editor

poetryrepairs.com #200 14.05

page 049
JANET I. BUCK | Blackberry Vines
page 050
L. WARD ABEL | The Economy
CRAIG KIRCHNER | Baghdad Dream
AURORA ANTONOVIC | How To Not Write A Poem
page 051
L.B. SEDLACEK | The Vacant Chair
STEVE CROSS | The Neighborhood
DONNA L QUESINBERRY | White Walled Haripines
page 052
AUGUSTIN MEDINA | Tender Fingers of Night
BETSY LISTER | Evening Unsweet Evening
page 053
DAVID BARNES | Reminiscence
ROBERT CRAIG | Going to California
BOB BRADSHAW | Where the Good Men Are
page 054
AURORA ANTONOVIC | New York Cocktail Party
page 055
SAM VAKNIN | Prague at Dusk
JUDY HOGAN | THIS SACRED WAY 21 September 2008
page 056
JAN OSKAR HANSEN | Habemus Papam
page 057
RACHEALGRACE ADAMS | Cradle to the Grave
J.K. DURICK | Local
page 058
CHANMING YUAN | [week: directory of destinies]
JAN OSKAR HANSEN | Mother's Vacation
page 059
A. D. WINANS | Old Men on Skid Row
JAN O HANSEN | Inferiority Complex
MARTIN JERVIS | A Cold Wind Blew
page 060
CHRIS AGUILAR | Time To Slow Down
AURORA ANTONOVIC | Critiques and Croissants
poetryrepairs.com #200 14.05

poetryrepairs #207 14.12:137

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.

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LEE PURSEWARDEN : In Four Winds The Ladies Argue about Their Future with the Poet
SUE LITTLETON JIM BENNETT : A Visit to the Cemetary
poetryrepairs #200 14.05

thank you for reading poetryrepairs #207 14.12:137
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