poetryrepairs 15,02:014

JOHN HORVATH Jr : Black Dolphins Passing Alligator Point Beach
C. J. MARECIC : Cursed With Hope

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Black Dolphins Passing Alligator Point Beach

Had the sun been higher or the wind a slight more brisk I would not have sat still in the dunes watching girls attempt a modest tan on breasts. I saw the dolphins pass and realized how time has come to pass me by; how once much younger I might have cried and pointed their direction. Now an old man fearing detection, I sat still, burnt bright red. Red in the dunes along Alligator Point, I felt the young women blossom while sensing someone out here possibly observing their maturing gestures. Flaunt what you have: the wrinkles are coming; the boys will be old men burnt forever by too many summers.

published in Wired Art from Wired hearts and in Indiana Writes
poetryrepairs #209 15,02:014

Games of War

A poem not for children Boys and girls, once upon a time there was a magic Black Fountain guarded by small birds as their only means of nourishment. The fox, greedy and conceited commanded all his crawling and trotting animals to catch the King of Birds, ruin his nest and guard the black Magic Fountain since his land was dry. Emperor Fox called to his subjects : Stop the flight of the birds strip their growing feathers make them fight among themselves and that would keep them bus Proud and delusional, he gained much pleasure from the birds’ loss and drank from the black magic water to live long and strong. Sadly sang the birds pecking each other to death to reach the freedom of their wings. But boys and girls, as it has always been the case the birds became aware of Fox’s atrocity and tried to reverse his tactic They celebrated the Fox’s kingdom invited him to their feasts and served him poisonous black magic water. The King Fox cheered clapped hands, danced, hopped and sang until he lost balance, fell, and lay still as a stone and so, the birds lived happily ever after.

poetryrepairs #209 15,02:014

Cursed With Hope

You laugh at this, as if to remind me that any moron would want to live within the embrace of hope. It gives reason to rise in the morning courage to settle into the black of night. Without hope a dream is but a fetus stillborn in the heart. Without hope the heart hardens then clogs the gateway to the soul. Without hope the soul withers into a dime store effigy, the body a painted hide stretched upon a frame of brittle bones. Hope for me turns every egg every sperm into the lisp of a poem a moment irretrievably lost in love a nearly perfect angel a god's limp. Hope for me is the wing upon which I venture forth, fickle dreams clutched to my breast, along a sightless path between the sun and the moon grasping stars the braille of stars the flesh of my perdition as signposts. Hope taunts my heart my soul with audacious thoughts pernicious thoughts of the attainability of unattainable dreams the conquest of an insurmountable dream of love the senseless love of dreams. But let's face it, this can not be done it is really impossible it is merely fey it is illuminating the vast universe with the flame of a solitary candle it is smoke lost in the confusion of a storm cloud it is a drunken ride upon the reflection of a moonbeam it is feathers floating inexplicably earthward drifting randomly upon an infinite sea. Still, I am cursed with hope.

poetryrepairs #209 15,02:014

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FERESHTEH SHOLEVAR Fereshteh Sholevar was born in Tehran where she studied Literature and Foreign languages. She received her Master’s Degree in Creative Writing from Rosemont College. SHOLEVAR has published six books of poetry, two of which are bilingual: And The Blue Continues in English and Spanish, and Walking With The Moon in English and German. Her novel, Her Name was Samira, was published by Infinity Publishing in 2012. She won the Editor’s Choice best poem award from Philadelphia Poets in 2011 and Pennsylvania Poetry Society’s second prize in 2004.

C. J. MARECIC hails from Serbia.

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