poetryrepairs 15,05:058


for your reading pleasure, verse
from new and established poets
poetry requires a mature audience,
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Aunt Betty-Moon

We all knew that Uncle Frankie poured witchcraft powder into Aunt Betty-moon’s tea to extinguish the wild flame of her sexual appetite. We also knew that Aunt Betty-moon did exactly the same thing to arouse his dead flame of sexual potency. Neither of them knew, though what the other one knew. Madam Esperanza, the fortune- teller wore silver ear rings and golden teeth and owned a shop filled with strange scents from remote fields. In her colored plissé skirt she looked like a full blown purple lily. Both Aunt Betty-moon and Uncle Frank were losing weight with no shade of rose on their cheeks or shade of life in their eyes unaware, they were poisoning each other. Running long after something which wasn’t there they both went out of breath on the bumpy road of their lives. Ironically, they slept in their graves one on the top of the other and stayed together in the silhouette of love after all. Their secrets remained unknown to a few one so feminine outside inside out the other feminine inside only.

poetryrepairs #212 15,05:058

The Eagle

red rotating eyes white patch on his head blue sky glider wind-dweller free! His strong wings hold all the flights of the world he captures you, crushes you and thus teaches you how to free yourself from his claws. The eagle has not learned kindness and envies the innocent swan gliding on calm waters. He has flown over mountains and seas forests and deep valleys. The immensity of his flights has fatigued him and solitude in heights has deprived him of empathy. Upon his last descent he fell into a deep abyss of sands and lost the memory of his flight. Now the eagle with closed wings is dreaming about the blue sky under a leafless tree.

poetryrepairs #212 15,05:058


Jack, I can see you on that New York corner waiting For the Times, knowing a review was coming out, knowing something good might happen. In that classic photo, you stand by the corner window, a Lucky Strike dangling from your lips, an Orpheus in a black leather jacket. That night you’d never forget. Going out at dusk you got an early copy of the Times. The next day On the Road would be on the streets and highways. You’d be celebrated as the beat. Who was to know how your life would change? Who could understand it all? Who could imagine what would come? You drove across America, always on the move and always moving on, searching for wherever that somewhere never was.

poetryrepairs #212 15,05:058

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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