poetryrepairs #222 16.03:028

LYN LIFSHIN : The Man in front of Me Has Run Out of the Metro Station
HEIDI B MORRELL : Kingdom of Sea

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The Man in front of Me Has Run Out of the Metro Station

he had just the right look and carried the same book I’m reading. He might have just left his wife. He might have never wanted a woman. Or wanted a woman like me. But he got off at Union Station, vanished into a cab. I didn’t see his face, only his fingers but he’ll come to me in dreams where he won’t slip away

poetryrepairs #222 16.03:028

Kingdom of Sea

hbmorrell@ca.rr.com Shore swells compelled by the moon, driven by massive currents crest, curl and thunder down, a process of eons, carving rock into sand, making shelves in the rugged continent. Light strewn coral beds form, a divine circus of lively function, where colors have fins, where eels sway their grotesque heads, jellies drift in, mollusks sieve the waves, and big lipped groupers idly fan the water, while ocean turtles stop in for rest their flat fin pausing over orange stars, purple urchins, frenetic crabs. Further out in that cobalt blue, bullet nosed swift hunters abound, slicing through the water, screaming towards prey. They shatter schools in frenzy, eat and gorge, the bloodied column now littered with flesh. Debris sifts down, settles in the abyss, where meters long ribbon fish, anglers and bizarre bioluminescent fish reside in blackness, where molten vents host strange worms in the starless midnight of the fathomless deep. Way above, world traveling cetaceans fly though in brighter light glide as whales, whacking the surface gulping krill, family types, dolphins too, sonar squeaks and chatter, they breech and plunge, pirouette and dance in the volumes, the ancient sea, spawner of life our salt tears a vestige of then, a link to the water planet.

poetryrepairs #222 16.03:028


HEIDI MORELL A Little Fresh Air

Faded, but still grand draperies flew outward into the wind, flags of tumult fleeing the long shut gilded windows which were thrust open by some new hand. The great hall heaved and exhaled its static confinement awash with tides of fresh air, letting her skirts fly, rushing into equilibrium, joining the weather, the house breathed.
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HEIDI B MORRELL With analysis of a poem, the reader can always discover new truths. Without careful analysis, MORELL’s scenic point of view, moving through the seascape nearly becomes the “fish that got away.” The poem opens on a life-teeming coral bed then moves into the cobalt blue sea (unfortunately “bullet” that describes the “hunters” also suggests man, the hunter). At this point, HEIDI suggests all is not as it seems. This second stanza leaving an impression of war shifts to the calm depths…the second and third stanza tell of war, a kind of war Stephen CRANE creates in his War is Kind. Readers then move toward surface where the small is devoured by the great. If we remove the first stanza, then the poem is clearly about war and its innocent victims. The poet thinks highly of her audience and I hope readers will take the time to analyze this poem, without doing so, the poet’s risk-taking scenic narrative may be lost.

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