poetryrepairs #245 18.02:013


for your reading pleasure, verse
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In Bed.

The homestead El Caserio i Bizkerre lodged upon the wall Has a large gable’s end symmetry, slightly skew whifff in the canvass that encompasses it. I wonder if she’s painted herself from within to without Where she stands now, a cut out dark silhouette, on a patch before the facade of splotches, daubs of windows doors, heraldry shields, terraces, hatches. Two doors, right side sharp, left a blur but can i enter, what will i see She knows she’s concealed from me? what will i find, dusty jars, a winding stairway, creaking floorboards, a chest of drawers, which will i open to secret treasures, but no, i am without with her dark silhouette. What is the luminous blob suspended above her head by almosr invisible silvery strands of arms embedding it? All in the foreground, the sharp, the blur, paths to each door, blotches of rockery, smudged plants, dollops Of green lawn. Overhead, a red angle roof, in the sharp, crows swarm in a blue sky, where it blurs, branches stretch to entangle, notch the gable corner in weird distortion. Beside this painting is another, a naked Madonna A faceless oval she kneels, arms clasped behind her sleek black parted hair, her armpits bared to reveal the taut of her breasts, her curves in orange &gold dust. Is it she who waits behind these doors? When night falls the sea is a distant death is The Bed that is a Tree hewn from the stump of an olive tree, drilled as a bed post, as a mould for the rest, around which the chamber Was built, waiting for us to enter? She is more beautiful than her painter &we know it but perhaps if we enter together the splashes of paint will be softer than our creaking bones

poetryrepairs #245 18.02:013

Fatal Flaw

Oil and carnivore, a fart in the biosphere. What is given, what is not given. Sleek cats, nice dogs. Doth machine maketh man? Here in the lush, plush green, beyond our control neo barbarian with feet of clay, veni vidi vici life spins on its fragile thread, here in the lush, plush green automata cellular, where our unconscious mind gravitates in wear tear to invisibility, to vanishing while the brain rambles uncontrollably on, indifferent to its bearer, who must remain to all that has been taken but for its moments of deception in the nonchalant grey traffic where we belong, as we carve up our multitudes, after standing in the queue of anonymous crowds, seeking visibility, seeking real artefacts from the props that support the scene, collapse the role that we play, beyond our control into the fatal flaw

poetryrepairs #245 18.02:013


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ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP Robin Ouzman Hislop, born UK, a reader in philosophy &religions, has traveled extensively throughout his lifetime but now lives in semi- retirement as a TEFL teacher and translator in Spain &the UK.
Robin was editor of the 12 year running on-line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times. In 2013 he joined with Dave Jackson as co-editor at Artvilla.com, where he presently edits Poetry Life &Times, Artvilla.com, Motherbird.com.

ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP has been previously published in a variety of international magazines, later publications including Voices without Borders Volume 1 (USA), Cold Mountain Review (Appalachian University, N.Carolina), The Poetic Bond Volumes (thepoeticbond.com) and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes (a recently published international Anthology of Sonnets). His last publication is a volume of collected poems All the Babble of the Souk available at all main online tributaries.