Sometimes I fear everything
It’s easier than having selective fears
Just throw the whole mess in a blender
Then drink it as a smoothie
On Reading Ted Hughes | A Poem by Ananya S. Guha
Droning, honey-sucking
lovers. King and Queen,
live in their hive of domes.
Inside mine, clock ticks
mercilessly. I pick up
one more Ted Hughes poem — to read.
We’re on the Wane | A Poem by Paul Tristram
That coldness which crept in
has now become a frost.
I’ve managed to not
brush up against you in weeks.
We are only cellmates now
waiting for the courage
and common sense
to become prison gate-happy.
Visit Paul at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.
People in Houses | A Poem by Donal Mahoney
twenty-four houses
on the same block
everyone inside
milling about
one lost a job
another was promoted
one lost a husband
another got married
one is lonely
another has friends
twenty-four houses
on the same block
everyone inside
milling about
no different than us
in houses like ours
laughing or crying
all over the world
Visit Donal at http://eyeonlifemag.com/the-poetry-locksmith/donal-mahoney-poet.html#sthash.OSYzpgmQ.dpbs=.
Spa Woman | A Poem by Marie MacSweeney
In steamy mists
aromatic seeds
burst upon her skin,
confetti her shoulders,
frisk her slackened thighs,
while on the shower floor,
those manicured feet
are liberally anointed
with sesame oil.
Haze lifts as she rinses away
creamy lathers before
stepping out into the opulence
of a warm white wrap.
When she vigorously
rubs all moisture
to a powdery dryness
the room shudders.
It is enough. Time now for unction,
a healing sprawl of chamomile,
arnica, horse chestnut on her chin,
her throat, her arms, her legs,
her heart and down the lax arc
of her stomach, to hips,
knees, ankles and toes.
Later, she rides off in her chariot
with her new self,
her cool blue SUV
dispensing grunge in its wake.
She is modern, all woman, in control.
She selects princes and they turn into frogs.
Visit Marie at http://mariemacsweeney.com.
Unreconstructed | A Poem by Guy Farmer
The reproaches came swiftly,
Hitting their mark as they
Always had, bruises invisible
On the outside.
You didn’t contact me,
I was so upset,
You wanted me to do everything,
I was put on the spot.
Eyes closed in resignation;
It would always be this way,
The dull insensitivity of
The unreconstructed.
Writing, Drinking, Baseball | A Poem by G.S. Katz
Sublime pleasures
Quiet passion
Rituals
Complexity
Taking chances with words
Drinking more than I should
Writing, in your face
Direct and straight up
Just like the booze
Taking no prisoners
Watching a no-hitter fall apart
Still a shutout though
Always on the verge
Utopia somewhere