New Poetry

New Poetry

[Ron Dante] [Marie Countryman] [Patricia Elliott] [R. Bentz Kirby] [Gary Gach] [Pete Edler] [Jim Nasium] The Crucifixion of 0 by Ron Dante Hyper-capitalism does not believe in the power of poets. At best, it is indifferent to them. This makes it necessary to separate my identity as an artist from the work-a-day me where self-expression is a conflicting interest is "Other." Today a hard-working man can't even make a living wage from artifacts lovingly fashioned by his own hands. If my situation is observed scientifically, accurately like the life of a bug under glass, like the true weight of this split identity impressed upon me--- might the cure for my nausea, my re-unity begin with a proper diagnosis? Like many of my Brothers and Sisters, even as a child of seven was I a bit like a Rimbaud--- a little rebel already sensing the creaks in the ancient family Body Armor? But, what does a child know about knowing about real and not-real right and not-right Self and not- self? Still by some medieval alchemy the crucifix was passed yet again from the Great Mother to the Son forging a new link in the chain already as old as the coastal hills of Asia Minor by the year Zero. No, the expanding empire does not believe in orpheus, free thinkers, visionaries, amazons, and tricksters but we will never be short of Jokesters, a mild night balm for the wounds. ron dante May 1, 2017 INTOXICATION by Marie Countryman (for michael and craig) clouds burst and rain down on poets wandering in street searching for poetical drink. suddenly drenched! clouds burst! we laugh and turn faces up, mouths open to drink in the sky-- leap-frogging puddles, laughing tumbling shouting splashing! until, many blocks later we pour ourselves into the car, ending the best poetical drunk by far. david o by Patricia Elliott david ohle QUIET, WHATS THAT NOISE ringmaster, orphan, thinking, thinking twisting, turning over rocks. solid honor, clever charm he can take a small point, by twisting and turning it, show a large amount of light. he honors love, small warm things fill him with a wonder that he of course hides, what does he care. Robert Johnson's Crossroads (A tribute to a Blues Man from the crossroads.) by R. Bentz Kirby Columbia 22 Went down to the Crossroads Camden 25 Tried to flag a ride. Sumter 22 Got hellhounds on my trail. Orangeburg 25 Have my sweet rider by my side. Crossroads Jesus Saves Turn to Jesus or Burn in Hell Wilson. Will son. Will's son. Will's son cross. Will's son cross road. Will's son cross roads. Will's son cross roads Jesus. Will's son cross roads Jesus saves. Will's son cross roads Jesus saves Columbia. (No he didn't Sherman burnt it! That is why you can't trace title beyond 1865.) Will's son cross roads Jesus saves Camden. (Well he might have, ask Cornwallis!) Will's son cross roads Jesus saves Sumter. (Depends, one wing in the Persian Gulf tonight.) Will's son cross roads Jesus saves Orangeburg. (Crack alleys, murder rate, unemployment, kids with guns, not likely.) Will's son cross roads Jesus saves or Burn in Hell. Me, I just want to get some gas and take a piss. But, it is spooky here, at a crossroads that is exactly 22, 25, 22, 25. Did Robert Johnson meet ole scratch here, or does Jesus Save? Tried to flag a ride. That's what the sign says. No body seemed to know me. But maybe that was back in Wilson. House down by the riverside. Will cross road son. Break in on a dollar most any place she goes. Will road cross son. They all just passed me by. Son will cross road. Got tamales and they are red hot, yeah got em for sale. Son cross Will Road. Dead shirmps blues. Son road cross Will. Believe it's much too light. Cross road son will. She got a mortgage on my body. Crossroads. And a lien on my soul. -- ciao for now by Gary Gach ah, ca fascori! ah, piazzo san marco ah, vaporetti! ah, rialto! oui! by Pete Edler A Day With Dali A Poem by Jim Nasium A day I spent with Dali last night in a dream left me feeling confused nothing was as it seemed sitting on the red lips couch talking on the lobster telephone Dali and I passed the day away wile Gala left us alone Hitchcock's Spellbound was on the TV Jacky Gleason's Band was on the stereo Dali let me follow him around every place he had to go he gave me some mustache wax I rolled my moustache tight pin strip suit with black and white shoes to boot when we went out on the town that night Walt Disney stop by to say he was sorry offered Dali his old job back any time the folks from Tiffany's apologized too they way they treated Dali was a crime I spoke my piece to all of them then Dali said "thank you" just another day with Dali doing what ever we wanted to do... © 2005 Jim Nasium[top]

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