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Mother's Hands
Strong enough to lift me each time I couldn't rise. Soft as cotton wool, washing dirt from scrapes and tears from eyes. Firm enough to model clay and boys, to bowls and men, yet fine when stroking ivory keys-- Für Elise and Clair de Lune. They'd curl through each long evening around her only vice, in a holder like Audrey's, that never left her side. I'm thinking of her hands now-- strong and wild and free; missing her hands now, as I watch ashes blow to sea. Ryan Stone This poem was written as part of the 20 Poem Challenge. Ryan Stone is a freelance writer from Melbourne, Australia. He shares his home in the Dandenong Ranges with his wife, two young sons and a German Shepherd. On daily walks through his forest surrounds, he often peers down rabbit holes. Packaged Goods
A time of Rorschach’s fullness splotches ribbons manta rays bows blow stream of blue candied eggs nine tailed cats in baskets dripping dashes flaws rule skinned knees parchment play hobby horses holiday in patches blown ink guises no mistakes circus dreams crazy quilts endless time hand-less clock lambs & lions innocence roles Crayolaed without by caches lashes Deborah Guzzi This poem was written for the 20 Poem Challenge. Deborah Guzzi, author of The Hurricane, writes full time. The Hurricane is available at aleezadelta@aol.com and through Prolific Press. Her poetry appears regularly in journals & literary reviews in the UK, Canada, Australia, Hong Kong, Singapore, New Zealand, Greece, Spain, France, India & dozens of others in the USA. http://www.the-hurricanedg.com/ Antoni's Glasses
I went to the museum and put on Antoni Tapies’ glasses. He had left them in his Blue with Four Red Bars. I stared at the painting, then all around me. A guard shouted at me to take them off , put them back, and I did. But I never saw the world the same way again. I tried, others tried, but — I couldn’t. Tricia Marcella Cimera This poem was written as part of the 20 Poem Challenge. Tricia Marcella Cimera will forever be an obsessed reader and lover of words. Look for her work in these diverse places: Buddhist Poetry Review, The Ekphrastic Review, Foliate Oak, Fox Adoption, Hedgerow, I Am Not A Silent Poet, Mad Swirl, Silver Birch Press, Stepping Stones, Yellow Chair Review, and elsewhere. She has a micro collection of water-themed poems called THE SEA AND A RIVER on the Origami Poems Project website. Tricia believes there’s no place like her own backyard and has traveled the world (including Graceland). She lives with her husband and family of animals in Illinois / in a town called St. Charles / by a river named Fox. The Knockout There was this woman at the fight. You can’t see her in photographs or in that famous painting of Dempsey falling through the ring either -- but she was there. It wasn’t his wife. She wore a little fox stole that he’d bought her and a pink cloche hat over her white blonde hair, what a knockout. When he fell, she played it real cool, didn’t cry out or gasp or anything Just murmured Jack, Jack in her low sweet voice. Yes, he was a brute -- but she loved him anyway. Tricia Marcella Cimera This poem was written as part of the 20 Poem Challenge. Tricia Marcella Cimera will forever be an obsessed reader and lover of words. Look for her work in these diverse places: Buddhist Poetry Review, The Ekphrastic Review, Foliate Oak, Fox Adoption, Hedgerow, I Am Not A Silent Poet, Mad Swirl, Silver Birch Press, Stepping Stones, Yellow Chair Review, and elsewhere. She has a micro collection of water-themed poems called THE SEA AND A RIVER on the Origami Poems Project website. Tricia believes there’s no place like her own backyard and has traveled the world (including Graceland). She lives with her husband and family of animals in Illinois / in a town called St. Charles / by a river named Fox. Untitled
the metal scent of sweat and blood spot lights blind the smack of glove to jaw rope burns the bell rings as the last blow lands groans of loss Deborah Guzzi This poem was written as part of the 20 Poem Challenge. Deborah Guzzi is a healing facilitator specializing in Shiatsu and Reiki. She writes for Massage and Aromatherapy publications. She travels the world seeking writing inspiration. She has walked the Great Wall of China and visited Nepal (during the civil war), Japan, Egypt (two weeks before “The Arab Spring”), Peru, and France (during December’s terrorist attacks). Her poetry appears in Magazines: here/there: poetry in the UK, Existere - Journal of Arts and Literature in Canada, Tincture in Australia, Cha: Asian Literary Review, Hong Kong, China, Eunoia in Singapore, Latchkey Tales in New Zealand, Vine Leaves Literary Journal in Greece, mgv2>publishing in France, RedLeaf Poetry, India and Travel by the Book, Ribbons: Tanka Society of America Journal, Sounding Review, Kyso Flash, The Aurorean, Crack the Spine Literary Magazine, Liquid Imagination, Poetry Quarterly, Page & Spine and others in the USA. Her new book The Hurricane is available now through Prolific Press. Glove Model
The photo shows the kind of hand a film star might have draped across the chaise, garbed in its splendid sheath of skin, taupe to the tips of ten unvarnished nails. Sinuous and shapely, no glove adorns it, only a ring and golden cuff set just above the wrist, a cigarette in its long holder burning low, about to loose an avalanche of ash. Robbi Nester This poem was written for the 20 Poem Challenge. Robbi Nester is the author of an ekphrastic chapbook titled Balance (White Violet, 2012) and other poetry collections. Her work has been published widely in journals and anthologies, including Cimarron Review, Broadsided, Silver Birch Press, Poemeleon, and Inlandia. Truth Be Told
I am Venus, the goddess most desired and bold. Without shame, men seek my likeness in flesh not stone. There is no truth in any myth which shows me cold. What storm, what wood or evil would not lose control when into Terra’s sight my light has overshown? I am Venus, the goddess most desired and bold. Deny the slick of oil upon brittle board, behold, my hair, rays of the sun, my child, I’d not bemoan; There is no truth in any myth which shows me cold. Hired, paid to paint, this artist who the crown extolled fought with his faith, paints me sinful Eve, skin and bone. I am Venus, the goddess most desired and bold. Many lovers I have had, Gods get left my folds, Goddess of creation, I rose from sea fathers foam. There is no truth in any myth which shows me cold. Of man’s heart and hand, of his mortal frightened soul this one paints, his own fears, he fears to be alone. I am Venus, the goddess most desired and bold. There is no truth in any myth which shows me cold. Deborah Guzzi This poem was written as part of the 20 Poem Challenge. Deborah Guzzi is a healing facilitator specializing in Shiatsu and Reiki. She writes for Massage and Aromatherapy publications. She travels the world seeking writing inspiration. She has walked the Great Wall of China and visited Nepal (during the civil war), Japan, Egypt (two weeks before “The Arab Spring”), Peru, and France (during December’s terrorist attacks). Her poetry appears in Magazines: here/there: poetry in the UK, Existere - Journal of Arts and Literature in Canada, Tincture in Australia, Cha: Asian Literary Review, Hong Kong, China, Eunoia in Singapore, Latchkey Tales in New Zealand, Vine Leaves Literary Journal in Greece, mgv2>publishing in France, RedLeaf Poetry, India and Travel by the Book, Ribbons: Tanka Society of America Journal, Sounding Review, Kyso Flash, The Aurorean, Crack the Spine Literary Magazine, Liquid Imagination, Poetry Quarterly, Page & Spine and others in the USA. Her new book The Hurricane is available now through Prolific Press. |
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