IN THE DESERTED HOUSE
In the deserted house
I find my solitude.
From time to time the noise
from the backyard becomes
a comfort to me. I
seek out the stars at night
from the deserted house’s
window. I find the noise
from the backyard. It is
a small bird who sings in
comforting tones. It lifts
my spirits to the stars.
* Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal says "I work in the mental health field. My new chapbook Overcome is a collaborated effort with photographer Cynthia Etheridge and the published by Kendra Steiner Editions.
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Friday, July 31
Luis Berriozabal is in a deserted house
by
Charles Christian
on Fri 31 Jul 2009 11:45 PM BST
Thursday, July 30
John Irvine is trying out new gear
by
Charles Christian
on Thu 30 Jul 2009 03:00 PM BST
Here's a little bit of Anglo Saxon alliterative verse…
Trying out the new gear I cast my line very carefully over beach clutter, way out past the kelp line. Squid tied securely on shiny hook, the bait plops daintily onto the water. Then slinks and sinks and slithers below. The still pewter sea swallows it whole. I screw the silver cup slowly off my thermos flask; percolated coffee smells so sensual and rich. The rod is resting against a rewarewa log. The line shivers in anticipation, I check the tension and my peaceless mind plays games while I pour a generous measure of the Niuginean coffee. Strike! The line screams out, streaming ocean-wards. I lurch for control as the rod bends double. In seconds I surmise I’ve hooked a shark. The rod twangs from its log, snakes across the sand. I run after rod and reel down the beach, dive desperately to catch the handle But to precious little purpose as the rig plunges into the sea, leaves a faint V-wake behind. My new tackle is taken and I shed a tear. I only bought the things a week ago. Then fifty yards from the foreshore a fin appears and a jagged mouth grinning, seems unfazed by the filament now floating from a corner of that terrible mouth, or the fine-honed suicide hook which is hanging from its rubbery lower lip. He dives splashing, dragging my gear to the depths. But I count my Piscean loss far more keenly. * John Irvine is a regular IS&T contributor – and the editor of the Anomalous Appetites anthology. Wednesday, July 29
Colin McGuire is sitting on wooden chairs
by
Charles Christian
on Wed 29 Jul 2009 03:00 PM BST
Wooden chairs
God, I've been sitting on this chair for ages. Simple egg in a cup but chairs grow uncomfortable, unbendable and suddenly a large duvet with inviting plump cushions would do. Wooden chairs do not attend funerals, but they should they are stern watchers; objective stony men, stalwart sitting there, supporting us laughably upon their frames. What does a chair want with the luxury of our grief? * Colin McGuire says "My name is McGuire: A thin 26 year old Glaswegian man, touch giddy in the head, sometimes poet of mangled form and dirty prose, sporadic drummer, drunken grammarian, waffler, painter using crayons, lover, hater, learner, teacher, pedestrian, provocateur, wanderer, confronter of shadows, irritating whine." Tuesday, July 28
Nigel Pickard is walking up that hill
by
Charles Christian
on Tue 28 Jul 2009 03:05 PM BST
RAIN
After weeks of long heat I wake to rain and a cool breeze through the open window. I lie here, listening: that unforced, muffled encore, your careless breath across my chest. Your first smile has the gentleness of rain after long heat, your fingers are rain, falling. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ THAT HILL the sun sets behind is like a man sleeping on his side, who might in a million years or two, (or three, or four) wake up one day, get off the floor, stretch, stand tall, and walk slowly, very slowly, away. * Nigel Pickard is a regular IS&T contributor. His first collection Making Sense was published by Shoestring (2003) and his first novel One was published by Bookcase (2005). Monday, July 27
New taiga/haiga by Alexis Rotella
by
Charles Christian
on Mon 27 Jul 2009 03:00 PM BST
 * Alexis Rotella is a regular contributor to Ink Sweat & Tears. Her latest collection of tanka is called Elvis in Black Leather (44 pages, softback, Modern English Tanka Press 2009 - www.themetpress.com price $9.95, ISBN 978-193539809-7). Sunday, July 26
Four haiku by Neal Whitman
by
Charles Christian
on Sun 26 Jul 2009 03:00 PM BST
smoke rising
the houseboat now moored the parking lot emptied hand over hand pulling in my boat snack shop already closed snow in July rare as a unicorn alone on a beach the stream of kelp an upside down question mark incoming tide * Neal Whitman is a member of various haiku societies in the US. His haiku has been chosen for Simply Haiku, Bear Creek Haiku and Geppo. The online journal Getting Something Read regularly features his seasonal haiku. He also teaches (gratis only) a workshop Haiku for Anyone, for Everyone. Saturday, July 25
New haibun by Jeff Winke
by
Charles Christian
on Sat 25 Jul 2009 03:00 PM BST
Attractive So He Reaches
“Within and inside the complications we thrive,” she says with earnestness. Mesmerized by her dilated azure eyes and the way her lips move while enunciating polysyllables he listens intently, his mouth slightly open in a dumbstruck way. “You know, there are many deep expressions of truth in Sha(wo)man Susie’s book The Ultimate Interness which I’ll give only to you for an appropriate donation.” There is much about her he finds exceedingly attractive so he reaches for his thin wallet to pull out his last twenty. Andrew Jackson seems to give him a sad look as he holds the bill out for her. She deftly snaps it from his hand and leans forward letting her salmon-color gypsy top fall open enough to see the shape of his dreams. She pauses for his appreciation… but within seconds, her soft lips brush his ear as she whispers; “Twenty is nice,” sensuously elongating the word nice, “but I know you can donate more.” The Feminine Mystique – in the charity donation bin’s overflow pile * Jeffrey Winke is a haiku/haibun poet and public relations counselor. Recent publications include That Smirking Face, a haiku-art broadside collaboration with Matt Cipov (Milwaukee: Distant Thunder Press, 2008) and PR Idea Book: 50 Proven Tools That Really Work (Denver: Outskirts Press, 2006). www.jeffwinke.com Friday, July 24
Arun Sharma tells how the laughter rang out
by
Charles Christian
on Fri 24 Jul 2009 05:51 PM BST
Oh how the laughter rang out...
when Tony had the forth digit of his left hand ripped off while he was nippin’ over a 10ft, barbed-wire fence, evading capture by the police for chuckin’ petrol bombs. He says he didn’t even know it was gone till he was halfway down the road; how we laughed. Or like when Mackal lost a bollock on West Street When a rubber bullet hit him during a riot. He said the peeler aimed it to bounce off the ground just in front of him; we were in fits. And then there was that time Johnny got lifted with all them E’s. They were stuffed in a Chelsea teddy-bear stuck on the window of his Nova. And he kept sayin’ ‘The bear did it. I’m not the boss of him!’ ...the bear did it; brilliant! And d’you ‘mind the time Magoo’s brother tried to make a blast bomb by stickin’ together 9 aerosols and throwin’ it in a bonfire? And that wee pregnant girl got so shocked, so shocked she had to go have her baby early. Magoo’s brother was only eight – cheeky shite! You’re bound to remember that guy in The Circus who was tryin’ to sell trips. and the U-ffers caught him and made him eat them all? And he ended up walkin’ around like a mongoloid all night. I hear the dickhead’s in a care unit now. You just have to ask yourself sometimes: what’s wrong with people? Imagine turnin’ up to a bonfire when you’re pregnant. * Arun Sharma says "I am a 34-year-old teacher living in Bristol but was born and bred in Northern Ireland , the son of Indian immigrants." Thursday, July 23
Three haiku from Chris Guidon
by
Charles Christian
on Thu 23 Jul 2009 01:17 PM BST
Grass tickles my nose-
as i sleep sound on the verge owls sing lullabys Childish things to bed the light flickers as it turns dont watch over me Peacfull junk boat floats tattered flag ripples above blossoms stain the hull * Chris Guidon is an English teacher from England but soon to move back to Vietnam to teach. Wednesday, July 22
Ray Morgan wants us to take her hand
by
Charles Christian
on Wed 22 Jul 2009 03:04 PM BST
Take me by the hand
Take me by the hand and I will show you the creases and fine lines that frame my eyes. We barter; your dimples reveal themselves, in exchange for my smile and smile-lines. My hand in yours, you tell me it is small, I shrink in self-consciousness until reassurance. We exist in a secret world, where no-one else is heard over the clashing din of heartbeats. Between my back and yours we can breathe easier, say what we are scared to say and realise this is it. No doubters here, they exist only on the outside, unable to see in through the frosted glass. If they could only see, we could be without prejudice but for now we only worry about who is going to make the tea. * Ray Morgan is a performance poet, has a degree in creative writing and is a creative producer for independent arts organisation Sundown. She is currently working on a novel and works for the Society of Authors. www.raypoetry.blogspot.com |
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