Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Don Kingfisher Campbell
I am a smiling cat when I lie next to you
I feel your hair warm against my face
Your whole body still as the quiet earth
From sky-dreaming head to rooted toes
I sniff your cheek and think of exposed
Skin while you sleep so I instinctively kiss
Your sweet smell on the warmed blanket
Let you inhale more breaths as I caress
Sense your pulse on my wrist, your heartbeat
On my chest, or is that mine communicating
With you on an animal level in our bed
As a car honks outside the window, light
Fills the blind cracks while my hands roam
Your pajamas for a breast, my fingers play
With a cloth-covered nipple, I nuzzle a lobe
You cough and sigh, my nose ingests you
I hug my muse, close my eyes, having
Taken notes for a poem on a folded piece
Of paper which I toss away and proceed
To recreate again the experienced poesy

Monday, February 4, 2013

Diana Salazar-Brooks
I liked you
eventually I did not
as hard as it is for me
I'm trying my best to stop
I like your smile
and your long curly hair
how you make a fool of yourself
and don't even care
I like how you wake up in the morning
with the freckles on your cheek
even though I didn't like them
I find them quite unique
your laugh is ever changing
which I find amazing
you're very understanding
and not so simple minded
I'm trying to learn to love you
but right now it's pretty hard
so for now I barely like you
but I know you are a star
Diana you are perfect
in all that you are
I'm going to learn to love you
no matter how long or how hard

Sunday, February 3, 2013

Lois P. Jones
I am an apple in the pocket
of this old coat of yours. Honest
and round, you feel me blindly
with rough hands.
You dare take me out and examine me--
the deep wine bruises, the garnet wounds.
What green is left reddens quickly
in your palm. You twist the stem
between your fingers until it snaps then
lay me down on the pine table.
Split me open with your sharpest knife.
Your tongue draws out each seed--
dark eyes that want to grow in you.
Place this slice between your lips.
One bite to remember an orchard.
This sweet crunch knows the rain.
(Published in East to West and PSH Poet of the Week with Rick Lupert)
            You have seduced me
            and I am seduced.  --Jeremiah Chapter 20.Verse 7 to 9
Be open to my nearness, you don’t need
a body to know that I am close.
The sea green through the window
is light's breath,
our eyes are candles in darkness
this darkness is a chaos
before our birth.  Just because
there are no knees on the prie dieu
doesn’t mean that I am not awed
by the world we have created.
Space and time are a doorstop
to heaven.
What difference does it make
whether you wear a robe or a cloud?
Grab the rope in your hands
            and pull
like you are ringing the sky
the bells peal like the flesh
I am missing
no matter how hard I pray--
the hunger.
      I met her under an erect counterweight bridge
      which stood like a foretelling of things to come.
      --from Russell Salamon’s Descent into Cleveland
I feel you in another time, the white
in the whiter shade of pale--
stretched out on the hardwood,
curls falling like one dark wing
across the brow. Your blue eyes
are closed but I can see
what a beautiful man you are --
a mouth that carries a kiss in it
for everything. Cleveland tucked
safely beneath your lids, ready
with it's steel heart to be
the city you need. I feel how good
that hurts. The way the limbs of iron
ore docks stretch along the Cuyahoga, (Ky a hoga)
the river that once caught fire like a man
who brought his words to the world
and left it through the barrel of a gun.
I see the tails of smokey factories whipping up
into the clouds, the city that grew taller
with every poem you wrote.   How you
discovered her the way a young man learns
the map of a woman’s body.   What did you taste
in that deep Cleveland the first time
your tongue slipped into blueflower?
And If you’d known me then you would have
savored the tang—the jazz house
and the rough shores.  What kisses
we would have wasted—two boats broken
from their mooring under a rusted bridge.
(Published in Askew, 2012)

Saturday, February 2, 2013

Lori Wall-Holloway
I watch my grandson
resting in the crook
of my son, Jon’s arms
and see a new love
overwhelm my eldest
as he looks into the baby’s
small round face.
Jon had a similar look
for each of his daughters
when they were born,
but after being told
his wife would not conceive
again, he holds a miraculous
boy he long desired.
I recall when I looked
into my Jon’s small round
face after giving birth.
I stared in wonder
at the new little being
when inside my heart,
a new love birthed forth.
I can’t remember where you got on
Flagstaff... Albuquerque...
I was traveling from Pasadena
to Midwest City, Oklahoma
I can’t recall
if your hair was blonde or brunette
your eyes blue or brown
if you were wearing a dress or jeans
but I do know
I was most fortunate to be sitting
beside someone so pretty
I can’t remember
what we talked about
or recall if you told me
you were a student or worker
or I had said I was going
to Fuller Theological Seminary
but I wasn’t really sure
I wanted to be a minister
As darkness deepened
into a rolling Greyhound night
I can’t remember how it started
Your head on my shoulder
My arm around yours
Your head on my lap
My hand on your waist
I remember
we were soon trying to sleep
in each others arms on two cramped
and creaky cushioned seats
crusing east on I40 at 70 miles per hour
under a Van Gogh Starry Night
and despite the layers of clothing between us
how exhilarating your breasts felt
pressed against my virginal chest
I don’t recall
where you began
and I ended
but I do remember
that I didn’t get any sleep that night
and I never
wanted to wake up
I think
you got off in Amarillo
You looked like you were still trying
to wake up
I can’t recall
if we said good bye
For a long time I felt dirty
Bible Belt Jesus had told me
I had crossed the line
even though we were both
fully clothed
I no longer think that way
What I want to tell you now is
Thank you very much
for such a beautiful night
Rosalee Thompson
2 AS 1
I wish I was a bride
from the 50's who saved
It for the blessed wedding night
wearing a white garter belt standing
at the blessed altar of heaven wearing
a white garter belt vowing to love honor
and obey as wet as champagne from just the thought
of the Niagara Falls Honeymoon dollar dancing drunk
to I Only Have Eyes for You and hot on the thought that
an atomic bomb could crush us at at any living moment
running like bank robbers to the JustMarried car to leave Ma
cutting the cake   runing with hard white rice    raining on my
holy  star lit veil  as my   darling dreamy groom   handsome
husband carries me over fireworks under red  pink ocean
I love suicidal lovers
who do not kill each other
Who battle embrace
write letters of love
The Lovers Who Live Their Art
Desert Earthquake lovers who poet rhythm
drenched in new colors
their music grass blades as December Venus flowers
Suicidal lovers
who carve tree poems
lost lucky   in blue light
Suicidal word composers
anointing the sick
they pink smile secret joys
I love suicidal lovers
who do not kill each other
Porcelain echoes
Don't Kill
each other
Nothing is sacred
Everything is sacred
Alexis Espinoza

As I lay at night
Thinking about how I met you
Many things come to mind
I still remember the first time I gazed at you
How could I not,
It was October 12
I am finally coming to my senses
But I’m not sure
What to say…
I still don’t have the courage
To say what I’m feeling inside
I’m afraid
Of what’s going to happen next
But even more
If I don’t say this face to face
I don’t want to lose the friendship
I have with you
I met you at a sacred place
A retreat to be exact
I am pretty sure this was fate
Cause now you give color to my sky
We hardly see each other
But when we do
I get this feeling I cannot explain
A hug from you
Or even a smile
With those two dimples on your face
Will make my day complete
Cannot promise you things won’t be broken
But I swear that I will never change
I’ll be the same guy you met
On October 12
But a bit more dependable
Like the sun has to be
In order for roses to grow
And hopefully I will plant a seed
Which will grow
Into a warm, happy feeling that you can always trust
And we can call it home
Moises Cordova
your smile
your eyes
your hair
your scent
even your questionable logic
makes me so happy
When I'm with you
this inner feeling of pure bliss
comes out of me
you've made me feel things
I never knew existed
You've unlocked feelings foreign
to my body, feelings,
that normally would be attacked
by my immune system
feelings, that I would normally
push away
You're the chain to my saw
the author to my book
the swiss to my cheese
no matter what happens
no matter what you may looke like
I will always
have strong feelings for you
I know that I can say stupid things
but that's only because
I get nervous at times
I love our awkward relationship
I love the way you can confuse me
without even trying
I like you so much
I would dragon kick a baby
for you
I would do anything in my power
just to make you happy
Every time you smile
it automatically makes my day
you are my inspiration
the reason for my happiness
You make even my worse days better
just by walking into the room
You are so beautiful to me
and most of all
you are my muse
Selena Del Toro
exactly what I mean
but here goes nothing
just me being me
You try to hard
to show you care
even with just
a childish stare
There's moments when I
want to run up to you in tears
but what stops me is knowing
you don't know my fears
You assumed why it is
I don't show affection
and honestly
I have no explanation
It's never been easy
to show my emotions
but I don't take for granted
our lovely, awkward passion
Memories are lovely
only time will tell
if they are worth keeping
but surely ours
are worth repeating
Every day I find myself smiling
smiling because you are mine
and that is what is on my mind.
Michael Gonzalez
I wish I could see 
through your eyes
with your cool ease
your "damn right" grin
would I remember
or forget the way you
sometimes do
would I see the way
I have a hard time
in your presence
or the way I half blush
because I want to kiss
you at the oddest
of moments
would i look right through
me the way it seems
you do
would i be able to see
the way i've fallen
head over heels
schoolyard crush
wanting to be a
better man
in love with you
would I see how proud
how very proud I am
of you and of
being with you
would looking
through your eyes
make me
smile or cry
make me want to
hold or push
would it make me
wonder why
you haven't left
would it make me
see you love me
and feel stupid
for ever doubting
for now i'd be happy
to look into your eyes
i miss you
Marie Lecrivain
This morning, you revealed to me
a bit of geometric perfection
from your corner of the universe.
I strove to understand
the finer points of your discovery.
At this time, I’m not quite
fluent in the language of magic.
And so, I relied on non-verbal cues;
your smile, the laughter in your voice,
the falcon swoop of your right hand
as you sketched a gentle star
in the air, a small solar triumph
that shone between us. Transfixed
and frustrated, I struggled to mold
words from my muddy intellect,
but, you declared my opinions false,
my intentions untrue, and your time
wasted. I don’t know how we
looped ourselves into a Gordian
knot. What use is love when it’s
always measured in IQ points?
left on our hips,
your neck, & my thighs
are a record
of last night’s attempt
to annihilate the boundaries
that lay between us,
the need to tear away
the corporeal layers
in which we bind ourselves.
It’s in the alchemical grind
of bone against bone,
the upward thrust
into rapture, the insistent
pressure of fingers
that dig into skin
to strip the vestiges
of ourselves
we lay side by side,
& covertly inspect
our ravages, shocked,
& secretly pleased.
We mumble apologies
& turn away to fall into sleep,
& vow next time
to scar deeper...
to penetrate further...
& to expire faster.
Over our heads
Night prepares for love.
Cobalt limbs blush indigo,
as She removes wispy,
golden layers of cloud,
as She unveils
the alchemical flame
that burns within our hearts,
& ignites the blood,
&, as She reclines
into an infinite odalisque,
we find ourselves
in a passionate tangle
of bodies,
& minds,
in tribute to
Her genius.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Lalo Kikiriki
"Man, you don't get it, do you?" she said
from the chaos of noon and the sofa-bed
and his eyes darted left
and his gaze shifted right
he stared down the microwave
as if it could chime and vend him stew
or whatever he thought a wife should do
(apparently coming home for lunch
had not been a good idea)
"Excuse me," she snapped, picking up the remote,
activating the TV with a jolt
and a frown corrugated her well-rested brow
"Now, look what you've gone and done...
You've made me late for my favorite show –
interrupted my psychic flow..."
the Perry Mason arpeggio
vibrated the still-drawn blinds
and the wine-dark gaze of Raymond Burr
blessed him with moral imprimatur:
"I thought I might take you out for lunch,
but I see that you're not in the mood.
So I'll  just grab a burger and head on back..."
She jumped up so fast that her kneecaps cracked.
"How about Acapulco?" she smacked
"I've got coupons for 2.99!"
She flashed to the walk-in like Jeannie would
and five minutes flat she was looking GOOD, 
grabbing the coupon and taking his arm
with the sway of a demi-mondaine;
she paused to wink one shadowed eye,
turned at the door, and, on the fly,
zapped Perry Mason a quick goodbye,
you know what I like!

Jeffry Jensen


It was one of those backseat raincoat moments when all else seems irrelevant and there is nothing in the way to stop two middle-aged lovers from taking the night–this particular rainy night– by the cojones and making the most of it.

I probably should have had my head examined and she was long overdue for a blood transfusion, but all we saw that meant–really meant–anything was how we felt on that night in that car with the windows fogging up by the second.

The future would present us with many a motel sauna, fresh sushi, and Melon Ball shooters, but we got the “party started” in a Toyota in the 80's protected by a raincoat that went on to survive all the sexual skirmishes of the 90's and lived to keep a love warm and dry all the way into a new century and beyond.
Petrouchka Alexieva
Yes, I am in love! I love your hands.
They touch me like dancing feathers
Falling all over me from above.
They shelter me in a stormy weather
Chasing all clouds on the sky.
When I laugh and when I cry
They hug me like evening mist -
I can’t resist fitting in their loving curves
And have my sweetest dreams
Because they are MY WHOLE UNIVERSE.
Let me love you
In the sweet summer evening
Floating slowly my eyes
All over your pulsing curves.
Let me love you
Under the sky of this magical universe
Spreading soft silky blanket
Of million kisses in your dreams.
Casting spells under its roof.
Let me whisper and bring down the moon,
Dancing naked; walking you slowly
All the way to the sun’s re-birth.
Love is only a moment.
Grab it. Keep it. Don’t be shy.
Let me love you all the way to eternity.
And … don’t forget to by mine.
Please stay,
I need you next to the fire.
The flames will paint
Your lovely face in the sky
My simple desire is
Dance with me in their time.
Please stay,
‘Till the evening dives slowly
Into your heavenly eyes.
I know, the stars will glow shortly,
I will cushion you
With all the clouds above us.
Please stay, don’t run,
I’ll give you the sweetest dream...
I’d like to see how the sun
Will golden your beautiful skin.
Please stay, don’t go anywhere,
I need you. I swear…
I fall in love, I should admit.
This is my deep romantic secret.
I am your Cinderella, my prince.
The one that lost her sleeper,
And wait for you to come.
But, as a matter of fact, I differ
From your exclusive pack.
I am a commoner, pure and simple.
When the dances with others are over,
I’ll ask the moon to light your path,
And the stars to bring you good luck.
Did you notice I’m a blossoming flower,
Singing river, or a flying bird?
My heart is yours,
Pumping crazy
between two luxurious floors.
I am lost in the sea of urban emotions.
I fall in love, I must admit.
I had no time to say ‘Good Bye!’
Do I fit in this fable?
Do I fit in this crazy world
with my old-fashioned feelings
among cellular calls
And endless corporate meetings?
Did you noticed me at all among
A bunch of supreme subordinates?
Do you remember… my face
When you pass my cubicle,
(I mean my domain)?
Do you recall my name
when you rich the end
Of the polished conference table?
I know, you play the bachelor game
“Please, leave a message after the beep…”
I wonder how I might fit… in this fable.
It says I shell wait until the rays of light.
Ok, the fable goes right.
I am persistent, but what is the meaning
Of waiting this long?
In fact, it is after midnight and beyond.
I noticed my sleeper is gathering dust
And…the pumpkin outside
Is developing rust.
On the end of this story
Who cares what’s wrong or right?
Hurry! You must find me! If not,
Please don’t waste my night!

Thursday, January 31, 2013

Michael J. Cluff
Those days of gloom
left the room
when Allie reappeared
and warmth ever neared
the lack of something dearly missed
the brighter edges of life seldom kissed
until she blurted
"you never flirted
with me, no way
that is not until today."
Now joy exist
weeds no long desist
the harrowing pain of isolation
she gives now constant exaltation.
Bob Branaman
I love her skin on my hand
Rolling smoothing curving
Gently massaging her back
My hands so happy on her skin
Mussel bone and tendon
An epidermal delight
Golden Light and Splendor
The candlelight last night
Revealing a lovely sight
The smiling sweetness
The timid touch
The land, the sea
The traveling all
Coming together in that golden candle glow
Now this morning
I love her skin
Under my moving hands
To waken with soft cress
The sun comes out
The Glory lingers
Our toes touch
She said
She just had too much on her plate
(There was no room for me?
How come there was room for me earlier
When she thought I was a heartthrob?)
And I understood
I had known since Monday, this was Friday
It took me a few daz to get the picture
I am sort of slow but I know.
Kept trien to justify it
I knew all along it was all-wrong
Never love a Blonde
Yet I just had to hope
I wasn’t a dope
This time it would be
I’m pretty sure
She faked it
Usually she conked right out
Now she wanted to talk and watch TV
O the apocalyptic signs were there
I just don’t want to see them
Denial, Denial it’s not a river
It’s an Ocean
She told me it was over
It was like a door opening out of hell
I didn’t want to leave
I had grown accustom being there
The way you Smile and Jump
And Your HAIR!
One could get lost in the black flowing midnight
Filled with curling stars, your hair
Endless flowing Blue/black River of lava soft as scented hummingbirds wings
Your fiery eyes like the Menoan maidens
On Greek vases
Alive sparkling pools of mysterious Secretes
I Love
The way you walk
And Hop and Skip
And jump and flip
And sometimes give
A kung fu kick
Of your lips I’m afraid to talk
Lest you think I just want to kiss them
Bight quivering enigmas
Made of pink Carmine Flower Petals like a
Soft changing Dawn
Your Smile
Like the brilliant gold sun coming out
And your Spirit (that thing with in you)
Is like a freewheeling whirlwind of beauty
A tornado of holy energy
Spinning unnameable and Glorious!
These are some small attempts
At reasons of why “you are Loved by me”.
My mediation book suggest we write moor and moor love letters
That we sleep with them. That we write them on sheets with colored markers, etc etc.
Well this is the first love letter I’ve written in many years and I hope I will write Moor We need love letters to everyone to run on and on like a beautiful brook or river bubbling and singing through our lives and dreams
Forever moving like a
Rina Rose
a sharp needle sews together
pieces of my shattered heart
it binds a litany of haunts and hurts inside
– not even one thin thread runs between us
i always knew my patience ran behind yours
i remember how you redid clothes and projects
until they looked so perfect
now i had to learn that virtue too quickly
didn’t i? there was no revision of care expressed 
as my practice during the rest of my life
you forget what i’ve said
so once again i repeat the answer or question
listening for the voice i knew
looking for the person i once hugged
hoping what was between us
will come again – knowing it would not
in this echoing vacuum i speak last words
of affection
we are so different now
this shadow over us leads
the old to be young and the young to become old
we’ve switched roles
i’m the parent you’re the child
my patience does not hurt
as much as the love
i know i will not be able to express
i did not see this lesson before me
although i expected it yet came before i was ready
you are being trained for your own message
if there was one more thing I could say to you
it might be, “don’t go, I’m not prepared to miss you yet.”
red ribbons
bind the roses sitting on the counter
the water needs to be changed
a wonderful guy sent them to her
he loves her just the way she is
she opens her eyes
stares at the white ceiling
and gets out of bed to make
breakfast for one
It’s not as if we were really in love
when you proposed marriage.
We were both high on weed
you provided and I was so impressed
that you worked as a narc.
Those were the beginning days,
in the years my knowledge about the Hollywood
where I lived was self-centered.
Pretending I knew myself, I understood only
after sobriety made existence clearer.
Fountain Avenue had no upscale condos like it does now
merely a row of houses where people
lived, smoked dope, drank,
and shopped at the Hollywood Ranch Market across the street
During those years, I crawled into six-packs of
Olde 800 English Malt Liquor, margaritas,
and smoked fat joints
We lost touch with each other.
Years later I still think of you
what you might be like today
what our lives might have been if we’d actually married
what I’d be like if I’d given birth to your children
whether we’d still be smoking weed.
As far as I knew you had never been to New Jersey
and when I went back there,
you were in my mind
for quite a long time.
I could have stopped to live anywhere along the way
– Albuquerque, Texarkana, Memphis –
with the possibility of meeting someone like you.
Still, more than thirty-three years later
and what feels like a lifetime, I still see your face,
hear your voice,
remember the times we shared
Even what I had in Ohio wasn’t as meaningful
as the way you held me.
I can’t understand
why I made the choice not
to be your wife
when it’s what I’ve always wanted
to be to someone
I know weed clouds
not only memories, but  also decisions
that might have made a difference.
Christy Ramirez
I close my eyes
My breath tastes your scent
As I drift on to you
The memory is amazing
O the taste is amazing
Your scent keeps coming into my mind
How strong was the feeling that existed?
And how strong it left so sudden
It followed you in your distant absence
As I open my eyes
And my breath exhaled
Thinking of you is only a stimulation
One last time
I smell your scent

Monday, January 28, 2013

Julia Stein
He brings her a black calla lily amidst
Green leaves that sit dominating her living room.
He’s Mr. Plants, raises a hundred flowers
And tens of cacti in a tiny backward
greenhouse to house a green jungle,
opens up the green world to her.
His pink orchid perfumes his bedroom.
The purple iris unfolds on her kitchen table.
He says this is only the beginning of the
flowers he will bring her this spring.
Her heart begins to unfold like the lily.

You are gold water. I’m
Afraid you’re a mirage, will  return to your ex-wife.
It happen to me once before—
I was broken down before I was
with you:  this evenings I knitted together
by your warmth.
You are bright yellow.  I’m getting sucked
into the golden whirlpool of you. I give up:
your tender eyes sucked me in.

She wants to unfold with him like
an orange cactus flower blooming,
wants to trust him like falling into daisies,
wants to reach toward him, a yellow rose
opening all its petals toward the suns,
wants to move toward him, a bee
buzzing around a purple iris,
wants to be with him on the first night of a
ship heading into a Carribean ports,
wants to fly into him, a parachute
landing on a field of feathers.
Norm Milliken
in this dream
his fingers linger lost
in hair that smells of sleep
and soap,
hair like linen hung in wind,
thick and straight
as hand-combed flax,
hair that feels like sex
and breath
and promises kept
and unkept,
hair undone and dreamt
in moon night,
pulled across palm
and pulse.
she imagined herself
with him,
silk-sheeted sounds
with no words or sense,
tangled limbs
and eyes wildened
with wanting,
heat of breath and flank,
fingertips raising flesh
in rows in
gardens of desire.
she imagined herself
with him,
gowned in moon-silk sheen,
no clock-chime time
to interrupt
the dance
of lips and legs
and hissing blood,
of teeth bared to bite
and taste,
of hearts hammering ribs
harsh and hard,
to have him in her,
wet with sweat
and sex.
when the prince woke
in the night,
he turned sheets down
and watched Snow White
in sleep.
her face floated
out of black hair,
her skin like moon
that washed the room
and spilled across the floor.
the ivory geometry
of her body
changed with each breath,
challenged definition,
drew his eye
down breast and belly,
and shadowed itself
in tangles of legs and night.