“A work of art is a world in itself reflecting senses and emotions of the artist’s world.” Hans Hoffman
Michelle, ma bell by Sophie-Berger
If every poem ever written,
since the first scratch
chiselled in rock,
was placed in a wizards pot
to one last syllable,
can one single grain,
a poem be,
does it need company
to give it more meaning?
and be read
with self satisfaction
or does it need “YOU”
to stand beside
A breeze came through by Vicki Griffiths
There is no pretence in being contradictory. If I travel from the east then shift course and hitch a ride on the back of the west wind, am I a free spirit or am I flighty? I can wake with my shattered heart curled up next to me; then the very next morning, I have to tightly hold the string of my balloon heart, so it won’t escape out the bedroom window. How is this possible? How can one heart behave in such contradictory ways? My cave is cosy and deep within its walls I feel bliss, but I would be remiss in not confessing. I do long to be held and kissed for a lifetime of hours.
Sense by Manoyla F.
my fingerprints a linger,
upon each shiny little culet.
fondle, then press __ snap…
each pearl so perfectly fits.
your scent has perfected its continuity.
brushing of itself amidst my olfactory.
bringing with it hints of your palms,
pressed paralax to this she.
© Jorjia Ianez
Fragments by Elox
Soul by Bill Bell
By the sunshine
in the narrow crack below the blinds
I’d judge that I’m late for something
reaching down I find the sheets
and go back to sleep
Then I don’t know
if I’m dreaming in the twilight
people come and go
some I haven’t seen in years
I guess they’re dead to you
out of sight and out of mind until
you either find them in the obituaries
or knocking at your door
between the planes of interpretation
at the edge of the morning light
trying to be real
trying to extend the story
trying to be something more
then merely soul.
I saw her in the grocery store
coming up the cereal aisle
no older then she had been before
until we were upon one another
then she aged in an instant except for a smile
she’d kept intact then built experience around.
She had two grown children and one in high school
she patted me on the arm and walked away
shedding time as she went an old ache
blossomed and died.
Theres a piano playing
someone left the radio on
the voice of John Lennon singing Imagine.
Clouds streaming over
days on rented beaches
feverish whispers on summer nights
with the windows open
hearing other peoples conversations
no different then your own
there’s a muted piano playing
someone left the radio on.
I rolled over on my left shoulder
noticing I was alone without opening my eyes
the void is warm and I go down again
Standing at a bus station
my father extends his hand to shake
and I hesitate
knowing we will meet again under different rules.
Hold on tight
give a firm handshake
your interpretations of other peoples thoughts
are only by accident right
do it for yourself and the rest will turn out
said a voice already in my head.
Trying ot extend the story
trying to become something more
then merely soul
they’ve forgotten what they were
they merely hearten on
catch me on the dew point of morning
turn the radio on softly
see what comes to visit.
Alice in Wonderland – 20 years later by MagpieMagic
let them rip your skin,
let them rip your clothes,
let them rip, let them rip.
the cells will grow back the skin you lost
you will have better clothes
but don’t let them rip your heart….
if that does happens,
if at all it does!
then know this;
there is an everlasting promise
of a brand new heart
and that one cannot be touched
by any vile thing.
(c) siki dlanga