POETRY FORUM

At the office given work
to be done by a certain time
I struggle, other things come up
people hindering me
I stand at a wooden door
of Angkor Wat

My dead husband brings home a crocodile
I put it in a safe place
he keeps letting it out
I am afraid

A phone call for my husband
his claim to have authentic Beatles’ regalia
and originals of songs from Grease
written by his cousin’s husband
worth millions they tell me
explaining to the children
their father is lying

My Apple watch wakes me with a lullaby
tears fall on my cheeks
do I cry for myself?
or are my tears for the world.

– Bernadette Dickenson

Life is like a delicious piece
of hard candy
popped in your mouth
and sucked and sucked
until it becomes smaller and smaller
as your teeth crack the last thin piece
and you swallow it at the end.

At night, when tomorrow morphs into today
behind the curtain of fitful dreams
and thoughts like so many branches sway
above the abyss of subconscious streams,

At night, when sorrows like ravenous worms
feast on the flesh of my tired heart,
it’s your very presence, your breath and warmth
that keep my world from falling apart.

At dawn, when tomorrow becomes today
and threads of hope flash through morning light,
let’s share this gift of another day.
With luck, tomorrow will come tonight.

sat on stone steps w/ cricket
under red august moon
other crickets singing
but this one moon-quiet
unlike my foolish head

– Rob Plath

since you didn’t ask and you didn’t
dare I want to tell you that
I think I
will be provoked I will be
a reflex a prorated nerve revised

sparks erupt
from the
dragging of
shredded medal

on the
asphalt street.
a birds
eye view

of an
impending fire.
the only
phone in

the hallway
is broken.
she sits
cross-legged

in panties,
on the
bed, eating
raw almonds.

she reaches
over to
crank up
the music

on the
cheap radio,
as the
screaming begins.

A brush with something crazy
In the back of the barbershop
Some rice that did not cook up right
In the porcelain bowl

We could save the bowl by hanging
A galaxy gone wild (lots of impasto)
Just above it, or (my bad) is that
A frolicking salamander?

Nothing can save the rice
We should try again. Or should we.
Something has driven the parakeet insane
It might be the smell

Of the ancient comic book
Left in the table drawer, microscopic
Fragments of Steve Ditko &
Wood pulp engaging the olfactory

What parakeet could inhale such things
& remain sane? We are always one afternoon
At most from madness. You know
You should keep the lid on the boiling rice

And yet you have to check! Anyone can
Load up the brush with paint
& swirl it around, it does not make you
Van Gogh. It makes me nervous

Though. Brewing a new universe is easy,
Brewing decent coffee is not,
But you can do it if you take your time
& pay attention. The crazy parakeet

Couldn’t do it. Not in the back
Of the barbershop, anyway.
Just watch the traffic lights change, Polly,
& stop your swearing.