Here appears a pause
About me
Positioning itself
With closing in proximity
Circling enough to slow
My shuffling ambition
This disruption demanding
Attention to be grasped
Grabbed, held still
Against my itchy flesh
To spite my restless chest
I am afraid
I have no choice
But to let this recess pass
And embrace it as it will
Provide some respite, perhaps
Or, it just might lull me peaceful
To the gallows
-A.R.
Painting by John Waguespack
One fleeting point of poetry
Is feigning immortality
We pour it out by pen, pretend
Perpetual existence then
-a.r.
The Dream of the Poet by Paul Cezanne
A broken mirror has no meaning
But what imagination makes
Simply reflects a scattered image
Of an ever changing space
— a.r.
Hotel Intercontinental Panel 2
Because I am flying to Italy today, and I can do nothing but feel the fear that rises and descends, and get on the airplane anyway.
It is real
Anxieties gather in my gut
I feel them churning
I hear their chatter
Making plans out of my fears
They worm their way in all directions
Northbound
They burrow in my brain
Whisper failure in my ears
They drip warmly from my nose and eyes
Then prickle, bead, and bubble from my pits
Some of them bolt and make a beeline
Straight up my esophagus
With an unexpected urgency
The rest of them hunker down and turn
Southbound
With parasitic precision
They compel me
To run towards relief
But I stay seated and feel the battle
Rage inside my body and mind
Soon with surprise I find
Reinforcements shoring up my spine
My wormy nerves are calmed
And I am brave again
Until next time
— April Resnick
Raw Nerve 2, by Julie Lawless
So apparently “new stuff” happens, just like fear, to spite my best laid plans.
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Oh that I were like my suitcase
Correctly crafted, quiet, still
Emptied for the next occasion, simply waiting to be filled
Oh that I were made for travel
Sturdy edges built for holding up
Designed by some creator, to buckle just enough
Oh that I were easily mobile
Wheels instead of feet to move
Whatever odd directions a traveling hand might choose
Oh but I am human
Stitched with stressed anticipation
Filled already to capacity, frayed with expectation
Oh but like my suitcase
I might allow for some small spaces
To carry home some lovely crap, from some new exotic places
–A.R.
The Red Suitcase by Joana Kruse
I will be traveling until the second week of April, so I may not publish new stuff, but perhaps I will repost some of my traveling/vacation poems. Enjoy!
There’s a digestive system inside these walls
It gurgles and spits as the temperature falls
Boxed and boiling radiation
Churning up this meditation
Concentration gone to crap, so my imagination calls
–a.r.
Intestines by Danny Arenas
So I sit
At the edge of seasons
With ghostly legs dangling
Over the last lip of winter
Can I let myself slip
Loosen my grip
On the moss-covered teeth
Above and below me
Yes it yawns at my back
That mouth black melancholic
It once carried me ’round
Inside color drained out
Frightening but familiar
Strange safety was found
I could crawl back inside
This giant gray gaping wide
But it stinks of stale breath
And there is a breeze, fresh
Flora blooming below
I have never been one
To let myself fall, to spring
So freely towards hope
I only know how
To gulp and let go
–a.r.
The Precipice by Lea Kelley
My baby likes me restless
I must admit I like it too
Careful not to “bliss” it away
Or just distract with “comforts” new
A strange direction or idea
Could be born from agitation
So I stay “mindful” not to kill the thrill
With too much “empty” meditation
— a.r.
Skull
Stacked on
Bone
Stacked on
Bone
Stacked on
Bone
I sit
Hollow tonight
Stimuli stirring slight
Blowing right between spaces
Of ribcage and pelvis
Cavernous cavities
Echoing empty
But
A few bits of meat
And random stray nerves
Sway and fire
Enough
Just to register
Itches, ideas, sirens, and incense
But soon
They pass through
Disappearing and leaving
Still
Some leftover pieces
Of once working systems
And I am again
Skull
Stacked on
Bone
Stacked on
Bone
Stacked on
Bone
In the skeletal zone
a.r.
Skeleton by allisonchinart
from deviantart.com
Born from my attempt to describe to someone what my “zone” feels like during what might be called a “good meditation.”
When my schedule gets contaminated
My first instinct is to laminate it
Fragile paper day if fortified, might
Trick and calm the freak I keep inside
— a.r.
Mind Control by Anand Bedrala
