Sunday, January 10, 2010

dreamtime issue





three small poems by Rae Pater



Gone



What is there to write of you
now that you're gone?

That you come to me in dreams
and we sit, face to face,
legs folded together,
cuddled round each other,
and talk like happy children -
words tripping impetuous -

till I waken to that old
twelve hour, sixty minute clock
at my bedside.




























The Blonde in Me




lip freak,
shirtless and hands on knees.

if I roll up my eyes
and purse my brunette charms

will you scoop a kiss or two
into my pinny?






















Eden's Poems




each verse so precise

like apparently random
windings of vine
and flower

shaped to form
a small
hand-carved
elephant

a miracle of creation
and inside it another
and yet another






{C)Rae Pater














hermit faces south



i do
not know this life-
camaraderie, these
people and i do not think i
want to


--anonymous












from tasha klein




- death - i taste your black
pill - the lips behind - your dove -


















from burning moon


I had a small poem -
words soft, like candles
after mass






6 comments:

burning moon said...

I love the candles picture

Hector the Crow said...

ayahuascero

somewhere, spirit
is alive, despite
the quick metabolism
the slash and burn mentality
that chavez would assume
i'd assume
to maximize

when there's a goal
there's a compromise
there's a lot of compromise
A lot of comprimise. Comprende?

lotta comprimse, to achieve
weird lettering, that
i wanna let the lettering
AND the letting
kinda bloodlet
and nevermind the kerning
weird winter, sure we got snow
rock warmth, vancouver east
and you got, i dunno
i won't care

hiccup said...

i'm glad you like it burning moon.

thanks for the poem crow. next issue brewing

Anonymous said...

soul rope

drink this
she said so i
did. next thing i knew i
woke up next to myself, climbing
goodbyes

Anonymous said...

From Warm Thing to Napkin


my beautiful light -

love me,

lost and strange.

Hector the Crow said...

good is the lesser of two evils

it's distasteful to be good
i feel better when i'm bad
but i'm not good at being bad
not good enough at being bad

good is the lesser of two evils