submixions

northern lights /stealing from work issue

Sometimes constellation dust
gets mixed in with the human dust
and
mankind gets to touch the hem of the stars


-William Blackford






















Something solar, darkly shimmering

part wind, part portal

erodes my skin with

the sweetness of light

And as parts of me are undone

found again by the eyes of a beam of sun

Time's hand lifts what is no mere dust,

but crushed essence set free


And I can feel Earth's atmosphere escaping

and in its wake I will no longer touch ground

as the opening swirl of clouds

will lift me infinitesimal

a single shape of rising motes

asleep

reborn


-William Blackford














--courtesy of artist tbork of the HIPblog

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

by hector the crow

another crow poem



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




































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.

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

thanks for the memries

let's make more

the last christmas eve of the decade issue

windows
crayons


in my heart
the choir members
are rats melted like ash.

the on-
fire

glass



--t















Anonymous said...




strange time
in the backyard

so many birds
all black
pecking at snow

with the frenzy
of stars, reversing.
























o! sarah!

our doe eyed beauty
when will you go cougar?














sensualist
betoken of dirt
flower singer
pale dark
heart










sudden splashes of grace

I move far when she stands
afraid my awkward walk will drift into her sudden splashes of grace

-Dan Flore



back of your neck
upswept fingers
sunshaft late
afternoon, summer
brushing the hair
from my eyes






















-Twilight-

slinky tubular insect
taps
sullen lemon core

sheer blossom-quiver
under the marble sudden
of
sky























-December-



Is it only in dreams that we are lovers?

Emptiness thrusts itself into me
bright as lightning in
a pale sleep.

--tasha klein

















2 from dierdre





The Daughter Of Christmas

I never thought my love
would taste like black
bean soup
heated from a can
you refused
to eat

or that this is the third time I wiped out your hard drive

i only hoped to show you the value
of love
forgiving its self
but I realize it's
too cold
in every bedroom

& I ought to move the kitchen into it
or I may never surivie
living alone















Trying to hide the light under a bag of circles

watch steam whisps
rise from 2am, a cup - the world
seems black & red and white & grey and green
the broiler - my new home - the va
a section eight - voucher and holly jolly
work for a living I don't - please chance
give to another sleepless night
I rise, I rise
but not to the sun
or your moon
beam

I am lost somewhere in her tan

whispering touch me in my
pale trespass
she spins and the earth turns in her direction
she doesn't know it
God drips down
but only in things like manholes and mascara
she swears He's there in her eye shadows
pink explosion
while part of her wishes He was gone

she's watching the roar of revelation
in some sphere beyond sweat and sea,
she talks and everyone listens but her
I move far when she stands
afraid my awkward walk will drift into her sudden splashes of grace

-Dan Flore

old subs

thanks for the poems.