Category: Uncategorized

Where have you gone so soon, friend?
Have your eyes burnt out like stars for the dawn?
We once laughed, drank, talked about
Eliot and his cats, Hemingway’s fascination with the phallus.
Now you’ve disappeared like the wind
On one of those warm summer nights
That seems to have sidled out of time.

When you return, will you remember
The dreams you carried like nitroglycerine?
Be what you were. Dance to a song not yet composed,
Moving for the sake of moving,
But not for the sake of movement.
No, friend, that’s where you differ.

Samuel Hovda is an undergraduate at Winona State University studying Literature and Creative Writing. He has been published in Poetry Quarterly, Midwest Literary Magazine, and the bad futurist. He was a finalist for the 2011 Rebecca Lard Award for Poetry.

seamless, I melt to ragas raining,
splitting transparency to silk,
fluid feet sketch unsung: ballet
of cochineal blush, bubbles cerulean
disperse: iridescence-

amateur ink scribbled,
trembling fingers hold
deliquescent joys, laughter
my purple saari drips, weaving
longings in folds, half-unwrapped.

oriental eyes sigh, kohled
with passion alluvial;
chiffon twilights twined in
endless rain, aqueous ecstasy
spreads plumes of peacock-glass –

My heart unchained, like the glitter of
forgotten fallen stars, dances unlessoned.

©Mohana Das

“This post has been published by me as a part of IBL; the Battle of Blogs, sponsored by WriteupCafe.com. Join us at our official website and facebook page.
www.indianbloggersleague.com
www.facebook.com/IndianBloggersLeague“

your fists
shatter mirrors
punch holes in walls

& you with
bleeding knuckles

slam your own face
into a door
to prove

what

(?)

that what breaks you
inside
to sharpness

is your heart
breaking
& you must
keep milling it

to the point
you suck pain
from an acid tit
& go look for more
still hungry

you grind

that glass core
further into flour
your daily bitter bread
that cuts
when you swallow

unmaking yourself
while trying to shake
the world
into something
as damaged as you

the doors you kick down
will never
open to anywhere

you want to be

so stop trying

***here you go, Jeremy.  Inspired (sort of) by Jeremy’s poem on violence, here.

i don’t want blood enough.
maybe it’s the mixing–
i wouldn’t mind smearing mixed
with soil or mud into a river
but is that enough?
am i dirt animal enough
to call myself wild, to pretend
i feel planted when
i have both feet
on the ground?

i want to be the girl with the wolf
in her teeth.

how can you know me
when i am not her
not tearing apart fear
in the forest
white flashes of teeth or the smell
of broken roan fur?

i do not forgive him for hunting me,
he should not expect it.

he should wonder then
when the killing season comes
why
i have been merciful
in singing his death song
loud
so he can expect dirt in his teeth–
the girl with blood on her arms.

arms are just arms, i can’t lay
mine like a track
around the country that…