Uncategorized
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She Spat Pomegranate Seeds…
She spat pomegranate seeds on my lap and kissed me like a sweep of cushions and breakers grasped me with both arms and said ‘i’ll take you’ I followed up a hill and as the old poets say, we walked… Continue reading
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Taking a break at 'Willum
Listless soporific holidays up North,she, listless and unlistening,no embrace on arrival, no hug on departureand a spare roomher face like the land,a geology of talk over centuriesemitted as rumbleher voice like tectonic heatherquiet and frictive her body elven and her… Continue reading
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Ventriloquility
Another google first my icon for Ventriloquility – Marco Polo Ventriloquility n the state of displacedness upon the execution of the act of ventriloquism. Continue reading
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A Poetive Intervention
“The mind – it makes flowers.” – Paul Auster The mind is … a fecund flower a watering can a seed packet and happy downpour a gardenera bee a zephyrand an unceremonial pile of manure and the selfsame mind originally… Continue reading
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She Said No
and I wanted to know what you thought and I want you yes. Simply yes. yes, it’s true.. yes I know yes yes yes and yes I want you and still yes and whatever anyone in the world says including… Continue reading
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On Loss
It presses my soulsas snowfall in all winter’s dayand I am now opento sudden fallthrough puzzled ravinesfooting unknotted toearth, a day’s illnessfor a sun’s contagion it’s a gift for the common welch,to pass through salonswhere the suggestionof presence runs through… Continue reading
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A Venomous Poem
Strung and hogtied along in preludes overtures belled for your love and you lap it as fountain for abandon yes you have anotherapple in the pantrytop left and no mistakefor teacher and though the musicrang to youand the signature read”this… Continue reading
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Finch
Where do you fly, small finch?And where do you nest?And whenyou are with your brethrenwhy do you flock in sevens?Finch, when you fly, where do you go to? And when your flock of sevens fly curlicue what shape did you… Continue reading
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On sitting down in a quiet place
I waited for the rotundity of quiet pounding round as fruit to mould wisp of intricate thread to a jumper to house my lost head and flailing arms the wearwithall ofclothes and a positionalmost right for one familiar smile the… Continue reading
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Time
It enters by earsand by sharpnesscoldlythrough my poresboth assassin andmedicwatcher to see sans bounds andquoted belle damesans merci it grasps my eyesin fixitythe rest of me sways as ifof the quoted drams ofhemlock lethewards me draw and absence of full… Continue reading
Ariel Riveros Pavez 