Keel Wind by David Felix
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Daily Archives: November 6, 2016
Creatures by David Felix
Tessinparken By Monika Kostera
The thing about childhood places
is that they allow us
directly into their dreams.
We see how our own
are spun into and from
their fabric: the currents are clear,
and palpable, as storms and rivers.
The young woman with the bike has
a familiar stride, a swiftness
of the elbow I have seen before,
I am sure, thirteen
years ago, sitting
here, in this place, when it dawned
upon me that
the children who play here
would have
the same lining
of light in their dreams
as I do, that
they and I were connected
by the way laughter carries,
reflected off the warm cliffs
and the water surface.
People come and go, but the trees are here
always, the guardian co-dreamers.
Only they know our real names
and they wish us well. This park,
on a July evening,
is the only proof I have
of home.
(Amsterdam, 2016)
I am a streetpoet by Monika Kostera
It was 1968 and the gods
descended from Mount Olympus
and walked among us. I was
barely five, following
the grownups around Paris.
The pavements were humming
and the old Halles
were still full of light and shades
trickling into rivulets and puddles, swift
to the touch. Without the strong
narrating voice, connected
by dream’s umbilical cord,
I listened with my body.
I
don’t remember Louvre and the grand boulevards
only the mayflies of dust
and the smell
of ripe fruits, like the inside
of churches. The face of the street smiling at me
from so close, like a good mother.
Yes, I know what was
underneath those flagstones. I am still
full of whispers,
like a dry, empty shell.
(Rethymno, 2016)
One More Letter by Monika Kostera
The first dove that came was taken
down by gun fire. The second
died from the pesticides
on the olive branch she held her beak.
The third is here now: a city pigeon,
mangy and limping, with sparse blue-gray
feathers, his eyes red and orange,
like Hephaistos’
kiln.
God has not
forsaken us.
(Plakias, 2016)
crisis in the rue cliché by Mandy Macdonald
sometimes i think i’m beginning
to get it
but i guess i’ll get over it
just keep taking the tablets
transcendental
medication
tintinnabulation of bells bells bells all round
my mouth
a concept a day keeps the mind
ticking over
in half an hour
EXCESS FARE
but i can’t pay that bill
call me back tomorrow or
in a year’s time or
in the year of our lord three thousand and one
‘tis all one ‘tis all one
what’s happened to time?
yesterday was mesozoic
the time flies were gigantic
and ravenous
but i just couldn’t
turn the clock forward
had to leap without looking
back to the future
Dyselxic I am not by Barry Fentiman Hall
Dyselxic I am not
But I paddle the same cnut
Through the same waters
As some of you
Some shit went down
When I popped out
I bounced ma said
I took a clout
Or something like that
Something to do
With my unformed head
She would always
Change the subject
So up I grow
Undiagnosed
Undisclosed
I walked on tiptoe
As though that’s the way
That everybody goes
I was a playground sensation
I was copied by
All the other kids
If we’d had Facebook
It would o’ been the nation
Some kind of tribute
Obviously
At least that’s what
I thought till
The first boot
Sought to fill
My skinny arse
Followed by the cry
Of
“We’ve seen ya ballerina”
So much for being a
Pied piper of fashion
I was a rat
A brat
A spacca
An anagram
And a rum un
I could not stay within
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