Daily Archives: September 7, 2019

Four poems by Mark Young

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

A line from Albert Camus

If we build a light rail away
the festival’s epic main
stage, it is possible it may
emerge into a cyber warfare

world & infest attics & gardens—
an example is the Fandango
Facebook bot on Messenger.
The stage-sets collapse. Then

comes the familiar resident
grumbles about movie trucks
& trailers disrupting the day
to day activities of their

neighborhoods & the taking
away of their right to bear
witness. Farmers add another
concern: the return of wolves.

..

road rage punch-up

Gritty crashing the Flames’
broadcast may be one of
the most overused tropes

in popular pharmacy, but it
still keeps your guitar, bass,
or other stringed instrument

safe, even when a police
dog comes flying off the
top rope to bite your assets.

..

is suggestive of

I go to the issuu site
of the issue of a
journal I am in

&…

View original post 225 more words

Fixations, by Mark Young

I am not a silent poet

Because of insanity
the template collapsed
in its entirety. I couldn’t
continue my project.

Everyone has a different
take on the cause & how
to go about solving the
problem. All agree, how-

ever that with no fix
someone will soon start
transporting in guns in
the hope of achieving a

quick fix. No one knows
how to breathe anymore.

..

Mark Young lives in a small town in North Queensland in Australia, & has been publishing poetry since 1959. He is the author of around fifty books, primarily text poetry but also including speculative fiction, vispo, & art history. His work has been widely anthologized, & his essays & poetry translated into a number of languages. His most recent books are The Perfume of The Abyss from Moria Books; A Vicarious Life — the backing tracks from otata; taxonomic drift from Luna Bisonte Prods; & Residual sonnets from Ma…

View original post 3 more words

Jacob Rees-Mogg retires for the evening, by Antony Owen

I am not a silent poet

I think of all the people who slouched on something green –
two lovers high and naked on Woodstock grass
awaiting Armageddon, Simon & Garfunkel
arguing out of sight about bass
screeching “fuuuuccckkk you” to each other
then singing Bridges over troubled water
in perfect harmony like  those two lovers
making mothers of ill-fated millennials.
If only their bodies never burned like hashtag Amazon
but alas, they were in love like James Dean and death
in love with love like film stars and the parts that played them.

I think of other people who slouched on something green –
Lee Harvey-Oswald on the grassy knoll or person X.
a little girl dropping her slush puppy on tarmac
exploding like a Presidents head onto Versace,
a bullet screaming like Onassis in blood-smoke.
I think of Cuban cigars bluing Havana cafes
two strangers dancing bossa-nova
dancing like Kennedy was never USofA
no…

View original post 137 more words