Mermaid Tattoo

May 29, 2009 at 7:19 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 22 Comments
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… by Harold Arlen who
tired of the gentlemanly discipline
required to complete “Stormy Weather”
in which moon and sea conspire
to overcome the laziness of words
their tendency to aggregate in brick arrangements
when what we most desire are softer forms
of mattress clouds on which to bob
and gently overroll
an abandoned luxury of spiralled
pillow scented curls with mistress smiling
hinting inclination gently rising
as we slide updown the other side
would gracefully accept the cautious underflow
               of whispered fingertips
                               which quicken clarity
                                               that sometimes sinking
                                                               is not drowning.

overcoming performance anxiety (3)

April 30, 2009 at 6:25 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 11 Comments
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, like they were born into it, those flashes of light and the whirring of lenses, that walk.
The deed done he will return of course to his original skulking, a comfortable resource beneath the cloak that Takeshi had given him now the tribal facial tattoos which had appeared over night were well hidden beneath Bootsy’s sunnies twitch had upset the American tourists. The beard had become irritating. And he had no recourse but to revert to the razor.

The Man Who Loathed Whispers.

March 23, 2009 at 7:07 pm | Posted in poetry, prosepoemthingy, writing | 13 Comments
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As he got slowly older his hearing started to go. Not surprising since he had spent so much of his life wearing headphones, sometimes to listen more closely to the pins dropping in the lock and others to block out the perpetual cacophony of other people’s lives.

It has reached the stage now that he can’t hear much at all except the moan of his voice in his throat and chest and he wonders when they will feed him again.

He hears the whisper of their approach and  closes his eyes even though it is already pitch black.

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