It has always been there arms outstretched. It could be another country or this. There is no sign of a ship. A gray day neither morning nor afternoon. It could be any season. A high wind whips the waves into...
Two Poems for Georgia O’Keefe Toni Ortner’s manuscript for a book on Georgia O’Keefe has been accepted for publication. Here below are two exerts from it. A Blackbird with Snow Covered Red Hills 1946 for Georgia O’Keefe You say the hills are red but all I see is...
The language I speak is a language of grief When we heard the guns we grabbed what we could. The bullets shattered the windows and splintered the doors. The floors shook. There was no place to run or hide. I grabbed two dish towels because I happened to be standing in...
The chunks of ice are melting. In the distance the steel spires of the city glitter above the still water where bloated bodies float. The marble steps the paintings the libraries the museums the ancient statues and books. All gone. We knew the glaciers were melting....
Alone we burn Alone we burn through dark catastrophes of grief the death of bone and flesh each moment a new green leaf where hope holds sway over deceit. As Earth Rides Earth rides waves of light and air Pink clouds float behind the dark bark of trees. We cannot...
What’s left when you are dead? I used to hold your hand but your flesh is dust and your bones are buried in mud. My brother and I tossed you into the Bay like you wanted and added a huge rose bouquet. We made sure it was red. My fingers gnarled like the roots of...
Lights out or the weather of the apocalypse When water rolls in sudden over land, the pink marble steps that led to the museum will be thrust apart & scattered over sand as if by a giant’s hand. Cans will burst and tin will turn to rust. Beans and corn will rust....
Call from Scientologist Friend Hi Terry, It’s me. Marcia. I had to tell you that Scientology has saved my life. I haven’t heard from you since you left Brattleboro. What’s going on? Well, for one thing I have no more financial stress. How come? I live on community...
Omyra Sanchez The camera is my eye. I open and shut the lens. I sweep the horizon clean. It is hard to focus with so much dust. My eyes burn. Focus I must. That is my job. That is what I am paid for and that is why I am here. I turn and all that I see stretching...
From DH There it is, the Douglas DC-6 SE-BDY / the instrument of my destruction. The mechanics are doing the last checks of the engines, but men have no knowledge of Divine Intention much less His last minute interventions. This is an ordinary day of September l8 in...