Sunday, February 17, 2013

Mag 156 In Limbo

Wind of History by Jacek Yerka
 
The Mardi Gras
left residuals
loose change
loosed chains 
flood damaged futures
accelerated to ditch
 the ancestral domicile
awash to save
Grandma's
Turkey a la King
with dumplings
  while Gramdpa widdled the hours
 to the  right-hand side
of Westminister Chimes
in tattletale pieces
the rattlesnakes
gathered round
the broken table
strewn so piece-maille
strung like-confetti
weighing them down in the mire
once
all of them
perished the cherished newspaper
gossip by ragtime
windows aglowed by distant spark
hunting ghost-like apparitions
residual memory fields
vastly over-rated subterrean life 
never quite not salubrious
callous proof-readers with offers
coffers pro-offered to the barebones
slimy grind
heaped forgotten mattresses
metres high across the gloom 
brandishing tire iron-maidens
stillness
became
her
as the burning man brand
ignited latent passions
so as She kept silent
in the cubby by the keeping room
waiting to open the door of perception
once and for all
all for one
she swept the place
halls of  bad luck and slack with preamble
and now without prerequisite halos
She prayed for repartration
or at least a partition
a part to play please said She
addendum; the folcrum car
is stuck and causing
scattering of papers to and fro
no rhyme nor reason here
in Limbo
sterling silver flung
clear across the vestibular credenza
crescendo of broken crystal
She hung onto the hope that dead pictures
could rebirth themselves
horse-hair saddlers
barely there to rein 
black and white salve-like
histoical places
across the parish
of petal-pushers
 
She who was once wee Page
was on the same page
as the scallywags
hags from hell
flung by fury
here
to recover only brine
quickly to quiet rectory
turn over a slimy gold leaf
donner party quit
the bellyaching
earlier then on time
so soon Scalped Tickets had parted ways
She tired of the costant headhunting
pasted glittery masks on bloated faces
as Mississippi Stearmers had unglued them
at Inn on The Muddy Waters
breakfast in bed at 7 a.m. to 10 a.m.
no sir, no cover charge
after ten years of tear-gas stains
O' the Mural'd Walls!
in the dull anti-chambered hallway
going nowhere fast and then
 the new order of the day
bring on the hay
 
Chiccoreal
 
 
 

Mag 155 spitz&tongue

artwork by Joseph Lorusso
 
Coke tastes better with Spirit
at the spitz&tongue
and those purposeful hugs
yes
undulatingly urgent
hot breath
needed touch
pause for a coital moment
curled up
in the corner of the
corner restaurant
 
Chiccoreal
 

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Mag#154 Mind Your Library

Central Library, Manchester, U.K., by Robin Gosnall
 
Mind Your Library
 
In each room
dwells dirvishes
spinning their colours
in each room
the faculty
peers over bifocals
hushed "shhh"
atmospheric taste
of ages old Papyri
as coiled cortex touches
inked paperk'd polyglots
musk of musty sea air
ages old now 
leather bound with curled tongue
her ambience
all blue and gold
The Nightengale 
Sings the Songs of the  Nile
as crouch grass weaves
patterned shadows
on our feet
we enter here
 ahead to delve
ten to twelve
deep folds into
laconic whispers
where we never were
we find we are
where we will always find
the pleasant keyholder
spin your lights
multi-facet
glints on walls
our
crystal
colelction
houses
realms
and
reams
pages
kaleidoscope
circus
desert dwellers
bodes well for us
in our
new adobe
come home
&
please visit
@
Your local 
CENTRAL LIBRARY
in
MANCHESTER, UK
 find
room
 roam freely
here
 
~Chiccoreal~
 


Mag#153 She Spins Stratospheric Magic

Charlotte Gainsbourg, AnOther
 
She Spins Stratospheric Magic
 
Sound templates
recollect
now
these forner places
*
as  breezes
FLASH
 the zip buzz freezes ears
too close between them
something perhaps 
held together
the tight
SONIC BOOM
of sudden stratosphere
EXPLOSIION
OVER THE RUSKIE
in her maiden hair
spray-like
stood speechless
the flaccid facilitators
soon
all eyes on royal fascinators
forearmed forebearers
of
BEforewarned by the BEforewarners
to
highlight
to curse the endless
anew
fireworks
energy bursts
being brought home to bear
baby borne
of such intensity of sexual magic
to
impregnate the sun-spheres here
so octane on ozone fast 
come now, realize
how
high their perch
fever- pitched
comic SHRILL
of intense revelry
Drill-Sargent voices
in those uniforms
aBUZZ me
with
The  Lady's Gaia
intoxication
evoking the Green Field
Latent and Later
Her Massive
Libido-Powers of somewhat arcane Lovers
Ma Earth
rebirthed her Sun
as ONE
mystical marriage
of
UNIONIZED
SQUELCHers
THE ALL DAY
ON A
DEEP MOANING
HUM
SONG OF THE INCOMING WAVE 
to the tune
the beat of shaman drums 
stabbed with
bent forks
the tear of drumskins
pock marked earth
stabbing pain stuck
where tippy taps
found sound
the spin of tops and sufis
 centremost
dewy youthful
and
deep spin groovy
for the records
a cloud's reminder
of burned-in sun-effigy
matches corneal tears
*
she's our Ma
 Ms
centriFUGE
energy never dispensed
only
dispersed
roust about town
abit aboot
on the axis
of pub crawl
we had it all
now maybe
weary
dreary
 dismal
still we
could find
no evil here
~ <3 span="">
 
45 RPM Check it out;
~Chiccoreal~
 
 
 

Monday, February 11, 2013

Mag#152 "Just The Two of Us"

MAG 152
 
JUST THE TWO OF US
 
WE CAN MAKE IT
 
IF WE TRY
 
JUST THE TWO OF US
 
YOU AND ME
 
Chiccoreal
 
 
thanks to Bill Withers song
"Just The Two of Us"
 
JOIN THE HANDHOLDERS HERE; THANKS TESS~