Thursday, January 29, 2009
by Kaylie McTiernan
Infinite water surrounds me,
The Azorean sunset's passion manifests itself,
The secret ocean hides the wind's whistling might,
Almost forgotten is the wildly jumping jerboa,
The arctic blue narwhal's unicorn-like majesty is concealed,
Dreams of the tranquil stream are distant,
An overwhelming desire surges,
The Red Sea flooded irises gaze back into mine,
Endless water envelops me,
Fiery winds break the ocean with whistling might,
The Venus Flytrap does not snap shut,
No graceful Siberian tiger perches, awaiting its prey,
A blood-red sunrise pierces,
No dream of the tranquil stream,
The Red Sea flooded irises devour mine.
Monday, January 12, 2009
by Alex Rasmussen
The cars all grind to a stop:
one can feel the pressure mount
in ripples through the pavement.
There is, of course, the usual mix of models:
the lumbering herds of Ford Explorers,
the fleet and solitary Dodge Stratuses.
And, of course, most idle
greasy unclean and festering
under the midday sun.
Coffee stains polka-dot every seat.
There is no hurry, no
scurrying through traffic lights,
no joyriding carful of teenagers.
There is no haze of exhaust fumes
through this dissipated air.
But in the breakdown lane
the stolen car with the burnt-out
headlights stalls, its abductor
in a panic with
manic groping sweaty fingers
twisting the impotent key
like the wrist of some
staunch deviant offender
in the ignition
sweating out the crawling, pricking barbs:
the brute caress of freedom.