FARES, PLEASE    [Stefanie Bennett]

 

 

All journeys begin in the sleep-worn

Valley of naughts and crosses;

Double innuendoes – and

The price of a one-way ticket.

 

Odysseus, alter ego of the self

Ghosts in with ass and oxen

To warn, “Whatever you tell

Will be held against us”.

 

Surely! But, my armour was always

Loosely fitted; the beggar

Disguise overtly tight.

Have I confused you? That

 

Wasn’t my intention. Why – you could

Go back to

‘Next station’s yours’:

There at least I expound –,

 

‘Fares please!’

Mine is a life-pass.

 

 

 

THE ANGEL    [Stefanie Bennett]

 

 

Light the pipe

Of strife,

It will not

Harm you...

 

Peace, coiled

By a human-

Cloud

May lift

 

A million

Angry men

To “go”

- Tell it

 

Like a joke.

The “fear’s”[?]

... Natural.

 

 

 

SPOOF, IN PROGRESS   [Stefanie Bennett]

 

 

Quickly, Pablo! Invert the canvas... Upon us

Attests the ‘Book of the Dead’. *

Add crocus yellow

Spiked with garnet

To line her eyelash before

The flash of life fades.

Rouge, I tell you, won’t soften

The cheek. Instead

- Fashion the brow’s panorama

And dimple a linden reed

That pipes melodic.

 

Master of the cuneiform palette...

Let’s forfeit

The signature corner.

“Guernica”

And our Philadelphia

Vixen are

Companionable.

 

 

(*Muriel Rukeyser)

Bill Clinton, the first Black President,
During his tenure we got "Three Strikes,"
     Opening the door for the burgeoning Prison-Industrial Complex,
With African Americans receiving a disproportionate number of "likes."

 

     He also oversaw NATO expansion,
Gobbling up former Warsaw Pact members for the organization's lunch,
     Breaking promises made when the Cold War ended,
Intervention in non-members' business - all putting Putin's panties now in a bunch.

 

     Have we forgotten he failed to "take out" Osama?
Setting up 9/11 and the excuse for Bush 43's wars,
     Kissing his fiscally responsible handling of the deficit and debt goodbye,
All because the Lewinsky affair strained his relationship with the Gores!

 

     And then there's the repeal of Glass Steagall,
The roots of the Great Recession of 2008,
     Free flowing financing blowing bubbles, "lucky" seven years later,
Stocks flying high, deals done daily...Sound familiar? Same fate?

 

     Why in the world with many of today's problems stemming from the policies of his Administration,
Would Democrats nominate Hillary and get Bill back in the "twofer" deal?
     It takes a Clinton to finally clean up after one?
Knowing where the bodies are buried not enough to stamp "that woman" with the Presidential Seal!

 

Karen Ann DeLuca

THE DISTANT SUN       [Stefanie Bennett]

 

 

There’s no need to substantiate

The highs and lows

That expediency delivers –:

 

Like a spent postcard –,

 

Revival of The Ancients –,

 

An untitled sonatina

 

Or ...

 

The licensee means-testing

A solitary snapdragon

Thrashing

In the shade’s

Withered

Loop.

 

 

TOUCH       [Stefanie Bennett]

 

You say I’ve burgled

The heart,

Telescoped

The vision,

Conducted, made

Magic,

Of lineage!

 

This is an admission

I’ll not shy from –.

 

There was once

A carpenter

Who ‘stood

Accused’

... Knew what

These

Nails

 

Were for.

 

 

TALLY       [Stefanie Bennett]

 

They stepped lightly about

The indelible divide

- Past the voiceless harp

And into the parlour of days

 

Where a drift of incense

Encircled the hat-rack

And the begonia,

Grim and proper

                        Dropped

Its truce...

 

None came out.

None stayed.

 

 

IMMERSION    [Stefanie Bennett]

 

... A brief encounter with

The nonplussed society

 

Is as die-hard as the text

Of William Burroughs,

 

The bunion of a pre-

Darwinian rostrum

 

And the efflorescent

Mayan taciturn

 

That’s traded

Irritatingly bereft.

 

Instead –, let’s all be

Indebted to

 

The Fates’ unequivocal

Silver tongue

 

... And time’s

Wild honey.

Truth

Truth is an underbelly

that not many people

ever want to look at.

It sounds good in the abstract-

people always seem to clamor for it,

to demand that they be given it

from those on high.

But when the rubber meets the road,

that is to say,

when the shit hits the fan,

there just aren’t a whole lot

of people brave enough, willing enough,

intelligent enough, to face it, to

deal with it in all its Awesomeness.

The truth hurts, and that’s the truth.

Most people would rather have

the little white lie

that helps them fall asleep at night,

telling them everything is alright,

rather than acknowledge the truth

of the matter, which is that

everything is not alright.

War is the truth.

Famine is the truth.

Poverty is the truth.

Death is the truth.

But people want to live forever,

so they hide from the truth,

they ignore the truth, until that

final breath when the truth comes

calling, whether they like it or not.

Truth is a destructive force;

it tears down all the fake plastic walls

that people build up around

themselves all their lives.

Truth can be a bastard and a bitch,

remorseless; without emotion, it

trudges its way forward through

time and space, taking no prisoners.

Truth does not hold hands;

it doesn’t play patty-cake.

Truth is a sharp knife;

it cuts with absolute precision.

Truth is the most powerful force

in all existence,

and that is why it is scary as hell.

Truth does not play favorites;

it doesn’t care about petty trivialities

such as skin color, political leaning,

or how much cheese someone

has stored away for a rainy day.

Truth is an Apocalyptic fire;

it is a final Revelation;

it is an end and a beginning.

Scott Thomas Outlar

Truth

Truth is an underbelly

that not many people

ever want to look at.

It sounds good in the abstract-

people always seem to clamor for it,

to demand that they be given it

from those on high.

But when the rubber meets the road,

that is to say,

when the shit hits the fan,

there just aren’t a whole lot

of people brave enough, willing enough,

intelligent enough, to face it, to

deal with it in all its Awesomeness.

The truth hurts, and that’s the truth.

Most people would rather have

the little white lie

that helps them fall asleep at night,

telling them everything is alright,

rather than acknowledge the truth

of the matter, which is that

everything is not alright.

War is the truth.

Famine is the truth.

Poverty is the truth.

Death is the truth.

But people want to live forever,

so they hide from the truth,

they ignore the truth, until that

final breath when the truth comes

calling, whether they like it or not.

Truth is a destructive force;

it tears down all the fake plastic walls

that people build up around

themselves all their lives.

Truth can be a bastard and a bitch,

remorseless; without emotion, it

trudges its way forward through

time and space, taking no prisoners.

Truth does not hold hands;

it doesn’t play patty-cake.

Truth is a sharp knife;

it cuts with absolute precision.

Truth is the most powerful force

in all existence,

and that is why it is scary as hell.

Truth does not play favorites;

it doesn’t care about petty trivialities

such as skin color, political leaning,

or how much cheese someone

has stored away for a rainy day.

Truth is an Apocalyptic fire;

it is a final Revelation;

it is an end and a beginning.

Getting on the Level

The most important

realization/revelation

I have ever experienced

was when I was struck

by the fact

that I didn’t need

to worry

about being alone,

that I didn’t need

to look

at every female

who was attractive

as being a potential

bedmate,

soul mate,

or womb for my seed.

Once I was able

to look at every person

as being just another person,

all the subconscious worry

just melted away

like butter.

Sweet butter, singing like a symphony

from the stars

into my soul.

Once I was able

to stop putting

every attractive female

on a pedestal,

I was able to rise

and come in contact

with the high sound

of the holy spheres.

In a Pinch

When the stage lights go on,

whether it’s full stadium lighting

or just a single spotlight,

to state it simply,

there are those who are ready,

and there are those who aren’t.

Those who aren’t

tend not to matter much;

they might get laughed

or booed off the stage,

but that’s about it;

no real lasting memory is created

in the mind or heart

of anyone who saw the performance,

or, more to the point, lack of performance.

They simply disappear beneath the waves of history.

Those who are ready to answer the call

come in all shapes, sizes and styles.

Some of them seize the moment,

come out with both barrels blazing,

and basically own the place

from bell to bell.

Some start off more slowly,

work the crowd, get a rising tempo going,

build up to a crescendo, and then

bring the hammer down for a

grand finale.

Some do just enough

to keep the edge on,

never rising too high

or dipping too low,

just keeping a steady tension throughout.

Maybe what it all comes down to is this:

Who is in control of the light switch?

Co-Dependent

and now everyone else is dead

and you are old

and wrinkled

and are nothing

without the others who are all dead

Scott Thomas Outlar

SLEEP AT LAST

The night is charm school,

Is rent monies paid.

It's me in my armor

with the feel of wool,

pajamas floating across my body

like clouds in the permanent state

of about to land.

The night needs

only breath for substance,

and gentle stuff at that,

the ripple kind,

the rustling lake surface

that soaks away dirt,

buries sweat.

The day's like

a crime that's been committed.

Sleep is the cops arriving,

this body, the perfect weapon

with its chamber-full of stillness,

Arms crunched into my body,

I keep the turmoil

from getting at the chaos,

but allow space enough

for dreams to pass on through.

WHAT IF

What if

all that kisses and touches

should turn to stone,

Medusa's eye-print on the couple

in the car, or strolling through the park,

or rolling on the bed.

I’d still risk it, even blind, deaf, dumb,

as crippled as a statue.

And then if, frozen, we screamed out

inside ourselves, that cry lost in marble,

in granite, in a church wall, a building's foundation.

I’d shriek until my throat burned,

keep on believing you would hear me.

They could ship us anywhere:

one in city center anchoring a fountain,

the other in the wilderness,

crumbling into earth's catch-all.

But I’d still be feeling it,

still be fighting it.

Yes, these are the days when anything could happen:

spontaneous combustion, elephant stampede,

second coming, black hole.

Love's under threat

from ways you can't imagine.

You can't die of it

but it can die of you.

THE SETTING

Comes the night,

the sun sinks in the lake,

leaves a rippling scarlet wake.

It drops down over mountains,

paints the white tips.

It disappears somewhere

inside the windowpane,

streaks the glass.

Mantle souvenirs swallow it,

the orange Eiffel Tower,

the golden silver dollar.

My parents clink their glasses.

A star melts in the wine.

From gleaming rug

to ruby walls,

the room's a resting place

for fire, for light

On the coffee table,

that orb descends in photographs,

a most revered dwelling place,

grandparents’ ruby eyes.

Up in my room,

I capture sunset

in the pages of a crimson book,

bleeding Stevenson,

wounded Pyle.

The red world is brief

but beautiful.

For a time we live color,

thwart the ageless black.

John Grey

DEUCE for Aurelius Piper      [Stefanie Bennett]

 

When he whispers incantations

Across the ceremonial pit

In late winter

The last snow-drift

Orbits the tree tops

Like smoke

On a morning stroll

Headed towards

Infinity’s skylight.

 

Praise abounds. The sun soars.

Raven gives a jocular

Caw matched by

The smiling Elder

                            Who has

My father’s eyes

                            And more.

 

With hands wide open

We spread

The wealth.

 

 

THE PLEDGE...       [Stefanie Bennett]

 

                         (The danger of the road

                         is not in the distance)

 

                                             Meng Chiao

 

He did not like the shape of its handle, nor

Suitcases that opened unaided at night.

Favour was furlongs apart –,

Sentiment, rot-wracked clay

 

[The way of the loose wristed potter...].

 

      Error’s triad may say –, “Those

      Who’ve never belonged

      Within belonging

                                 Cannot fit

      The given whole...”

 

Perhaps that’s why the handle held fast,

And the suitcase –, knowing

Pity –, swallowed

A stranger.

 

 

LEGEND             [Stefanie Bennett]

 

At precisely five o’clock

Each afternoon

Old aerograms, like

Blue-green butterflies,

Surge round her head

 

... Decades in front of

Yesterday’s false ceilings,

And betwixt the immediate

Flood-light’s

Festival obscura:

 

Such wanton abandonment!

The collector

Carousels

And grasps

The irresolute voice-strokes,

 

Bows and vows

A bygone

               Allegiance.

Who hasn’t been there (?)

Will be there

Once again

 

... “Good-night South-East Asis,

Turkey, Berlin...”.

Actualised, she’d

‘Drop the pilot’

                        If only

She know how.

 

 

THE CLASH       [Stefanie Bennett]

 

What simplicity –,

God is.

What simplicity –,

Buddha too.

 

The equation! Both

Exist –, make

One of

The mould –:

 

Who’s there

To be fooled... ?

Who thought up

The disguise ?

panacea

 

are they fresh or rotten?

ripe with love?

juicy with joy?

they polish your lips and insides:

the cherries of their kidneys, the peaches of their bladder

the pomegranates of their liver, the raisins of their heart

 

dressed fashionably in cellophane

perfumed with pesticides

soon they’ll be out of season

they desperately pimp themselves

to fill your fickle shelves

 

hurry and eat them

before they hemorrhage sickly sweet

please don’t scrap them

to be assimilated by eerie possums

 

removed with forceps

from a tree in labor

born to be groped and sampled

they marry some dashing vegan

not some bloodless omnivore

 

puree them into a shake

kindly imbibe

just don’t wipe them from your mouth

 

they live on your tongue and …

in your spirit.

James Mirarchi

LEXIGRAPHY PASTE-UP, The Times      [Stefanie Bennett]
 
 
She said
 
- "Trash is for
The lesser God's
Keeper."           
 
He reasoned
 
- "And tomorrow
Is back
Where we found it."
 
In the streetlight's
Hamstrung glare...
 
The shrew sits
Beside
The shot-glass
Prophet
 
... And
 
Between them
Eddies
The crucified
Air.
 
 
BLING 2, Documentation     [Stefanie Bennett]
 
 
At world's end, and the voice
Of birds a pandemonium,
Something peculiar
Is happening to poets -.
 
They don't
Feel well,
 
Their appetite's
Abated and
 
The citadel of song's
Off-key.
 
Blows may follow. If
You will
 
Stay sober, stay
Serene -,
 
Play pat-a-cake with
The screech-owl
 
In God's sweet acre.
 
 
CHANCE - After 'Kikahu'     [Stefanie Bennett]
 
 
Didn't you know, we get
What we don't deserve
The precise
Moment
Vulcan rocks
                    Fall
About-face
To tell it
The way it is
- A saffron
"No Chorus"
 
Sound...
 
 
OFFERING      [Stefanie Bennett]
 
 
I'm to blame -.
I was born
A nondescript
Rhythmist
Repeatedly drumming
A tin plate
With a wooden spoon.
 
It can't get
Any better
Than
        That..., It's
 
What you do with
What you've got.
 
 

I Dwell in Milk

NOW

I AM SPEAKING

I AM ART

THE SKY IS ONE WITH
MY VISION
MY VISIONING
MY VISIONARY SOUL

I HAVE TRANSCENDED
                                                      to what?
I ask the ether
TO NOWHERE
                                                      is [her] answer
WHERE EVERYTHING IS HAPPENING
AT ONCE
I see it all—
                                    or I can tell what's missing
I AM TRUSTWORTHY
                                                           for
                                                        the first
                                                          time
I (EXIST) PURELY WITH EVERYONE
I AM BEAUTIFUL
ALONE
TOGETHER
EVER
EVER

I saw the sun fall past the horizon
screaming out the name

I HAVE BURNED AT THE EDGE OF THE WORLD

I AM MITHRA

I
BRING
BACK
FIRE
TO
LIGHT

If I don't get out there soon, I'll die II

You know she's calling to me,
great siren of the west,
yellow flower, desert rose,
mountain girl, and I'm
looking for those pacific blue
eyes, those endless cerulean swells,
I'm ready to answer the call,
I need my foot on that pedal,
that white-lined road,

You know I'm calling to her,
golden haired beauty,
pioneers dream, snow
white dress, and she's
looking for me to make it,
singing her song,
blearing that blue sky to heaven oh,

you know,
you know—

If I don't get out there soon, I'll die—

10:17

powers down
blood moon behind
thick rain clouds
soaked this morning
right arm left arm
bandana under hat
waited up, couldn't see
eclipse through heavy
sky, what a waste, what
a har-har-something-somerthing
argher-hargh-argh-sumetin-
hag-aw-well, sleep outside
sleep on stomach dream crash
nightmare see thought like those
thoughts you get moments before
sleep come like crashing waves
images bleeding into each other
like reading a story and seeing the
picture in your head, at night tonight
in the night I am hearing this and seeing
in steady streams what I am believed to see

every morning I look at my bed and think, "I
should cover the mattress with a sheet," and every
night I look at the bed thinking nothing and fall asleep.

Beneath the Bear

Old light, tired light,
alright, I brought
the rain, pour out my
soul, bear rips open
heart from chest and I,
bedraggled, not reading
in that poetry voice but
from that voice in my head/
heart, audience isn't there,
it's like every trip fantasy
I've ever had,
there is no individual reality
in a reality entirely individual,
the bear roars to heaven,
I worry about the tone of
my voice, the whine, I
grab my hat, act it out,
it's damp inside, raining out,
I've gotten through seven pages,
I've said my piece, I
exit without saying thanks.

So this happened.

She asked her
friend not to tell, "Please
don't tell anyone," she said,
watching a group throw Frisbees
out on the lawn, on the freshly
mowed lawn, in the freshly
bright sun, she whispered,
"come on," and "I'll be right
back," she ran out onto the grass,
jumped up, caught one of the
spiraling disks, tossed it back,
there was another group of girls
I couldn't hear what they were
saying to each other, they were
too far away. While she was gone
her friend sat quietly eating her
lunch, blond hair braided in
pigtails, she looked up every
now and then, until she walked
back over, when she sat back down
they didn't really talk, for maybe
five minutes they didn't say a word,
"see," her friend said, "yeah," she said,
then they decided to meet before
finals started, sometime next week,
"I'll text you," she said and then, "did
you see that thing I posted?" as she walked
away, "no," her friend said, then
resumed eating her lunch.

Tom Pescatore