POETS ON SITE

on the paintings of

Fereidun Shoktofard

PamelaA. Babusci Lana Hechtman Ayers

Alex Nodopaka Erika Wilk

Kath Abela Wilson

Preview Edition 2 Sunday morning Dec 18, 2011

©POETS ON SITE

2011  

 

Untitled 1

Kath Abela Wilson

the dragon of time open –mouthed feeds on the history a people their attractive language carved in iceberg and mesa Erika Wilk  

Vrrrm, Vrrrm his lips vibrate with excitement as he gets ready for a make believe journey into space in urgent delirium he doesn’t realize pollutants spilling into our green world he’s in a dream one watchful eye observes his actions makes sure he comes back to earth

Alex Nodopaka

Untitled Soliloquy #1

My favored hue is blue green. In techno jargon it’s cyan or untamed emerald. Hospital walls once were painted a popular lime until I met a woman who hated avocado and sorbet. They reminded her the color of envy and jade until we settled for Martinis with olives. We cogitated about politics cloaked in military green suspecting each other of being sleeper plants in need of much chlorophyll. But ethical vegans we were not. We feasted on each other until our tongues turned verdigris making possible this colorful story about a yellow colored woman when soon after mating her I envisioned sculpting her. But instead I woke to copper acids and hydroxides for germicides trying to get rid of the patinas she tattooed on me as souvenirs.

Untitled 2

Lana Hechtman Ayers

In My Dreams I Draw Circles But None of Their Edges Touch I wait for word from you. Is your new place free from crooked trees? Free from those who steal your blood prick by prick? Are you eating almonds glazed with honey, the resurrected teeth sharp and sturdy? I have heard of yellow skies, of wind becoming ravens. And do you walk again, Mother, where you are, legs strong as stones, steps light as smoke? I imagine you singing Andrews Sisters’ hits as if they were your own, refusing autographs. Our dog with yellow fur crouches by your heels. Your newly healed son brings you useful trinkets, coffee mugs and ashtrays What news do you want of me? Since you died my books have become deserts, regret swarms my throat like hornets. I speak now only in whispers, each syllable a damp match.

Erika Wilk

A tumble into the pit of crushed foliage whoopee, he cries thankful of the soft landing leaves fluttering all around  

  

Kath Abela Wilson  

The Birth of Language

the sunbeam comes in the window of memory it spills onto the yellow page of childhood new characters from hidden depths leap into being like hotsprings bubble into the future sun moon and stars are born into the child’s imagination jump in exclamation over lines into the wrinkled present new constellations tell the story of inherited passion she skips with her treasures through a life of wonder

  

 

 

Untitled 3

Erika Wilk They walk he on horseback lance raised high to show his dominance Mary and Josef know the way leads to safety question not the cause of their flight

 

Kath Abela Wilson

out walk the humans the blue solitude of each one awaits the celebration of dawn and dusk still in the making this ceremony of sky believing in their bodies naked and fragile in the beginning and the end full of imagination they walk bravely the earth shapes them like stars like fish erect animals with stories dripping with forgetfulness out walk the humans

Pamela A. Babusci

Soul Mates you & i are not just dreamers lost & wandering in space we are soul mates each heart intertwined & aflame within the infinite cosmos walking towards the brilliant light dancing among a myriad of stars drifting on clouds of diamond moondust

gathering pure moonbeams & sailing into the departing sun of magenta reveries you & i fused body to body spirit to spirit soul to soul flowing arm in arm into the endless vast skies walking to the most distant misty blue horizon until we disappear into nirvana

 

 

Untiled 4  

Kath Abela Wilson The Birth of Poetry a dandelion flower head floats into my yellow dream years of wishing seeds disperse

the gold future of dandelions fill the rooms of my life growing rainbow crystals of possibility like a mystery petals pressed are lips about to speak they open like a word like a poem ERIKA WILK  

An earthen vessel that holds the candle is covered with drips of melted wax it presses toward another for support offering more light to those who need to see

 

 

Untitled 5

Erika Wilk

Standing waiting to be judged her innocence illuminated Kath Abela Wilson dragonfly moment the wish to be finally so unencumbered by beginnings to taste the fleeting gold of sky and water to be the sound of wings

 

Untitled 6

Erika Wilk Exquisitely he stands proud whip at his side watches the exodus of his people the child cant decide sits by a marker were blood was shed the country wails leave or fight to de-throne the tyrant

Untitled 7

 

 

 

Erika Wilk Yellow eyes look at me as if to hypnotize I steady my gaze on his bloody face a recent kill has left its mark I fear him not he is well sated now but others do protest against his presence he has betrayed us they shout and want him gone oh beautiful, majestic wolf how loved you were, once what will become of you what has become of you