Tag: poetry
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(Hillsborough River, Tampa, Florida, a quarter-mile upstream from the Save A Lot overpass.)
I. To the Santerían Woman on the Dock Across from Mine a. The Goat The first time I saw a goat up close was when you draped its headless body atop the current. Its hooves grazed the buoy of my crab trap before catching on the line. Ankle deep in blood-steeped brackish, you looked at…
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Parable of the Absent Mother
“There was a man who had two sons . . “ Luke 15:11 Her not being there was in everything. It was in their dinners together and in their sitting alone. It was in each of their bed times and in their getting up again. The younger boy was rudderless; the older one angry, always…
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The Edge of Causal Imagination
In the much-hyped muddle about data science and omniscient algorithms, causality has emerged as the latest beacon of a buzzword. The question of what causes what drives modern scientific enquiry with a relentlessness matched only by unscrupulous journalists looking for a sensational headline. (A point the webcomic XKCD drives with the incendiary headline about carcinogenic…
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Anselm Kiefer’s “Oh Stalks, Your Stalks, Oh Stalks of the Night”
From the editors at The Showbear Family Circus: Since submitting this essay, writer Michelle Mitchell-Foust has passed away. We extend our deepest condolences to Michelle’s loved ones and dedicate our current issue to her memory. A brief excerpt from her obituary appears below. “Michelle was a life-long learner.” Musgrove Mortuaries & Cemeteries Philosopher Hélène Cixous…
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Prodigals
He came to himself Luke 15:17 Jesus understood how a boy can take leave of himself – the soul drifting, propelled darkly along a descending string of poor choices but there can also be a coming home, as abrupt as Dorothy clicking her heals. Like David the king, who heard the words, “You are the…
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Spark
I sip the teas of prose and guzzle electrolytes of poems. I proselytize by the Shamanism of my native tongue; my inner, transcendent, mystical language. The dancing wick is never doused, sickly as it shivers. Inspiration hides itself, imagination rebels, creativity is inured. Recurrent chapters of stimulative destitution trigger the hunt. I attempt to thwart,…
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Digging for Gold
A lot of my life’s been spent searching for buried treasure. What I could weigh and measure digging for Gold. A box of poems, Hold some gold. My brother’s rendition of Heart and soul. Relationships, home. Within my self – Digging for gold. Clients, hard work, and wealth. We’re all digging for Gold and something…
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Charlotte’s Web
This spider is moving again. Rebuilding my web. Rebuilding my web. It is the web that we weave. The very sacred thread of our humanity. The web that we weave. The very fabric that clothes our society. The web that we weave. The web that we weave. It is more than just destiny manifest. From…
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Home
Through pensive eyes gazing at the gaping horizon which sings, I permit the sovereignty of nostalgia to saturate. Contemplatively, I stroll a garden in which roses smile all around me, dripping their wet jewelry gifted by the morning. At the top of a mountain resides a remote monastery sat upon by the narcissistic Sun, depicting…
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2 sets of Lilies Soon to Bloom
For my birthday, my boyfriend, bought me two bouquets of lilies. I placed the lighter, upstairs, in our bedroom. The smell of the darker set of lilies, it was muted, But the light ones’ exuded, aromatic perfume. The dark lilies, I left on a table downstairs. Those dark ones’ are torn, visual scars that they…
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Lamadrid
It is despair incarnated; it is disorder converted into sound; it is a translation of anger; it is anguish distilled into a black purity. A raging bull has composed this piece through flared nostrils. Horror has asserted its authority in a land of leaking sewers. This noise has emanated from his skull, a cemetery of…
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My Boy Vagary
My boy Vagary saved me And held me in his arms. I was 17 felt all alone but he was full of charm. Not alarmed when he drank my parent’s liquor. Did what we had to do to numb our open wounds. However we could lose ourselves more quickly. But the pain always returned to…