GA Archives - Page 17 of 34

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: The Woman and the Razor Blade of Man

September 19, 2014 by lovelornpoets

It's All in the Lather (The Saturday Evening Post) by Internet Archive Book Images

It’s All in the Lather by Internet Archive Book Images

Wearing a dress made from her parent’s credit
cards, and clutching a handbag made of next
month’s rent, a beautiful girl with perfect hair
stands in front of Marc Jacobs on Main Street–
coveting what she cannot have. In several
years, she will hurry past wearing leggings
and a leotard, drinking coconut water and
carrying a yoga mat.
Maybe, by then, she would have married
and raised two kids; maybe, her husband
would end up being less than she hoped for;
maybe, she will catch him cheating and
push him out of a 25th floor window.
Maybe, she will be in jail for murder. Maybe,
as she told the judge, “it was worth it’.
Or, maybe, none of this will have happened,
and she would have forged a glittering career
in public relations or have her own show on
television. Maybe, she would have fallen in
love with a photojournalist and given it all up
to become a UN Ambassador. Maybe, he will
die too soon, and leave her a widow. Maybe,
she will be so heart-broken, that she will never
love again. Maybe, she will pour her grief into
writing a memoir that empowers not only women,
but the entire human race; maybe, one overcast
afternoon she will give a commencement speech
that brings down the roof of every glass house;
and when she is attacked from the right and
the left by the zealots and the bigots–she will
be strong; she will not waver; she will be the
embodiment of grace; and she will prevail.
All I know, with any certainty, is that most
of this will come to pass with me sitting
here in my underwear trying to decide
if I should shave, or not.

-Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

Funny how the smallest of details can make the biggest difference. Maybe, it’s all in the lather.

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: All Of It

September 5, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Me in Summer Window by Blanca

For all of it: The slight
of hands, and the sideways glances,
the easy lies, and the broken promises.
For all of it: The shallow breathing, and the
unsaid; the unforgiven, and the violence.
For all of it: The chaos, and the medicine,
the rub of things, and the consequences.
For all of it: The salt lips, and the summer
dresses, the bruised fruit, and the last chances.
For all of it, I wouldn’t change
a thing. Except, maybe, the timing.

–Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

We often speak of being, “in the right place at the wrong time” but doesn’t that suggest looking at events generally considered positive through a lens of regret? What if, instead of wishing to alter what has already come to pass, we simply look into the glass, capture the moment, and continue forward. “Do-overs” only ever exist in our minds.

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: As Far As My Eyes Could See

August 11, 2014 by lovelornpoets

and then he went east… by Jes

As far as my eyes could see–
past the Belgium Café and the
Korean deli; past the hairdressers,
the fancy flower store, the French
restaurant, and the Chinese laundry;
past the ugly new apartment building,
the Rite Aid pharmacy, and the
children’s playground–I could see
her coming, but still I could not
get out of the way.

–Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

“The question is not what you look at, but what you see.” ― Henry David Thoreau

and sometimes, you find yourself wishing you could just look the other way…

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: Kind Of Love

July 25, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Breathing Like a Spaceman by mindgallery

On the way to the grocery store
this morning, I fell in love.
It wasn’t the marrying kind of love,
or even the fucking kind of love.
It was the kind of love whose shadow
stays with you for the rest of your life.
The kind of love that poems are made of.
The kind of love that takes the kind
of courage you don’t have.
The kind of love that makes you skip
a step but keep walking.
The kind of love that, once you buy
a pint of milk and a loaf of bread,
makes you treat yourself to some
fancy marmalade.

–Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

Bison Jack (Savannah) and mindgallery (Brooklyn) have been posting poetry on the MC for years, and I’ve saved many of their poems during their brief appearances online. However, this is the first time one writer’s poem reminded me of work by the other. I discovered “Breathing Like a Spaceman” back in 2010, and it’s re-appeared with slight edits under other titles, but it still remains one of my favorites. I don’t typically place two poems in one post but in this instance, both complement each other in such a lovely way. Step into the sunlight, laugh, and enjoy some fancy orange marmalade. It’s summer, still.

Breathing Like a Spaceman

I walked out at my stop on the f train this morning
and saw him playing his plastic keyboard
filling the station with a soundtrack for
the new day

as I climbed the stairs, I heard him say
I hope you fall
in love

and as I stepped into the sunlight
I realized I was laughing
and I was

light

Lovelorn Poet in Savannah, GA: Lay A King

July 14, 2014 by lovelornpoets

Pawns by His Noodly Appendage

His eye began to swell shut. A rivulet of blood traced
the contour of his face and formed a tear on his chin.
He could hear his heartbeat and smelled the burning
dust of the central heating. A bird crashed into the dining
room window. He heard the thud of the newspaper
landing on the front porch–but he couldn’t open his
mouth to ask for help. He wondered if this was the end;
undone at 71 years old by the chord of a vacuum cleaner.
The phone rang briefly; then hung up. An ice cream
truck turned into his street, and distanced itself. Beneath
the sofa he saw a few pine needles gathered in the curl
of an old post-it note. Nestled against the back leg was
a forgotten pawn and inches away–waist deep in the
blue polyester carpet–lay a king. He thought about
the bird that crashed into the window. He thought
about the symmetry. He wondered if the bird was
dead, or laying on the ground undecided like him.
He thought about what he might have done differently.

–Bison Jack

Her Two Cents

“I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind-and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.” ― William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying

« Previous Page