Tag Archives: #poetry
the poet sits beside me
Magnolia
words by Russ Daum images by Abbie Foxton
Will the revolving, transformative patterns of life
reassure us the mystery rhythms of flowers still exist?
If one finds herself within a flow
of white, pink and purple circles,
intoxicating aromas all around,
will she, instead, distrust what she finds?
Walk away from what is pleasant?
Break the line?
Choose to resist and be broken?
Bees remind us to hover.
To buzz among stained glass hours
and relish existence.
Land in proper spaces.
Find what is needed and transition to better.
I wonder…
Can you not hear the natural colors of chimes ring in the air?
Can you not feel vibrations
of layered loops of musical blossom’s flow?
Or are you deaf and minus the sense of touch?
These white, pink and purple accordions
will soon lie spent upon the earth,
detached in 3/4 time.
A hidden spell broken with a rhyme.
An enchanted waltz today.
Bright Height Of Noon
Image – Abbie Foxton
Words – Mark Goodwin
You can hear Mark’s poetry on Soundcloud, he also curates Air To Hear, a collective for serious admirers of ‘Sound-Enhanced Poetry or Digitally Produced Sound-&-Poetry’ from around the world.
Steps, tracks his thoughts, pausing on the landscapes inside him, conjuring a word-song of sound.
the hinge
Image – Abbie Foxton
Words – Mark Goodwin
You can hear Mark’s poetry on Soundcloud, he also curates Air To Hear, a collective for serious admirers of ‘Sound-Enhanced Poetry or Digitally Produced Sound-&-Poetry’ from around the world.
Steps, tracks his thoughts, pausing on the landscapes inside him, conjuring a word-song of sound.
Image – Abbie Foxton
Words – Aksania Xenogrette
Aksania Xenogrette is a virtual performance artist. He regularly performs spoken word that he writes from his birdland bunker. You can read more of his brilliant prose and poetry at his fictionaut site, tumblr and at violetsprite.com .
the wood where I carved your name, that five coats of paint couldn’t cover
the eaves spoke a cigarette, ‘do we take it for granted that we will write poetry forever’
what to do on a sunday
stumbled into a brickworks happening, grabbed a brew from the bottle-o cause it seemed only natural, dj all boom shack-a-lack, loud blankets down teasing, what we can and can’t, chess kicks to the dance inevitable, stage is set, just a square that juts, so fit in, this is the spot, ripe strawberries, boozy brown paper bags and some grass to lie in, clouds and the sun our lightshow, so play on.
urban f 