Tag Archives: poem

Poetry Contest Submission 4

Untitled

it was a business foot
massage, all elated business with some residual guilt,
like sunday school, like secrets.

the memories are these:
red polishthe
darkness, suddenstopping laughter
the way that it was painful
to think about:
a cut on the upper lip,
the way it
stings when you eat something
sour or
sweet.

business, it was called,
and business was
good
(when it wasn’t sharp or
nervous)
but the order, the chron
ology of it
was misshapen, unfixed
uncertain what parts were
toes or knees or chest
or mouthorhips

holding memories like a clock

to his chest to remind
it the right way to beat:

da dum. da dum.

“all business,” he muttered.
her laugh in the

dark.
small circles,
lungs heart waist
lower back,
hazy smiles like their mouths were floating
a fraction above their skin—

she hadn’t ever done this before,
she said, his hands on her
arches as he tried
to imagine her without any
skin. maybe she would offer him a
discount.
warm and dark
she fell back and he fell
forward,
smallcircles, uncertain, allbusiness.


Toast

Toast

He sits on a wooden bench in the park
And counts his out-lived minutes on a metaphorical watch
While he eats his lunch fresh from the trash can:
Pale green lettuce, a gritty tomato, and slick turkey
On hard toasted rye bread. The molding Swiss cheese sits at his side.
His watch ticks loudly—or rather,
The morning rhythmic beat of alcohol ticks loudly on his brain
And since no one is close enough to listen,
He offers up a toast to a tiny cratered moon
Intruding on the sun’s day.

-James Rose


Tres Meces

Tres Meces by Donald Guillen

Me deleito en tu mirada, suspirando tu aliento de amor

Caminando por tus arenales de sentimientos,

No sentirte me llena de clamor.

Veo en tus ojos,

Un paisaje con horizonte,

Lleno de felices fulgores esplendorosos.

Tu Caramelizada tonalidad de piel,

Embriaga todo mi ser,

Me derrito por saborear tu encantadora miel.

La noción del tiempo pierdo,

Al perderme en ti,

Te quiero.

¿Que valen tres?

Si no existen: segundos, días, meses, años,

¿Son tres meces mas que un mes?

Si solo eternidades constan,

En nuestros tiempos,

Donde pasiones de amor sobran.

La noción del tiempo pierdo,

Amor. Amor. Amor yo siento,

Lo mucho que te quiero.

-Donald Guillen


Bird-Girl

On a sunny day, I went walking
along newly thawed sidewalks,
stepping into fresh snow puddles.

Once, this all was white, but now
bits of green push up from under rocks
and at the tips of tree branches.

From the bottom of the hill
I spot skinny-legged boys
riding on wooden skateboards

and I think I hear music playing
from a garage or an open window,
but when I get closer, I see

it’s a girl sitting in a tree
and she stops singing when I
get near, just like a bird does.

Maria Dontas