Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 9, 2012
At the Monday night poetry forum
we take turns behind the mic stand
like bartenders
trying for that alchemical mixology
that intoxicates the crowd just so,
their ears all bellied up to the acoustical bar:
on a base of quotidian narrative
toss in a dash of striking imagery
splash of metaphor
finish with a zest of alliteration
serve it up in sonorous smoothness
with no more, no less, than two skewered pauses
and let them take it in;
wait for that elusive reflex from the palette,
that "Mmm" that "Ahh"
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 8, 2012
Time again to wriggle from our old skins like snakes,
eyes milky with recycled promises:
newness, change, rebirth.
Hit the Reset button;
what was old is new again
just like that.
Can you blame us? After all,
our path around the sun, our tidy spinning days,
are circles.
Confetti and the shiny ball go down;
champagne bubbles and glasses rise
to greet the new year.
So we slither into position,
circle up the wagons,
eat our tails once more.
(for January 1, 2012)
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 7, 2012
He stared, level-eyed, at the other
“You have to do it for yourself, whatever it is,” he said to him.
“There is no one to please but yourself.
When you find you’ve been doing it for anyone else,
you’ve stepped off the path.”
Then he turned and moved away.
My image remained behind in the mirror
to consider my words.
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 6, 2012
a setting sun in my palm
red-gold beacon
at the end of a transformative journey;
I cannot help but be drawn to you
greedy treasure hunter
I tear down these painted walls
open the tomb
reveal the treasure
sunlight’s alchemy
bursts you forth
into golden bars;
a brief miracle
then my desire (or yours?) overcomes me;
only curling chips of paint remain
but I am glowing now—
you have consumed me
Submitted by Benjamin Gorman on January 5, 2012
It is as though in a dream—
or no, the way dreams are interpreted in film
clean, uncluttered, deliberate
I am standing before a wide picture window
outside: an empty parking lot, daylight
monotonous gray
from out of view at right
a carnation pink balloon appears
tumbles briskly, purposefully, to the left, disappears
my mind is stunned to stillness
by this unreal, mythic, symbolic event
the symmetry, the timing, the shock of color over gray
like a crashing wave, mind careens back into action
frenzied thoughts, analogies, explanations overlap—
oh, to return to the jubilant stillness!
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