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(P2) Painting
2 Watercolor Paintings by Martin Bauman
("Untitled" and "Girl With Roses")
Bizarro Comic 3-6-14
Ed Coletti (Acrylic March 2014)
.JPG)
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(P3) Poetical
Check out this wise and witty poem by El Paso poet
Bobby Byrd in his recently released book
Otherwise, My Life Is Ordinary
In Memory of the Famous Poet, 2010
“Being a famous poet
Is not like being famous.”
—John Ashbery
If I moved three miles south into Mexico
(I live in El Paso)
I could be shot for being a poet.
In fact, I could be shot for being alive.
Dead, I would be innocent.
That’s what Amado Carrillo Fuentes said.
“Only the dead are innocent.”
He died on an operating table trying to get a new face.
He no longer wanted to be himself.
But Amado was not a poet.
He was a narco-traficante and a murderer.
A vicious and evil man.
Although now he is innocent according to his own definition.
Me, I could be dead for the sin of being a poet.
For the sin of being alive.
Guilty, as charged.
Maybe I would also be famous then.
At least for a couple of days.
My wife would be weeping on CNN.
She’d sell a few of my poetry books.
Cinco Puntos Press is crowd-funding
Here's a poem celebrating a pot of good beans.
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The Soul Is An Albino Alligator
Full -length mirrors doubling
and tripling
won’t hold back the search
into the torqued spirit,
intriguing and silent,
or burning like an overturned
car.
You yearn for nothing except
for a more satisfying yearning,
high octane, that could fuel a
souped-up skylark,
not a low-grade tawdry trip
through the
house of mirrors, mantled and
dis-
mantled by the carny types
that mother always warned
about.
One sits on a chair in the dirt
with a hand-held mirror putting
on her face
wearing bloomers and a bustier
while her fake city of coaster scaffolding
and hung kewpie dolls rises
around her,
the carny brothers
dangling cigarettes out their
mouths over
dry grass and generators.
She builds make-believe walls
around her
from thin air, acting like we
don’t see her
make herself up.
The air darkens and the search-
lights go up, caressing the
clouds,
suggesting that this is it,
this is what you’ve been meaning
to come to.
A lit wheel suspended in air
for a moment
allowing time for that kiss
you’ve been dying for.
Some snacks that could kill
your appetite until the next
day, at least.
Those lotus-cut onion blooms
swimming in a vat of bubbling
oil.
But your yearning is loftier
than all that.
Inspiration: to hear Brigitte Bardot
and her sidekick
sing “Bonnie and Clyde,” making
murder
and mayhem sound elegant if not
sexy.
To ride down the Florida Keys
in a side-
car with some hellion at the
driving wheel
searching for albino alligators
along sand blown train tracks
while shooting from the hip
for a soul retrieval half real.
- Amy Trussell
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Comment or Read Comments Here on any of the above or below. If you do not have a Google account, then log in by checking "Name/URL," (it's easy). Just the name (don't worry about the URL). Actual name is best, but use what you like. Or email me at edcoletti@sbcglobal.net, and I can post it.
