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Saturday, July 28, 2018

Unpublishable Poems By Michael T. Smith

Michael T. Smith is an Assistant Professor of the Polytechnic Institute at Purdue University, where he received his PhD in English.  He teaches cross-disciplinary courses that blend humanities with other areas. He has published over 60 pieces (poetry and prose) in over 30 different journals.



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A Poem Excavated from Naked Lunch:





He turns
into Rock and Roll hoodlum.

"I screw

the old gash

like a crossword puzzle what relation to me is the outcome if it outcome? My father already or not yet?

I can't screw you, Jack,
you is about to become
my father,
and better
'twere to cut your throat and screw my mother playing it straight than my father or

vice versa

mutatis mutandis as the case may be,

and cut my mother's throat,

that sainted gash,



though it be the best way I know to stem her word hoard and

freeze



her asset. I mean when a fellow be caught short in the switches and don't know is he to offer up his ass


to 'great big daddy'

or commit a

torso job on his old lady. Give me two ---s and a prick of steel and keep your dirty finger out of my sugar bum what you think I am a purple-assed reception already fugitive from Gibraltar? Male and female


castrated he them. Who can't distinguish between the sexes? I'll cut your throat you white mother fucker. Come out in the open like my grandchild and meet thy unborn mother in dubious battle. Confusion hath his masterpiece, I have cut the janitor's throat quite by mistake of identity, he being such a horrible like the old man. And in the coal bin all cocks are alike."



Valentine

a heart, not so very distant
a heart, not so very distant
a heart, not so very distant
a heart not so very distant
a heart, NOT so very distant
a heart, not so very distant
a heart, not so very distant…

Friday, July 27, 2018

Just Be By Eve Harker

Eve Harker is a remarkably talented healer/creator who, with her husband Brian, also a remarkable artist, own and operate Luna Datura's Curious Gifts downstairs from Zombie Logic Press. Here she writes about battling the beast, depression. Today is the one year anniversary of Luna Datura's Curious Gifts.

JUST BE

It falls upon you like a soft down comforter.
It hides behind the illusion of safety and security.
It descends gradually like a light snowfall.
Gentle flakes drifting down and in their wake leaving a cold sensation.
All at once, where no sleep was to be had – too much sleep seems to be the standard.
It is never enough –
The sadness wells in your heart until it overflows and spills over
Tired
Lonely
Melancholy
A dulling of the senses
A desire to slumber countless hours
The mind in it’s infinite wisdom – will not shut off
Racing – interwoven with thoughts of
Isolation
Desolation
No sensation
A withering of the heart
Trying so desperately to protect its self
Wanting to shut down completely
Inability to function – or better yet – not wanting to function
A gray light falls over everything.
Where once was vivid and bright and full of life
Dark wings flutter around your peripheral vision
A sign that all is not well
The constant headache
The body aches
The consistent lethargy
All indicative of a soul crying out to be healed
A necessary part of healing though
Without grieving – one cannot heal
Many steps
Many roads
Many emotions
All required to be able to let go
Not allowing others to deter you from your path
But allowing them in – to aid and help
So hard
So extremely hard
The trying to not go it alone
But so hard to reach out and say
Hey – I am feeling really sad and down
That you don’t always have to be up
It’s ok
It really is
Be sad
Cry
Sleep
Cleanse your heart with the tears of an end to something
One cannot experience the next without releasing the last
Take your time
No time limits
No restrictions
No expectations
Just be
It’s really ok
Nurture and love yourself through this
Never deny yourself that
You cannot move on until you do
It IS ok
It’s a part of life
It’s a part of death
The death of something that you knew for so long
Why not mourn it?
Why not cry for it?
Being
Healing
It’s ok
It will always be ok
Never doubt that for one minute
There is hope
There is light
There is laughter
There is love
There is peace
There is a beginning
All in good time
Just never doubt what it is or kid yourself about it
It is an end to something
Everything has a start and a finish
And you must experience all of the emotions
Not just the ones that are convenient or “nice”
But all of them
The good
The bad
Depression IS healing
Is necessary
And it will pass
Just be…..




September 29, 2008
Luna Datura's Curious Gifts Rockford, Illinois

Poems By Richard Holleman

Richard Holleman is one of two poets we will feature today writing about how it feels to battle depression.


A Terrible Thing

It is a terrible thing
to be caught
under love
like under a rock
in Death Valley
where thirst sucks
your very breath.

It is a terrible thing
to worship the same photo
while waiting for that one day
different from all others
like that one rock
when struck gushes water
for this terrible thirst.

It is fortunate
for me I am only stirring
around in cognitive distortions.

What a relief
to be brimming
at the esophagus
with brown sickness
than to be in…

(Don’t you say it)

love.



Newport in Times of Many

A dog, a stray won’t make a neighborhood.
Some coral, wood, some drift are not a beach.
Are things not missing down the oldish town?
The fish won’t vend themselves with none to buy.

I remember the town had salt to it:
purchase, haggle, each walk an obstacle
through teeming crowds, bubbling over noise of birds.
For each merchant there popped ten ready smiles.

I recall families fishing on the pier,
the rusted, green tackles, the sweating box,
tuna inside. Locals are gone today,
inland the boys with dads and girls with moms.


Proximity Alert

A cigarette, a rum and coke,
strange refreshments
while nature stitches
tissue to tissue
shunning threat of
tobacco burns
or alcoholism.

I once thought
we were the same
tissue until
I was grafted
into an olive tree
wild but adopted
by a new root.

You and I thought
we tingled with the same blood.
We were simply breathing
in the same place
at the same time.
We mistook the fragrance
of tomatoes on the vine
for the fresh bond of love.
Yes, a happy mistake
corrected by the taste
of too many taboos
rubbing the tongue raw.


Keepsake

We must store these things
in a strongbox separate
from chest, skin, pulse.

Funny, the size of things.
The world will not fit in a box
but my tattooed world is small
enough to fit inside you;
when you move my world
moves in your femurs
like marrow in your bones.

Was it a mistake leaving
something as large as
my world in your body?

Maybe,
but even so, I say
keep this world in you.
It stores the best of me
and maybe it will bring
out the best in you.


Things That Cannot Stand The Light Of Day

I have crumpled
my last apology letter
you will never read.
I would mail it to you
in its wrinkled imperfections
but I do not trust you
with my return address.

Our soggy sand castle in Carlsbad
is now back to its original form.
It is just wet, white sand.
What a day that was!
We were arrogant enough
to believe we had built something
worthy on a shifting foundation
on this temporal side of heaven.

Forgiveness will have to come
from another place, foreign to you.
Closure will have to come
from another place, foreign to me.
And healing will come
from a place we have yet to discover.