The creek’s water stopped flowing arcing to reach outside its bed and up against the pear tree,
Category Archives: Poem
Montreal Roof at 7, Réveillé
Redless black morning chimney mount; a two-dimensional relief stamped on white-blue sky. With ventilated hat, in brick composure the ragged outline of domestic industry stands upright, dormant while altocumulus float beyond, sunrise igniting their pink.
15 February 2009
|
By Joshua Chalifour
|
Posted in Moments, Poem
|
Tagged chimney, montreal, sunrise
|
Comments (0)
Politician’s Lament
I got something the other day. After a glass of x knows what and four men had to haul the logs out of the corner, we all might say we got something— But really, it was I, I got it. It started when the king fell over. “No way to play chess” I said, referring …
6 October 2008
|
By Joshua Chalifour
|
Posted in Poem
|
Tagged authenticity, character study, politician
|
Comments (0)
Midnight Lost its Magic, #1
Midnight lost its magic. The parties decease without happiness just Boredom. A skinny, unwashed boy yells at the wrong windows. He’d serenade her if he could find her. Doesn’t matter that he can’t since any other window’ll do
20 February 2008
|
By Joshua Chalifour
|
Posted in Poem
|
Tagged love, magic, midnight, serenade
|
Comments (0)
Meditation, Passage Climbing a Good Hour
On the night before, I slept very little to ensure I’d sleep the next night. That next night held a flight–an entire night mixed up with invisible hands batting our poor vessel about the sky. Piano sound carries itself winking uponaround three flights of interwoven logs: Trees petrified in preservation of paint and stoic service. It …
Cheering Absurd Funnel of Resonance
A cold polished stone lolls on my tongue. I curl the edges, rolling the stone to the center cradling it in a sway of undulating taste buds. My tongue spoons this sip of scotch, rolling it like a flaming dollop of viscous honey, down my throat– yellow and round an invisible note of buoyant Bosch.
Reading Jules et Jim on My Balcony
Neither young nor old, as Hispanic melodies reverberate from a temporary sunday’s Colombie in the park, A man and woman South heading a little way. arms Full of boxes (two each) filled with thick glass Clicks, in lock step with their side-by-side gait. (Black pansies and rose begonias rustle near my toes, using their surrounding …
14 July 2006
|
By Joshua Chalifour
|
Posted in Bleeding the Vine's Breast, Poem
|
Tagged love
|
Comments (0)
The Breasts of Texas
“Don’t let us down” is a song’s sad joke. only like happiness unreal again as it may be, it sifts through the driving dirt. We ride a road outside gravity, which stations us under the shine of a proud cosmos of one. One that Beams on its pubescent brush an edge-defining skin of greenery. Landscape: …
Falling Honey-sun-day’s Perspective
Between bold last leaves seeps the play of sun. {-} Afternoon autumn, still supporting leaves: their greatest glory d’composition I cast myself without self between, on and through and so all around. Rhythmically, slowly (in innocence of every good word beginning with “b”) Riding up–through, the bicyclist: “le merveilleux peuple” Rhythmically repeating on the rotation …
Eel River Brewing Company
The barroom takes a breath and speaks: opium laden jazz horn wails! the many shadows hide mumbling–ghosts of patriotic hobos, while the next generation takes hipflask shots of schnapps and aspartame. a freckle-haired girl at the table, face down in a pool of of red wine and plumage. outside: snack sized cellophane tumbleweeds dogfight in …
Listening to Grappelli
Grappelli is in a corner of the apartment his sound pervades the place, though He evades it completely. like he slipped in when the curtains wavered forward like his notes slip past their green cloth corners. –he’s in the room I’m watching the curtain swing some more. Grapelli smiles a little with fingerish ease. the …
Not Nausea
One day we walked from our homes and in our Terror the Raw world disjointed our knees. Hands slipped from our wrists attracted to radiance, which is; and blood, the faucet of is, stopped Itself, an evaporous ink, dried, of the funny valour it once bestowed on avarice. Some plucked it from veins like so …
Pantomime
Great ivy of the whispering mother woven into the coil of space around a few buildings smoke fastened itself– waiting for the disturbance of pedestrians.
Entries (RSS)