General Poetry Page      with Suzanne Robinson 

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THE WAY WE SEE THINGS

whose story is the true one
if not both or neither

the tale told over pancakes
or the one drunk with decaf
 who knows the facts
when the campfire shines

and ghosts crowd
yet the story is mine

and you were there
with me most of the way

but the way we tell
of our parting

is two voices that echo
between distant hills


JOANNA M. WESTON tells us she is a spider rancher. Actually, her bio includes the following:

Married; has one cat, multiple
spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses.

Middle-reader:
‘Frame and The McGuire', Tradewind Books 2015;

Poetry:

‘A Bedroom of Searchlights’, Inanna Publications, 2016.

ISBN 978-1-77133-305-4

Other books listed at her blog:
http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/


 

Palestine children

 

You have killed our children

your bullets have pierced their heart of love

now only hatred remains.

You can plant you flags

talk falsely of peace you never wished for.

Our young will not forgive you

you killed their caring hearts.

Oskar Hansen 

Homecoming

 

To return as a visitor

It greets you where it once hurt you.

In its parade of low tide and uncharacteristic sunshine,

it reveals a kind of dysmorphia.

It has been peeling itself apart in the mirror,

it has stopped raining.

On Banks Road, there are couples.

At the Marina, the water is dressed in silk.

In the cafe, the coffee is sublime.

At the place where you were young,

the bench has been removed.

Richard M. Thompson

Milton Babbitt in Piney Run Park

 

kids are digging up sand,

laughing in incidental stretto,

running in lean circles,

choosing teams for a game

 

of tag, getting married

on the ternary swings

under the warm

canonic clouds of April—

 

and maybe there’s only

the sweet vocalise,

or the plush little Adagio

for moments like these

Colin Webb is a native of Baltimore, Maryland, and writes poetry as well as fiction. His novella, Coping with Coincidence, was shortlisted for the 2015 Arch Street Prize.

A SPELL FOR CHAMELEONS

 

it is noon of a lightless day,

waking to the sound of falling rain

dancing against the eaves of houses

and the stones of the street,

long ages since the slidewalk

functioned on this street of tears

with the drinking and the women

and the noise and the knives,

voices stir up eddies of dust

in the darkened hallway,

listen to the night sounds

and the soft drowsy hisses

of those who also sleep

beneath these ancient ferns,

its fronds beaded with rooks,

makes you think of big things,

time and living and dying

the bodies of forgotten poets

the siftings of alien mildew

and the last lost scavengers who

pick over the remnants of bones

of other days, other junk dreams.

 

 

Andrew Darlington, of West Yorkshire,England, has been published in all manner of strange and obscure places, magazines, websites, anthologies and books, and worked as a Stand-Up Poet on the ‘Alternative Cabaret Circuit’. His nterviews of very many people from the worlds of Literature, SF-Fantasy, Art and Rock-Music for a variety of publications has been collected into the ‘Headpress’ book ‘I Was Elvis Presley’s Bastard Love-Child’. His latest poetry collection is ‘The Poet’s Deliberation On The State Of The Nation’ (Penniless Press), and a new fiction collection ‘A Saucerful Of Secrets’ is now available from Parallel Universe.

Copyright  Better Than Starbucks 2017, a poetry magazine

Call us at 561-719-8627, if you feel so moved.

Better Than Starbucks

7711 Ashwood Lane

Lake Worth, Florida 33467

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