Shopping Cart
    items

      ←

      June 7, 2019GracelandClayton Beach

      under graceland
      the distant whine
      of a dental drill
       
       
      bloodhound stare
      through sliding glass
       
       
      freezing fog
      a few leaves skitter
      across the docks
       
       
      now, conveyor belt sushi.
      the illusion of limitless bounty
       
       
      and so it is with happiness;
      the fleeting leap
      of a red
       
      squirrel
       
       
      or dangling chads—why you
      always digging up old stuff?
       
       
      the ancient struggle
      against my own better angels
      lunar halo
       
       
      when lichen outpaces
      erosion from acid rain
       
       
      the marble steps
      of the central library will eulogize
      all abandoned wisdom
       
       
      a single flame burning
      in the collective unconsciousness
       
       
      i can think
      of several things more cruel
      than lilacs, mud and springtime
       
       
      staring balefully from the kitchen
      like an empty paper towel roll
       
       
      the simulacrum
      of a phallus stretches up
      to the pure Virginia sky
       
       
      pa’s stars and bars stashed away
      in the sourmash reliquary
       
       
      just waiting for that
      old time
      tent revival
       
       
      i renew my vows
      of complacent acceptance
       
       
      the wind shifts,
      a scent of hope and fear
      mixes with gardenia
       
       
      a blister under the tongue
      tastes of excess succor
       
       
      for a danish
      in denmark
      is viennese bread;
       
       
      hamlet rubs one out
      to a bit of ludwig-van
       
       
      and poets are made of fire.
      or was it silk and chocolate mousse
      with shards of glass?
       
       
      there is virtue left yet
      in not knowing one’s place
       
       
      be it watergate
      or waterloo
      the slack tide yields to dawn
       
       
      two fistfuls of mini-buddhas
      and still no closer to sainthood
       
       
      mary’s heart sinks
      in the slow glissando
      of masking tape
       
       
      what odd joinery is this?
      what shoddy craftsmanship!
       
       
      the lake glisters
      with fragments—
      of moon of sun of star
       
       
      a solemn marsh intones
      the flatulence of will-o’-wisps
       
       
      champagne tastes
      best drunk straight from the bottle
      among good friends
       
       
      another year is born
      seeming more weary than new …
       
       
      the look in the eyes
      of goya’s cronos
      as every second tries to eat the next
       
       
      serving leftover turkey
      in the homeless shelter
       
       
      a landscape of crystal
      meth enjoyed
      from the comfort of a frozen box
       
       
      the taxman can’t take
      what you never earned
       
       
      double cherry blossoms
      in profusion
      around the federal bank
       
       
      a child weeps gently
      like a national guitar

      from #63 - Spring 2019

      Clayton Beach

      “Some psychological models describe consciousness as an extended metaphor for reality, using the substrate of language. If that is the case, then poetry is the crucible where human consciousness is expanded through alchemical manipulations of the word—for poetry is always expanding language through the deepening of metaphors and through the playful stretching of sense and meaning. I started writing poetry, like many, for emotional catharsis as a teen. Over the years I have found in poetry the delight of playing with the music of pure language and the joy of exploring both inner and outer worlds through the magic of metaphor. Haiku and the related forms—with their intense sense of interiority, focus on linguistic play, and deep connection between the perceiving self and the external universe—have been a central part of my poetic journey, and my engagement with Japanese language poetry is a constant inspiration.”

      →