All crowd in the church-
A lifetime of suffering
For the sake of gossip.
Found poem, remix technique.
Source text: Pike, Christopher. Falling Into Darkness. New York: Pocket Books, 1990.
Nick Quaglietta began writing poetry as a teenager, with his first work in print appearing in his 1985 college yearbook. More recently he has become affiliated with a few local writing groups, including Connect and Heal in Chandler, Arizona.
Moonlight Part 2
The moonlit hills, silvery sentinels
guarding the silent
desert. The jagged
mine mouth, a black
hole into twilight
zone
Tim’s voice changed,
pitch higher.
When I hurt
my hand in the mine, something
remarkable got under
my skin something
begun to change
me for better
I know it is connected to a great plan
set in motion billions years
ago out among stars
there is substance in this mine
allows a human change from mortal into a god
I am being transformed
into a creature of the universe
What do you think?
I think you need to go back to the hospital
This is a found poem. Source: Pike, Christopher. Hollow Skull. Hodder, 1998. Page 75
Her will
Transformation inevitable
She has grown great
now, difficult
with words
cooperate for
your own sake
you’ll understand
everything soon
head slurped back
she saw stars grin
demons
This is a found poem. Source: Pike, Christopher. Hollow Skull. Hoddler, 1998. Page 76.
Originally from the hilly corner of Ohio, Mark Allen Jenkins’s poetry has appeared in Memorious, minnesota review, South Dakota Review, Every River on Earth: Writing from Appalachian Ohio, and Gargoyle. He recently completed a PhD in Humanities from the University of Texas at Dallas and currently teaches in Houston.
Sweeney Todd
I can promise not a hair’s breadth betwixt life and bereft. A big something for the weekend, sir? If it ain’t kitten in the pie, it will be worse, I surmise. This precariousness of my barber’s chair. That skill of mine to really polish a string of basement pearls. I hear how hair is cut from ear to ear. In a dietary reworking: I love Mrs Lovett’s pies made from meat at MacDonald’s. The big sleep of a short back and sides is my favourite read. Demonology of ruthless styles. Once I have flipped, the tresses stand on end in more ways than can be undone. Continue reading “Mike Ferguson: three poems”
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