week of February 14 - 20, 2005
Jennifer VanBuren and Michael Pacholski
BECOME A POET OF THE WEEK
click. here.for. submission .guidelines
Jennifer lives with her husband in Baltimore where she works for a non-profit agency while raising two young sons. While her formal training and career experience have been based in science and education, her passion has always resided within art and writing. To see her publications and more poetry and photography, check out her site:
http://home.comcast.net/~mannequinenvy/ (accepting submissions)
The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Jennifer VanBuren and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Eel skin bound
set out, propped up by reputation
he discovers onion skin eyelids filter more
when open wide, pupil slit narrows
and tongue flicks the air
for a taste of pressurized jasmine
that sends the signal
move along, there is nothing worth biting here
and certainly, it is a well known fact,
verse bound in eel skin stands more of a chance
of being fondled by lady fingers
that linger over perpendicular lines,
upright and leather tight
straight to reptilian brain
and she says,
to thick skin a bite is as good
as a kiss...
his finger holds his place across
translucent skin stretched over the hollow of her back
as he pages through her latest verse
tattooed on the inside
For hours upon
For hours upon river weeds
we tread, knowing
below our feet
lie sunken answers to
what might have beens
that stare up, hollow faced
while their blackened fingernails
claw our soles.
Twice we watch
tendrils wrap our legs
as they dangle drunk
with fermented seduction.
We will their dissolve,
test the strength of
this is all there is
One more breath before submersion,
we count bubbles,
and follow the last ones
into delirious consent.
To be the one, the fearless,
she who swears love upon love
trials over decision, no other.
To be free of chain mail vest and glove;
to stand not only naked but inside out-
out in love.
Love lies waiting
to be told,
you are worth the risk.
Such safe sleeping,
the monsters sniff sleeping fingers and know,
this is not the night for terror.
This is the night of confession,
to fall backwards without doubt
strong arms will catch and cushion.
Trust is the wires that levitate,
love holds pulleys and ropes.
you are my best poetry,
my best lines of holding
and being held.
I was born in Fort Atkinson Wisconsin. Make my apartment now in Decatur Illinois. I've had poems published before in various and sundry outlets such as the Comstock Review, Gin Bender Poetry Review, and I hold a master's degree in Creative Writing from Illinois State University.
The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Michael Pacholski and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Why You Should Name This Poem The Way You Do
Instructions For Reading
name this poem
after your first pet
.and the street you lived on
when you were six
.you can steal and make your own
your own whatever-you-want
out of anything left behind
from junkyard to high rise
you can steal it all away
..because you have a name
so give this a name
.or soft and silent roses
steal that idea
about the naming of porn stars
transform it to beauty
uplift it the way you swab
a diamond or a sink
or a blade
you can name it another way
but label it
..if you bestow a name upon it
your own name, a city name, a map name
a favorite color an imaginary star a flower
you will shape mouth and body
(I am named Michael, and now I am here)
you will give it a mouth and a hilltop
if you listen
.its first soft stammers will unwind
into whispers and its whispers will inflate to full-lunged calls
and equations and declarations
will stream and sail from the hilltops
and its talk will grow to
blossom into a lone sturdy tree within a grove
a stillness against strong winds
with a lone swing
a place to sit in its garden
a place from which to exhale
everything it can
Blue In Green
...The first full notes won't resound at all
unless you coax a dance from the ivories that can
...hold the trumpet
in a casual sway,
like champagne newlyweds on a balcony
letting wisps of fog float between them.