November 3-9, 2003: Faith Mairee and Collin Kelley

week of November 3-9, 2003



Faith Mairee and Collin Kelley


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Faith Mairee
faithmairee@webtv.net

Bio (auto)

I write from Cocoa, Florida My poems have appeared in Poet Magazine, By-line Magazine, Cable Week, Wide Open Magazine, Alley Cat Magazine and some have been published by Seminole Community College in Sanford, Florida Others have been published in various anthologies
Visit faith on the web: http://community.webtv.net/faithmairee/THEPOETRYOFFAITH

The following work is Copyright © 2003, and owned by Faith Mairee and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

The Cattle Egret

he struts across the plaza parking lot
like he was mr universe
proud as hell to be
the cattle egret that he is

his appearance is flawless
except for the perpetual
grease spots on his back
from slipping under parked cars
looking for bugs and lizards to eat

this is his fourth winter here
and i feel compelled
to name him something
charlie seems to suit him
although to this day
he won’t answer to
anything he’s called


Collin Kelley
collinkelley@hotmail.com

Bio

Atlanta native Collin Kelley is an award-winning poet, playwright and journalist His debut volume of poetry, “Better To Travel,” was published in September and the launch party was one of the Atlanta Literary Festival’s most attended events His poetry has appeared in The Pedestal, The Harrow, Welter, Offerings, Alternative Arts & Literature and SubtleTea.com His play, “The Dark Horse,” won the 1994 Deep South Writers Award and the 1997 Georgia Theatre Conference Award His interview with German filmmaking legend Wim Wenders will be published this fall in MovieMaker magazine By day, Kelley is the managing editor for Atlanta Intown magazine “Better To Travel” is available from amazon.com and other online stores Visit www.collinkelley.com for more information

The following work is Copyright © 2003, and owned by Collin Kelley and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Undefined

You sleep on the floor while
syrupy words drip from my
pen Another treatise on the subject
of not having We agree our love is an
undefined place The only certainty is our
inability to do without the
other, this co-dependency we
both subscribe to, this Sunday
puzzle I cannot solve Not even a sticky fumbling to
show there is anything beyond
status quo, my revisionist
virginity a bonfire I typically burn for your touch,
while your fingers remain just
out of reach You are moving across town,
like this will change anything The boundaries remain intact,
and like politicians, we
gerrymander the lines seeking
partisan advantage.


Drag

There is poetry in the strangest places:
Your tangled hair, the words that form
on my lips yet remain unspoken The sound of a phone ringing in an empty
room, bouncing off the hardwoods A cigarette burning, dangling on your lips One long ash that refuses to drop, to fall
away from the fire That is my soul.
Slowly turning to dust as you take one
more drag.


Peter Greenaway

Our worlds collide over
music and poetry In that too familiar place
where I planned suicide
and your girlfriend was raped I lived,
you turned to men,
almost died The chemo
killing you faster than
the cancer We are both in remission
You love the absurdity and
uncertainty of Peter Greenaway
films The changing colors of Helen
Mirren’s dress, the treachery of
numbers and skipping rope, the
insanity of architecture The critics wouldn’t understand
us either
We are stranger than fiction,
we color outside the lines,
we speak on the phone long
distance as if communicating
from different continents You are further north, closer
to London, the place we
both agree on The place we could happily
succumb to, the music, the
literature, the cinemas on every
corner where we could sit all day The proximity of our shoulders
electric, your hand on my inner
thigh the center of the universe These joys un-numbered,
living some other life, answerable
only to the whim of fate,
giving ourselves up to the uncertainty
We get into the leaking boat,
row out,
taking on water Holding hands as we slip into
the blackness Cheating death at our leisure,
surrendering to that perfect
finite weight.

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