October 26–November 1, 2009: Josh Thompson and Ray Simons


week of October 26-November 1, 2009: 

Josh Thompson and Ray Simons

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Josh Thompson
jthompson420@hotmail.com

Bio (auto)

Josh Thompson is a poet and short story writer from Rockaway Beach, NY His work has appeared in The Coe Review, The Ugly Tree, Ballard Street Poetry Journal, Thick With Conviction and Poetry Super Highway, among others His first book of poetry, When All Else Fails, Try Dreaming was published by Literary Road in 2006 He is currently one of the vast number of unemployed artists in New York City He drinks too much and has an affinity for dangerous women.

The following work is Copyright © 2009, and owned by Josh Thompson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


candle wax

the heat of your favorite season has passed
and you still sleep with the same boring lover
like candle wax, he drips down your arm he’s hard to remove, you explain to me,
but you don’t wash him off you allow him to glaze over,
becoming one with your flesh
it makes me ill to think about this
as I type away at this godforsaken machine
in hopes of recapturing a mental image
of the sun setting behind your luminous green eyes.


when the soul leaves the body

I sold my soul to
a bottle of bourbon
in exchange for the perfect sentence
After she smacked me across the face,
I finished my last drink
and walked out of the bar
Behind me, a car crashed into a lamppost I walked on
and felt absolutely nothing.


ivy

one day I will concoct a story
so gripping, so sprawling,
people will mistaken it
for ivy
not
today
though
I am too busy
counting all
of the freckles
on my left arm
yesterday would
have been perfect
but I could not awake.


long walks through blizzards

remember that tragic December the blisters we got from walking
so many miles in our snow boots we substituted warmth for comfort I held something, but it wasn’t your hand the sky was angry with what it saw below,
so it sent more snow and wind,
and you laughed, but it wasn’t at something funny I died a little that day, but don’t you worry,
it was only on the inside.

Ray Simons
Oldmanevoc@aol.com

Bio (auto)

Ray Simons is Retired from FDNY/EMS He writes poetry therapy to cope with 9/11 experiences & EMS stress in general He lives in Locust Valley, N.Y.

The following work is Copyright © 2009, and owned by Ray Simons and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Hypoxic Vision

Night,  .the small town
held together by lines
phone lines, power lines
stitch our lives
like a mad surgeon I walk the dog, our
usual pattern, now powered
by bronchodilators & steroids
the shops & bars seem
another time, mood 1920`s
German Surrealist with
flashes of Dali color, walk on in
shadow, a moving shadow, silent
in my recent history, tie her
leash to wrist in case
of syncope & WALK THE DOG
a simple task takes on
elements of an epic journey
time stands still
like a car wreck
scan empty streets
disoriented
lost child in
town of my birth
a dog, a man, a crooked cane
Dr Caligori .No, Nosferatu
the walking ghost
& that cute little dog.