Lars Palm (Las Palmas, Spain): "Eighteen Easy Pieces"


EIGHTEEN EASY PIECES

you know you're

in a subtropical

place when the

consensus view

of a good winter

is of a cool &

rainy one


**


these small note
books & pads
seem to get filled
with scribbles on
a weekly basis

& behind my back
as i was writing
that a fire engine
told the cars ahead
it was approaching
in the right hand
lane

what to make of that?



**


there is an

other town

smaller by

all means on

the roofs of

this one that

smaller town is

where i

live


**


up at first light

hit the streets

the streets hit back

the fight is short


**





(on desalination)

it still baffles me how
an island can possibly
have a shortage of water



**


there is a name to

this street somewhere

there is a name to

this street somewhere

there is a street

**


making nonsense
may be more subversive
than making sense


**







all of
a sudden
there's this
really warm
WIND
bringing the
temperature up
by seven
degrees celsius
in
less than
ten minutes
& all
this sand
&
dust &
debris coming
from all
directions


**


if there isn’t

room to park you

make room at

least if you’re

not quite sober


**


(small spring poem early february)

two days in a
row the construction
workers in the house next
door have awoken me
just before dawn
singing arias



**


(meal in the shade)

bread & beer & granny smith

which don’t fit?



**



a puppy so
hyperactive he
unties people’s
shoes





**






in the wind it

is an

old wooden ghost

ship coming

in




**



(on wasting)

it no longer baffles me
how an island can have
a shortage of water



**



the bus is late

a dog in a raincoat walks by

someone is baking riot-bread




**



(keeping it simple)

what it all comes
down to is
this: do I want
to read this
again?



**



who forgot to switch the wind off?


**


(poema de teror)

sleepy little

mountain

town full

of butter

flies

© 2006 Lars Palm

Adam Fieled (Philly, USA): Two Poems



LITTLE BILL

Little Bill peeks over the fence--
dolphins (propulsive!) up in the air,

fins glistening, flicking water onto
Bill's white tee-shirt; he shrinks;

the dolphins are too sleek (flash!),
too charged, a vision from fairy myth.

Bill wakes up weeping, peeks out
his window; "backyard green tree

cemetary dawn"; thinks of crispy
bacon, viscous maple syrup,

the fluttering lift of Mom's apron.
He wants to eat & eat. He wants

eggs to push the dolphins out of
his guts. He wants the calm gaze

of the morning sun on the curtains--
not the dolphins' too-crazy gaze.

It was fire & thunder, a nightmare. Little
Bill hopes he never has another dream.

DRENCH

Tear-tensed women tease in dreams, satin-
fringed, sequestered on screened-in porches,
vague, rain-bespattered countries; my name
droned through drenching distances. I waver,
Hamlet-hewn, streamed back by wonder--
who are they? Am I me, or them? Stain of
wolf-hour wraiths, rains, sweat-swallowed
scum. "Everybody's you" said the therapist.

© 2006 Adam Fieled