a grumpy gift: Terror Starts in Otiose

Piers of Duty and Gaze

The elephant of frost on the windows, honey looking out at the ice. Sitting down by the window, heart flooded with fire, honey looking out at the vastness of slush.

Anna Livia Plurabelle. Gustav Klimt. Here comes everybody, waiting for midnight at the Hollywood Bowl. Cheerio, holidaymaker

Reap a summer down with yellow vividness fizzing beyond good and evil. Beyond good and evil, I’m fixed. Fists clenched, loudly crunching my grunts and freely sawing my sighs.

Take a long cold look and tell me, tell me when it all goes wrong. And I’ll say “no, no, no, no. This won’t be”

The history of octopus and terrapins before the noon’s El Dorado, lessons in lemonade and noses, heading a daytime that’s luminous.

A coolly cruel and singly supreme generation of greedy imperialists sets around me, but I’m not scared. Because here am I, shying from absinthe on a terrace and…

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through lion’s eye

lion

you’re taming tigers,
by squishing spiders,

cat-fishing crook-
hard, barb-wired,
rickety rod shook-

hate hook pierced lion’s
eye, without e’en
trying,

you turn 
tender away,

he’s simba,
crying.

© Anthony Gorman 2019

image: https://pixabay.com/en/users/ianza-2026973/

image: https://pixabay.com/en/users/ianza-2026973/

a grumpy gift: Spirit in Southside Park (Reprise)

Timeless Classics

*****

I’d dressed myself in black that day
From boots to jacket, skirt and hat
My little girl appropriate
For dirt the local playground at

It rested in a grassy swath
Which swelled into a little hill
And made a home for flowers, bees
While over all sweet sunshine spill

I sat me there upon the bench
And sent my child to play
Got out my pad and pen, my latest
Poem on the page to lay

When came from out behind the hill
A woman dressed in white
By hand holding a toddler
In frills and bows — a small delight

Her face was just the shade of ash
No shadow lingered there
And in a classic widow’s peak
Grew her dusky hair

Too young she seemed for even this
Very young child to be her own
Yet from her wise expression
Much trouble she’d already known

Her bearing…

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cutting room floor

telephantic, minor-key ivories
 deflect inland wars,  no more

to marrow’s babbled black & whites ripped
from flushed-shit gut of dropout’s wrist

missed-call lapses in hesitance
drip ‘heckler’s digs’ kinda sore on
checkers of faded floor

dimming dawn pools into
blush white-cell feature screen

film’s family plot lines hacked,
ever after , ne’er to be seen

© Anthony Gorman 2019

image: https://pixabay.com/en/users/geralt-9301/

image: https://pixabay.com/en/users/geralt-9301/

 

 

jackie’s hook

cross2

tear-slit tides of low self-regime’s triggered taunts 
spray in dry tirades of rancid loose lip gloss
flaunts,

prowling harpy’s hymnotic canto vowels,  gouge crypt’s silent slumber deep, 
brittle arch-ego spring, mists gurgling magma dross from
frosts of jilted jackie’s midst-thigh froth

– yet ’tis she,
caving slave-heart’s madness wants.

© Anthony Gorman 2019

image: https://pixabay.com/en/users/comfreak-51581/

image: https://pixabay.com/en/users/mysticsartdesign-322497/