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Blog Archive

Thu, 24.09.2009

THE YELLOW BIRD by James W. Thompson.

Mandarin in a silent film he wings past painted women chalked in doorways gesturing with fragile lacquered hands.
Large yellow bird he alights in a foreign land his buttocks fan the perch of a stool
fluttering his eyes rise swallow the eddy of human forms swabbed in denim shod in boots.
His stemmed drink stands clear among tumblers of foaming beer and he sips-with ease of Eliot attending an effusive reading-as the music grinds in 4/4 time.
The stranger steals from the Victorian bed combs a hard hand through his blond dead gazing in sandalwood scented gloom at the soft yellow bird asleep i

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

The enigmatic moon has at long last died. Even as the ancient Cathedral Saint Louis Peals has lazy call To a sleepy solemn worship, Night’s mysterious shadows reveal their secrets And rise into nothingness As... STEVEDORE by Leslie M. Collins.
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