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The Blog Bog

The Mag Rack


WHEN


      When the wheel turns
            and fire burns
                 itself out
          with lazy perfumes
                 softening
        against a hazy sunset


           Just you and me,
             god or godess

                I'm flesh
        and have to rediscover
                flesh thinks,
          has minds of it's own
                  coexisting
           constantly confusing
             the survivers moan

      When thought grinds down
                 a gullible mind
                   to states of
         emotional mathematics,
         there's just you and me,
            unobtainable godess
              of broken hearts,
    where all real dreaming starts

           You and me all alone
                 in a slim canoe
                    down rapids
            of mountainous hopes.

                           Jens Magnussen

HUMORESQUE

The ringmaster steps forward,
Identifies me in the darkness.
I'm a criminal caught by fate,
Tried by limelight.
The circle enlarges,
Delights a jury of fools,
Bedazzles the impatience
Shouting in the bleachers,

People are starving for comic relief;
The heat of lupine drama roars-
The show begins . . .
I juggle scenes from my life.
Clowns see underneath make-up,
Snatch my face,
Strip my psyche.
They laugh,
Pull my hair,
Toss water in my face-
Bread and circus
Feeds the hungry mimes of prey.

The final act serves its tart dessert
As clowns beat me with props.
My pasty skin is no different than
The polka dots on their costumes,
But the crowd demands more.
Clowns acquiesce,
Attach leeches to my psyche.
The crowd cheers . . .
Blood seals my name-
An aperitif to quench their thirst
Paid in revenge,

Behind a torn curtain,
You watch in horror.
Sacred appellation
Bleeds from my eyes.
Your imagination pulls me
Away from the noose.
On a stolen mare,
We jump through the fiery ring,
Escape from the roar
Of the human stampede.

                           Patricia Carragon

The Ghost


I'm the ghost
of days past, present,
and future-
an apparition
dressed in flesh and bone.
You've seen my past
and present-
you already know my future.

Your microscopic eyes
strip away secrets
beneath flesh and bone,
making me invisible-
never to claim my pain.

History happened
and memories can't forget.
I may be a ghost,
but do the dead get resurrected?
Can the present cremate the past
to make peace with the future?
Can silence offer sanctuary
for what haunts your mind?
Can the imagination clothe
your secrets behind flesh and bone?

This ghost may never know.

        Patricia Carragon
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