Poems by Mark Young

GHOSTS

It is a myth, this
persistence of belief that
ghosts are waiting
to come tumbling down
in the midnight, in the
witching hour. Not
that there are none – quite
the opposite. Somewhere
it is always midnight; &
so there are always
ghosts, the real & the cyber-
real, friends & enemies. I
know some of them. They
have always haunted
me. Even now, in the late
afternoon, there are ghosts
sitting outside on the tamarind
tree, eating the pods &
dropping their droppings
on the path below. Some
seeds escape them. I sweep
them up. Some seeds
escape me, have fallen
into the garden where they
will grow. It is what
I hate about ghosts. The
leavings. The continuity.


FROM THE POUND CANTOS: CENTO XXXIII 

The sky overshot, dry, with no
tempest. By river-marsh, a sad
man, pacing, lost in a forest of
stars. The house a shade too solid
& the art full of flames & voices.
The scarlet curtain throws a less
scarlet shadow; knocking at empty
rooms, seeking for buried beauty.

Elsewhere, the swimmer’s arms
have turned to branches. Smoke
hangs on the stream. An old man
with a basket of stones, saying:
fire — always, & the vision always.
& out of nothing, a breathing.


SUNT LACRIMAE RERUM

The dehumidifier weeps nanoparticles
as I pass by. Or perhaps they’re actual
tears & I’ve been away from the real

world for too long to be able to recog-
nize what is, what isn’t. I smell the lakes
of creosote that line the pathway. I pick the

flowers that spring from them. Fish fly
around me, sing songs of constant sor-
row. I leak a particulated fear in reply.


A LINE FROM OSKAR KOKOSCHKA 

The outlook for the German e-
conomy has almost completely
rebounded due to its reliance on
a prevalence of memes reacting

to the methane emissions that still
remain along its gas supply chains.
This is their field of expertise. We
all have our coping mechanisms.

Even if someone might walk out in
to the night, they know the risks in-
volved, have weighed their options.
No groping around in uncertainty.

Poems by Jeffrey Side

THE OTHER HALF OF HER

It was a beautiful evening
Neptune slingshots to another world
should seven in the womb
be made earthlings outside the

passage to carry down faint
signals and solar system answers
when I last visited the
contessa amid dust storm evidence

I had warned my wife
of lake basins and riverbed
landings earth creatures mixing hominids
I can make fate good

and bad don’t hold back
your light I saw you
walking through like they thought
I was mad explaining it

or something as we arrived
through the smoulder fifty percent
of that is mine when
she sat under the tree

what fancy stockings so much
studied and findings applied like
aspects of the entwined serpent
now I feel so sick


THERE COMES AN END TO EVERY GOOD DEED

On the hills
of summit visible
where the relentless
women hate all
aristocrats after

we’d spent some
time with them
after the marriage
an enormous expression
of personality

and the sense
he’d been around
after the split
she and my
son Jim

were around the
same age she
produced from under
her dress a
crest with

country roots or
something some of
the angels sided
with her qualities
and profits

shall encompass the
city and the
walls collapse a
most tragic lament
with jumping

as I walked
he really looked
bad to the
island or the
Red Sea

but the modern
man must dominate
then submit and
she remains undaunted
in France


I CAN’T MAKE YOU WRONG NO MORE

I can still recall her
nightmares and the sack
that she wore, when she
was then drinking and
we danced in Baltimore.

When I’m out with many
women, things are not
that clear. I never had it
like this before. Something
always keeps me here.

She came here for a
reason. I don’t care
what she said. I need to
see some people,
and bring it to a head

But I’ve got other
things you still need
to do. And I find
things so hard that I’ve
got to give it to you.

And out in the darkness
when there’s not
much to share, I still rouse
up new dissenters
lighter than the air.


THE NECESSITY TO ALWAYS LIVE IMMORTALLY

I’m going away I’ve
found life again I’m sick

of language everyone
has found history

and textbooks lying
around all kinds of people

on the ground while drunken
in the entry or fighting in

the war we always live
immortally you made that

plain and clear and even
though I’m thinking this side

of the sphere we never get
what we want until it’s

late in the year one day
you’re here one day you’re

there it all vanishes like music and
footprints on the shore that

wasn’t my intention when I came
in through the door your mask

shows nothing and your face
shows nothing more

Poems by Sean Carey

OCTOBER 1981

There was a nip in
The air those nights
Tingled the flesh
Clipped away leaves
Chilly winds blow away
Colours from summer
Fall wither cycles Meath
The humble pie of life
We are condemned to
Eat October November
Mercy? no environmental
Guarantee red in tooth
And claw the year then
Seemed young the moon
Was full nobody noticed it
Everyone looks down this
Was me I believed naively
This too would pass and a
Change might happen in
The real world business as
Usual continued that year


SWANS ON OIL

Swans on a slick of oil
nocturnal emission from the brewery
feathers blackened by grease
Hen wary of the cock almost
on her tail till she flies clear
over vat and chimney
Sharp clip of her wings beating
lost in a haze of barley and hops
vanishing into the night sky
The neck of the spurned bird
bends in submission blenished
pride bobs on the tide resignation

Poem by James Matthew

AUGUST NIGHT

A red eye peeps at me through white curtains
And I return its gaze, an ominous scene
of wicked clouds and dirt-dense air that reeks
of smells of exhaust and sounds of engines.

What promise from heaven does this sky bring
of the universe watching from above
other than death, decay, and warnings of
an increasing invasive cancer stream?

Emphysema, asthma, COPD –
familiar things my children will befriend,
souls sacrificed for an ignoble cause –
someone’s unending monetary trend

Of never-ending economic growth,
along with your financial goals of hope
Reek like this sky does of a profound sin
causing early deaths of today’s children.