Thursday, May 13, 2010

Three poems by Burgess Stanley Needle

Three poems
by Burgess Stanley Needle


a scrap-of-life-list starting
with the one who cares least unless ignored
a random pile in a red bowl color alone
reminiscent of the kiln
and fleischman’s fine powder that promises
life will rise again
some dried strands and a few buttons
for a visa to skip
out of a flat black & white
oh god is that my wrinkled face
in the bathroom mirror
my lover’s sweet voice from another space
whatever you do don’t look in the mirror
too late
i am indeed the oldest man in the world
but also the wisest
so it’s okay
that all is vibration
the wall my skin the mirror
able to become whatever i wish i choose
every wisp of kindness and love
every exhaled atom of carbon
incandescent I explode out
i am you
i am you my cat says
feed me
so I feed her eat the fruit make bread
good trip she asks
the greatest i say
lord smell that bread


What did you say about my breasts?
I said
your high energy makes you a blur
leaving no film on my retinas
nothing to cloud a memory as I retreat
from you ricocheting sink to stove

You ask This chilli too hot?
too much lemon on the salad?

you’re so snappy --
br...rr..rraaaaannnnnnn....nging around rooms
as if just released by new suspenders
without your contact lenses
round-eyed in rusty granny glasses
you slow to a Victorian stereoscope
you in the kitchen become
some youthful Ma’am from the gay 90’s
which is when I said
put the contacts on your nipples
for an art-deco effect
and look at ME soft and slow through oval rims
now we both are 20:20
and our frames click before we kiss


                                                                                    The Etruscan woman sipped mulled wine
Into future dreams seemingly worse
than peacocks literally
having their hues flamed to ash.
She startled her lover whose hand was drifting
to a pubic damp by suddenly sitting up
in night’s caress gagging in fear
What, my love what comes to you
she was unable to tell him of voices roaring
from iron shells
green circles turning red
patterns of light blinked
Trailing bed clothes she pulled
her hair and only then saw
bright magma easing her way
Ash blew in open spaces and heat
beyond imagination embraced
their forms until a millenium later
They were found
hands entwined
eyes only for each other
Blindly indifferent to mere spectacle.

Author bio:

Burgess Stanley Needle is a Tucson poet whose work has appeared in the The Hiss Quarterly, Origamicondom, Kritya (India), Zafusy (UK), Black Mountain Review (UK), Free Verse, Concho River Review, Gutter Eloquence, Thirteen Myna Birds, Red Fez, Raving Dove, Autumn Sky, Blackbox Manifold, Poetry Monthly International, and Iodine. Current projects include: working on a journal he kept as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Thailand. Back in the day, Burgess made a name for himself in a few Tucson middle school libraries as a somewhat scary Edgar Allan Poe impersonator. He was co-editor of a poetry quarterly, Prickly Pear/Tucson and co-facilitator with the Summer Institute of the Southern Arizona Writing Project. Dimunuendo Press will publish a collection of his poetry in 2010. He promises to respond to any e-mail sent his way:

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