David Mehler… William Loans You A Trailer

Posted on September 21, 2014 by randomlyaccessedpoetics

William Loans You A Trailer

Your friend, the poet, William Fairbrother,

has lent you a trailer to camp in.

You arrive at a campsite but it feels as though

you’re living out of this trailer, maybe in Germany,

and not merely camping, as if on holiday or something.

There are several strange features about this trailer but you can’t remember what they are,

first, because you’re dreaming all this,

second, because you’re trying to remember details

after waking. Maybe it was the kinds of clothes it had in drawers, the kitchen utensils

or light switches, upholstery color, or that there was a fire-ring in the middle of the floor?

You arrive at the campground finally, but you have a hard time selecting a campsite

because it feels like you’re in a suburb or open farmland,

but the trees suggest a National Forest. Somehow you become separated from the trailer

and not sure how–either you walk or drive away in the car or truck

you pulled it with, you can’t remember. In any case, you’ve lost it.

You are filled with unease, not only because you’ve lost this trailer

and can’t find it, but because you’re afraid someone might

have stolen it and you should never have let that happen.

You are either walking around from campsite to campsite looking,

or driving, and part of the problem is there’s nothing remarkable about the car

because it’s yours,

and the campground roads are bumpy and connected by very uneven

terrain and you meet people you know, but barely, along the way–

maybe they’re relatives by birth or marriage, in fact.

At some point you either wake and go back to sleep

or for some reason the dream changes, and it feels like

you’ve been wandering looking for this trailer all night,

but then you find it. Even so, something doesn’t feel right

and you don’t get a sense of relief or release from it,

but wake up really tired, not knowing why any of this should matter,

but another friend suggests it may have something to do with poetry.

Dave Mehler and his wife live in Newberg, OR, where they own and run a coffeehouse. He edits the online journal, Triggerfish Critical Review, and his poetry chapbook, God Truck Nature was published in the anthology, Burning Gorgeous: 7 21st Century Poets.

Copyright © 2014 by David Mehler

Rachel Rosenberg….Fantasy Girl

Posted on August 24, 2014 by randomlyaccessedpoetics

Fantasy Girl

I have arrived.

I am what I have always wanted to be;

the fantasy girl of a man

with a cult of personality.

So while everyone gathers around him without even realizing they are doing it,

turning to him like iron shavings to a magnet,

I can sit smug.

I can lounge on the other side of the room,

secure in the knowledge that while every one of those people think they have a special bond with him,

I actually do.

But it is to both of our advantages to appear single,

playing on the hopes of those who think our sexy is something they could get

so they will give and give

for the privilege of pretending,

for the privilege of not knowing they are pretending,

because we are pretending.

I am the one he winks at from across the room.

I am the thought he touches himself to

when he is finally, blessedly alone.

Notice, he hugs me just a little bit longer than you.

Notice, he’ll make sure I acknowledge him before I leave.

He won’t do that

for you.

But now that I have arrived,

I start to wonder;

when fantasy becomes flesh,

does it make me any less

of a strong, independent woman

to want this?

Shouldn’t I want my own following?

Shouldn’t I have the self-respect

to wanna be equal?

I don’t want to be equal;

I want to be better.

I want him to visit me,

to come to me begging

to show someone the real him and he wants that,

he wants someone to force the truth out of him,

someone to whom he can show

trust.

Truth is, sometimes he amazes me…and I want that.

I want a man I find impressive,

because then it’s respect when he calls me impressive,

not the slavish devotion I have come to despise from weaker specimens,

those boys I end up chewing up and spitting out

because even when we both know I’m wrong,

they will not stand up to me.

I want a man with his own life,

not one who’ll make me his

because love is the icing on the cake

so don’t make me your insipid cake.

I will blow off the boy that does that like a candle;

he is the birthday.

The man will sneak into my room to share the tub of icing bare-handed,

making me giggle when he tells me about the party games.

I like being the lighter behind the flame,

not the fuel, but the spark.

I like having all the power

over all the power,

having him look at me

the way they all look at him.

I am the top of the food chain.

I am what I have always wanted to be;

the fantasy girl

who lives up to the fantasy

of the man

with the cult

of personality.

Rachel Rosenberg is a 25-year-old lawyer/recent graduate of Lewis & Clark Law School and an alumnus of Kenyon College. She has been writing poetry for 17 years and performing it for the last two. Her poems have been published in a number of online and print journals.

Don Comfort… Rights of Spring

Posted on August 17, 2014 by randomlyaccessedpoetics

Rights of Spring

Who will endure the sacrifice,

A price named by the gods

For renewal of the cycle,

A year’s circle once rewound.

The living owe a blood-debt,

And it is paid in full

When fetid blood reeks on the ground

Of newly planted fields.

And those may call it wasted

Who will not taste the harvest,

The wise will treasure blessings

From unborn sons and daughters.

Everything you need to know about Don Comfort can be found on page 98 of “The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy.”

Is It Ever Spring Anymore? … by Doug Draime

Posted on April 13, 2014 by randomlyaccessedpoetics

IS IT EVER SPRING ANYMORE?

Outside the robins return

Pecking the thawing backyard earth

Like benevolent and silent jack hammers

They are relentless, only pausing cautiously

For sounds of human beings: banging crushing

Yelling spewing the arrogance of

Self consumption into the cool polluted air

Doug Draime lives and writes in Ashland, Oregon. His most recent collection of poetry, “More Than The Alley,” was published by Interior Noise Press. He also has two chapbooks available: “Los Angeles” & “Rock” published by Covert Press. He has one poem in Rapoetics Issue 4, Heart Splatters Into Significance

The Weight of the head… by Doug Draime

Posted on September 15, 2013 by randomlyaccessedpoetics

The Weight Of The Head

Rimbaud had consumed more

alcohol than any 16 year old

could possibly hold, and was

laying in the gutter puking

on the Boulevard Montparnasse,

in a new, blue silk blouse …

that he had stolen from a

40 year old trick …

who had finally gone home

to his grieving wife.

Doug Draime lives and writes in Ashland, Oregon. His most recent collection of poetry, More Than The Alley, was published by Interior Noise Press. He also has two chapbooks available: Los Angeles & Rock published by Covert Press.

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