Scott Montgomery… In Fear of Technicolor

 

In Fear of Technicolor

Rise up alone. I am stealing these words. Rise up in tone.
I am standing, desert-like, moon-like, mars-like,
red stalagmites, pillars, a shortcut, a song,
where she does not want to become
a voice raising in pitch that warbles

with each footprint a shatter.

I spilled my favorite drink,
puffing a cigarette and speaking cupidely, smoking hot,
while Courtney, irresponsibly reporting

her one-of-a-kind pieces as another ornate frock.

She has dazzled every viewer.

Trimming after and trimming after
both vintage finds: lopped off
while the other Britney shows a baby on board,
Einstein-like dissertation,
what the 20th century releases now and again:
aimed at your face,
associations and parallels,
the mysticism of a cheetah at rest.

 

I live in the isolated heights of the Andes in a region known as The Potato Park. It is here that I spend my time in the community, learning the Quechua language, and holding workshops for children on themes related to self-expression and sustainability. I am at work on a book of creative nonfiction, which has been funded through Kickstarter. To follow the project as it takes place, please visit the project blog at http://www.footstepsandvoices.com. I received my MFA in creative writing (poetry) from Arizona State University, where I served as poetry editor for Hayden’s Ferry Review.

Copyright © 2015 by Scott Montgomery

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kurt (Johansson) Swalander… Back Home & Tea

 

Back Home & Tea

Another night at home, bright, passionate, lunar light spraying at the world beyond 144th St. screaming,                         “GO! GO! GO!”

I think that was God sending angelic encouragement and I, I reject like the fool, but instead sit at home, closing the gates of opportunity,

Watching the lights fade until all was abysmal as I took the last toke of Elitch,

and I don’t leave home, but wither like paper,

heart murmur,
                         Ka Cha! Ka Cha! Ka Cha Cha!

Buzzes reverberate my anxious body.

                         Paranoia

Eyes beaming:
                  Left is: closet, suitcase, and rucksack packed and ready to bug-out,
                  to the right: window, darkness, the wind whirling,
                  rain falling, airplanes flying overhead,
Sea-          Tac! Pike! America!

And I’m going crazy sitting here watching my hair fall out,
“GO! GO! GO!”
And my heart is pounding,
                         Ka Cha! Ka Cha! Ka Cha Cha!

Ears still receiving painful, circulating, buzz, making me          maddened like Manson.

Paranoia

Until I turn off the buzz, finally at peace.

Flavor is flavor again, coffee still bites,

and my eyes are tame,
and I don’t hear the voice,
                         “GO! GO! GO!”
and it makes me feel weak, or unfaithful, or disdainful, or none, or maybe all three.

But still,

                         Ka Cha! Ka Cha! Ka Cha Cha!
                                   that pound,
                                   that sound,
                                   that rhythm,

Where am I today? Nearly two years alone, back at home,”Go home! Go moan!” three empty bank accounts, bills to pay, unpublished and just a grain of sand to the world.

                         Ka Cha! Ka Cha! Ka Cha Cha!

Omer is in North Carolina so high he sees the Wright Brothers.

                         Claustrophobic,

seeing the same bullshit on the news as I did every time I watch the news.
                         “Nukes in Iran.
                         Drugs causing animalistic behavior.
                         Unemployment numbers falling.
                         No new jobs found.”

A world losing care, isolated in billion worlds.

I turn the lights,
                         strip clothes,
                         and lye naked,
                         warm and locked,
                         claustrophobic,
                         in cotton bed sheets.

                         Ka Cha! Ka Cha! Ka Cha Cha!

hours in the darkness,

                         Ka Cha! Ka Cha! Ka Cha Cha!

* * *

I wake to the voice,

                         “GO! GO! GO!”

 

Kurt Swalander is a product of his travels. With the intent of absorbing every sensory experience, he hopes to create a new form of the literary vision. He has completed his first chapbook and hopes to publish by January 2014.

Copyright © 2014 by Kurt (Johansson) Swalander

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

M i J a u l a P e r s o n a l… by Laura Minning

 

M i   J a u l a   P e r s o n a l

Me siento captivo de mundo alrededor de mi
mientras yo miro por mi jaula y otras juelas
de la proteccion y limitacion alli
oigo los sonidos asombrosos de las sonrisas
y miro a las ojos pasados

de mi suerte y mi destino, tengo dudas.

Porque todas las personas no me acceptan
con una facinacion y ellos tienblan
me encarcelan,
sin consentimiento,
vivo una vida de liberatad,
eso es un sueno fundamental.

 

laurapurpleLaura Minning has been published in various national anthologies, on-line zines, one play, two books of poetry, and numerous articles. She has also received two merit awards for her poetry by The National Library of Poetry, and was granted membership into the International Who’s Who in Poetry for 2005 by Poetry.com.

Copyright © 2013 by Laura Minning

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

 
 

Exchanging Static… by Craig Kurtz

 

Exchanging Static

We have jostled lucubrations
in the tensile online of when.
Where etymons reside intuitive
language drafts from
inscrutable &. You
overrode my tendency

to semicolon.

We embrangled grammar &
disavowed diacritical syntax.
Notice analogous logged on
hand in hand archive
with such adept edit.
I like that dispatching the

full stop, too.

We interosculated copy
& downloaded duet locution.
Where files import involuntary
adjectives, I require increased
ratio to explain a map of you.
I will empty my vocabulary

into you.

We have filtered parenthesis
& triggered synonymity.
Whatever algorithm might fly
I hear your ringtone like a
fingerprint. I will caress
you with the smallest
of syllables.

 

Craig Kurtz (aka Timothy Tyme, Barry Stoller, Calliope Kurtz, Van Halen Kurtz), age 53, Asperger’s, lives at Twin Oaks Intentional Community. Recorded The Philosophic Collage EP in 1981, now in reissue. Staff writer 10 years for Perfect Sound Forever. Other publications include Monthly Review, Scram, Popmatters and Mad Swirl.

Copyright © 2013 by Craig Kurtz