Thomas Wiloch Haiku 1994

December 18, 2018 § Leave a comment

 

soft sun

drops a

trail of eyes

 

(lightning twist)

 

 

 

Thomas Wiloch Haiku 1994

December 17, 2018 § Leave a comment

 

sway

the burned

mermaid

 

(circle of tombs)

 

 

 

Thomas Wiloch Haiku 1994

December 16, 2018 § Leave a comment

 

puzzle

of the suicide

sanctum

 

(nest of stones)

 

 

 

Thomas Wiloch Haiku 1994

December 14, 2018 § Leave a comment

 

glass bird

tips

the finger path

 

(imaginary predator)

 

 

 

Marlene Mountain Haiku 1994

December 9, 2018 § Leave a comment

 

well there goes the year of the woman whatever that meant

 

are you or have you ever been

 

money belt but heck no money and too much waist

 

neglected the birds neglected

 

the haiku spirit snarls through his narrow-minded lips

 

his dead-beat dad now dead

 

none of the horses in the western poops

 

spring’s cum

 

are you who you eat

 

it didn’t mean anything he says about the other woman

 

can’t we all just get along can’t we all just write our own

 

she speaks of her pain all of the windows up

 

 

 

Anthony J. Pupello on Marlene Mountain

September 18, 2018 § Leave a comment

 

I had the opportunity to meet Marlene Mountain at a group show she was participating in at New York University. She was really something special. At first, I think I puzzled her. But when she recognized my name, it was as though we were old friends. Her pieces were something else as well. What was astounding was that Grey Art Gallery is so staid and Marlene and her work are certainly not. I was sort of surprised she showed there – but very happy as it gave me a chance to meet her. When I asked if she would be speaking the next day, she said “they wouldn’t let me speak – they’d tie me up!”

June 2, 1995

 

 

 

PETER YOVU from Imago

April 27, 2016 § Leave a comment

For Beauty I Wept Butterfly Pins

 

 

a small bird’s

thud against the glass

 

my house

closing in

 

 

spiraling

into an ear’s

galaxy

the wren’s inch

 

 

grackles gather

the enamel sound their beaks make

 

in my mouth

 

 

in a cave

 

the remains

of tiny toads

 

the little bones

in my ears

 

ring

 

 

jagged sky

above the canyon

 

a crack in the egg

 

 

the sky’s blue gong an orange in my hand

 

 

 

Ornithopter Press 2016

http://www.ornithopterpress.com/

 

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