Poems by Annabel McSpadden



Poems by Annabel McSpadden


Some late, wisteria-loose April era, Every hour moves in the trees, Gold. Wisteria: Lethargy strands, Purple’s slowest shade, Parking lot altar, Flower girl wandering In wordless proclamation - This string of days Gives itself away. Rise - sink - rise - Would you call light Hysteria If I took it in my eyes And blinded to the lies I write: Time, self, Rhymes and Pride in them? Wrap all of me but my body In wysteria. I’ll see specks of her Glinting in the golden commonality - Call her ego, Call her motes, But she’ll fade. She fades and fades.
---



I don’t hallucinate,
but I dream hallucinations - 
each voice a fingertip
against my eyelid,
each voice sourced
from some deep awareness. 
somewhere, I name the fear:
universes scattering as they always have,
but, this time,
letting me watch.



----




like two fingers per eye pressed hard enough to see lightning, I light upon sudden peace - I darken. like rain green flowers, sweet green flowers on half the tree, you suggest the branches that touch my window tell least surprising halves of stories. what would it mean to write cues on my hands, line cues like curios on the sill - cue essences, memories of essences so wonder takes no induction but constant, constant, resurrects?

"PROTEST POEM 101" - Mark Flanigan




"PROTEST POEM 101" - Mark Flanigan


Shit man, holy moly, I mean wow. 
    
Geezle peats, you know?

Goddamn that was good.

I needed that.

Fuck!

You know what I mean.  

Hot damn.

Jesus, Mary & Joseph.

I mean, you got to be kidding me.

Huzzah!

You know what I’m saying?

Just so awesome.

Good lord.

Thanks for that.

Jiminy Frickin’ Cricket.

For real. 



(Mark Flanigan, the first featured reader at Word of Mouth in December 2009, returns to the Globe tomorrow, Wednesday January 8, for the tenth aniversary celebration. Open mic sign-up is @ 7 pm and readings begin upstairs at 8 pm.)