Monthly Archives: January 2017

Appreciate Art III

art_en_0014art_en_0015art_en_0016art_en_0017

Leave a comment

Filed under ovi magazine

Camera Hungry by David Barger

Laying on hard bedding
With examination covers spread
With wrinkle creases
Zagging from left to right
Locamera01_400_01oking like the arm of a corpse.
Turn on my left side;
Black Styrofoam props me up.
Breath held as x-ray scans
Humming in contortion.
Gravity bears heavily on my weight;
My gut folds over like a landslide.
Radiologist speaks out
“You may breathe again.”
I am tickled at given this allowance
As though direction was ever needed.

A week passes like trickling water
Down a white spout leaning crooked;
Worn screws moved to one side.

X-ray report shows fusion is intact.
Lower spine deformities noted;
Possible shadow seen
Left upper quadrant of abdomen.
Need second scans made,
Doctor orders in covering all angles.
Walk-in appointment available.
Two types of x-rays performed;
One standing upright like a mannequin
The second lying again, back down
On white sheet overlapping stiff table.
No gowns necessary today.
Just unzip pants and let them drop
Around the thighs, which brings
Fond memories to arise in the mind.
Breath held, x-ray scanned onto film;
Doctor reads six separate scans.
Radiologist smiles big and confirms
Relayed message like a baton being passed;
Letting note, that the shadow was benign,
And sharing briefly the truth of it all
In merely showing an organ attention
Or an attractive camera hungry mass –
How my stomach, once again, got in the way!

Leave a comment

Filed under poetry

Desert Song II by Virginia Maria Romero

Desert Song II

The wind…

sweeps
across time,

taking pause in grey-purple

to perform in

Nature’s ancestral orchestra…

A painting from Virginia Maria Romero

Leave a comment

Filed under poetry

Appreciate Art II

art_en_0009art_en_0010art_en_0011art_en_0012art_en_0013

Leave a comment

Filed under culture

We are among one another by David Sparenberg

davy01_400_02At center of my heart is a thinking head.  At center of my head is a feeling heart.  In the core of my body is somebody.

I am a circle following unique rotations.  Seasons within follow seasons.  I am a circle of completing season.

Time of transitions from childhood to personhood is a long time. Consideration arrives late, a slow traveler of diverse journeys.

Memory stops on a horizon, smiling at the sun. Phases of the moon look down, then fade away. While desire of life becomes lips, tears fall among raindrops; in silent drifts of snow.

Read the whole article in Ovi Magazine, HERE!

Leave a comment

Filed under culture

Bitter Fruit by Abigail George

The steak knives were missing. Is there any value in that truth?

abi01_400_06Give me a little earth. A place in the sun. A bowl of shelled, salted and roasted peanuts. Let me have a piece of the supernatural universal in my hands. Give me something to grow in the chilled earth that was once made of volcanic rock. I do not really care what you give me to grow just not hidden sadness, or egoism. Too many people let egoism grow on them and then they call it arrogance. Once arrogance is in the picture then your whole wide world is turned asunder. At some point in your life, you are going to stand alone. Sometimes it feels like an hour. Can be longer. Wait for it. It is coming. Like winter in the air. Clouds that look like people. The human being does not know how organic conversation is. It is just as organic as depression, or any other mental illness is. It is just as organic as paperwork. It really means nothing at the end of the day, that sexual impulse. Like a river, it has a song. A marginalised beginning and an end. Marilyn Monroe sweetheart with her ballad of plum flesh naked under moonlight, the Kafkaesque novel between her ears. Her feast of autumn flesh. Her winter flesh.

Her most basic mood a summer or a spring in the photo album is ripe for the taking.

It was her wedding. Day framed by shell people (and those most fragile relations and relationships, delicate, and sensitive), and memoir. A white glove. A cab driver. Grape juice instead of wine. She was still childlike. Innocent of family life as a newlywed. The archipelago of rainbow children with their ghetto planet. Sometimes she cried. I could not feel empathy for her because I was not yet born. This image of the autumn chill is always on my mind. The butterfly. Coconut milk. A woman must always keep a diary. A thinking woman must keep all things Orlando to herself, that she will write a triumphant book from beginning to end with unchanging hope, instil her characters with extraordinary innocence. There is always this struggle for creativity. The tapestry of a wonderful dream. I love men. I love women. You cannot ask me to give up either because always my search is for love, for acceptance, for attention, for affection, for approval. Joy fills my lungs. The release of forgiveness. Fresh and new as rain and the wheels of James Byron Dean’s Little Bastard.

Read the whole article in Ovi Magazine, HERE!

Leave a comment

Filed under short story

#freemelania 17_05

toon_41_7

For more #freemelania, HERE!

For more Ovi Cartoons, HERE!

Leave a comment

Filed under ovi magazine