Tag Archives: ovi magazine
Leonard Cohen My Friend (V2)
Death is a bitch and a whore
comes with hat on or off,
Jewish, Christian or lover years ago called Nancy.
Death is a passport, a left behind baggage note.
My leverage sinks, I see you pass human.
These my fears, your fright, being broke, old-royalties stole Suzanne.
Now branches, extended limbs, point outward nowhere-
doors Montreal collapse tomb, dance with me,
end perfume love, a few dead flowers.
More poetry from Michael Lee Johnson, HERE!
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Cascando, the Documentary
The camera eye, imitating nature, is cruel in its concern.
This time, it was the airship Hindenburg on its last visit to the States.
As it docks a wind kicks up, and the tethers drag the sailors up.
Two held on, and it means their death.
They are swept upwards, up and suddenly they are hundreds of feet high, and thus doomed.
We see little of that, since the editors are interested much more in the falling.
One fellow had to let go pretty early, and we see him fall.
A few hundred feet, then he lands on his head, and is lost to the camera’s eye.
The camera is interested only in drama.
There are shouts to the other fellow, but we do not hear them.
They urge him to hold fast, hold on.
He is the center of focus, he is strong, he rides the winds and the twists and turns.
He is game, he has no alternative, he clings and hopes.
His struggle is what the camera will report to us, decades after the events.
His flight continues upwards for long, and just before we get bored with this
The nameless fellow falters and lets go, as though shoving himself off.
Human strength is only so much, human endurance has its limits.
Now the falling proper begins, parable for modern man.
There are three thousand feet of falling. It takes a long time.
There he goes — down, down — to the upward rushing earth.
He doesn’t know what he looks like, he doesn’t care.
He looks down, then he looks up, then he holds himself, then he runs, arms and legs flailing.
He tries doing nothing, he shouts, he feints, he mock-feints,
As though he could bargain with Mother Earth about this.
We see it all, we are the eyes and ears of the world.
Why are we so interested, what is going on here?
This casual devil’s work, the happenstance that means his extinction —
Why is this replayed so often without commentary?
He disappears, still reaching, behind trees and the like, and that is all.
The camera does not go there and show the broken body.
One never hears of the funeral, the testimonies.
Who needs to see all that? They are mere formalities.
Ah, but the dying, the flight, the resistance — that was something, now.
Check Dr. Lawrence Nannery’s Poetry Collection:
“Translations from the Cinema”
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More From HERE!,
“Pa, what are you doing,” Ma Mockingbird chirped from the edge of their Home Nest.
“I am practicin’ my triple loop, swoop and scoop maneuver on the Grub Worms and Grasshoppers, Ma ! Watch this !” Pa Mockingbird said as he rolled into a triple aerial loop, swooped forward and scooped a large flying grasshopper into his gaping beak. He then flew up into the Nest grinning proudly at his fine feathered Life’s Mate.
“Very impressive, Pa, and the Grasshopper will make a good supper for all of us later today, seeing as we have already had our breakfast of cheesy Grub Worms early this morning. But you are supposed to be helping me with Spring cCleaning, Pa. We have got to get the Nest ready for our new batch of Hatchlings. I’ll be laying them soon,” Ma said matter-of-factly.
“I wish we could get Chick to fly the coop, so to Human Speak, and find a Mate of his own. I’d like to teach my GrandFledglings my new triple loop, swoop and scoop maneuver,” Pa Mockingbird complained.
“Pa, Chick is different, and we’re living in different times. We just need to be kindly patient, and fly beside him until he finally finds his foot-and-wing in the world,” Ma Mockingbird said gently.
“And stop using Chick’s behaviors as an excuse for your own, Pa,” Ma Mockingbird said as she switched gears quickly. “We need to get the Nest ready for what We need to have it ready for.”
“But Ma, I am already late gettin’ down to the ’Ole Domino Gang, and catchin’ up on all of the Human gossip and goings-on in the world…..”
“I don’t care, Pa. I, too, am late getting down to the local Public Library that I like to visit every day as well,” Ma Mockingbird interrupted sharply. “You do not see me trying to get out of what must be done first, in order to get my other needs fulfilled beforehand.”
“Why in the feather pluckin’ world do you go down to that ’ole local Library every day, Ma ? How borin’ ! You can’t even read all that Human Hen Scratch, that’s plopped down on all of those collected pieces of paper they call Books,” Pa Mockingbird sneered.
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You are dead. Long, long gone, I know, and yet –
Still moments prompted by a distant laugh,
Or perhaps a pause when mounting a stair,
I lose the imperative to forget
And in an instant you are there.
Then comes the fear, the hatred at your loss.
It charges, dragonlike, at my surmise.
Time shrinks. The world explodes in shrieking air
And, victim to a memory that flies
Back to that awful day you were no more,
Sorrow and regret, numbness and despair
Summon strong demons I cannot ignore.
In horrid rush again I feel the need
To be with you still. I bleed, I bleed.
More from Jan Sand HERE!