Two Poems By Kiki Dimoula




EASTER IN THE OVEN

The goat kept on bleating hoarsely.
I angrily opened the oven what’s all the noise I asked
the guests can hear you.
Your oven’s not hot, it bleated
do something otherwise your cruelty
will go hungry and at festive time too.

I put my hand inside. It was true.
The head the legs the neck
the grass the pasture the crags
the slaughter all cold.


THIEVES IN MIND

Crying she describes
how burglars wrecked the house
the wretches took her jewellery and raped
old women values.

Isn’t she happy?

It’s been years since any thief
set foot in my house
even for coffee.
I deliberately leave the pot unlocked.

On returning each time I pray
to find the door’s canines broken

the lights shaking as if just having knocked
against a tall earthquake’s head

to see the burial gifts stolen
from the mirror’s mummy kingdoms

as if someone had shaved in the bathroom
and whiskers had sprouted on my beardless touch
their refutation bound hand and foot on the floor

and, coming at its leisure from the kitchen, steam
from warm footprints with lots of cinnamon on top.

Two Poems By The Colombian Poet
Eva Durán

Aunque No Me Ames

Aunque no me ames
y no desees en tu boca
mis pequeños senos
muy suavemente... amanece

Even If You Don’t Love Me

Even if you don’t love me
And don’t desire my small breasts
In your mouth
Very softly... dawn comes.



No Importa Cuantas Veces


no importa cuántas veces
hayas perdido la inocencia
siempre vendrá a ti un hombre
que invoque la magia
y la recupere para ti

luego
por la maravilla de la inercia
te deshojara pétalo a pétalo
dejándote desnuda
liviana

lista para la próxima vez
para el próximo milagro


It Doesn’t Matter How Many Times

It doesn’t matter how many times
You have lost your innocence
A man will always come to you
Invoking magic
And regaining it for you

Then
Through the wonder of inertia
He will pluck your petals one by one
Leaving you naked
Light

Ready for the next time
For the next miracle.

from poetryinternationalweb.org

A Poem By Rebecca Gonzales

A Yellow Dress

I forget my own dreams
When I’m defined by your desire
A woman, gentle as a willow,
Dark skin made darker in a billowing yellow dress.
You would have me seated beside you,
Ankles crossed in a tender pose,
Or swishing by in white high heel shoes,
Glancing over my shoulder at you,
The air misted with the scent of gardenias.

In your fantasy I’ll stay, shutting out what beckons at our door.
I’ll gather the folds of yellow dress around me
And listen for a script to unfold.
In your fantasy I’ll stay if you swear to me
That yellow is never the color of aging gardenias or jaundice or disease.
Warn me that the gravel road outside our door
Doesn’t fare well for a hitchhiker in a yellow dress and high heel shoes;
Keep me from uncovering that time and desperate effort
Swirl in the alchemy that renders the dreams of the poor into nightmares.

Like Two Ships In The Night

first time we met
we kissed on that college parking lot

it was love at first sight
and then we parted

lost each other
found each other

denied each other
dreamt those separate but equal dreams

where like two ships in the night
we collide over and over again

the sea of love
churning and foaming

and gathering strength
against our hulls

A Poem By Rebecca Gonzales


You and I

In January only a sparrow has faith.
Comfort is a meager memory;

A warming love, a fantasy.
For these days of waiting

I’ve stored your love.
Your whispered words are what I want, need.

They clothe my nakedness,
Draw me to your chest.

We both know what we want.
Destiny will provide what we need.

A Poem By Harold Norse

We Bumped off Your Friend the Poet

We bumped off your friend the poet
with the big fat head this morning

We left him in a ditch

I fired 2 bullets into his ass
for being queer

I was one of the people
who went to get Lorca
and that’s what I said to Rosales

My name is Ruiz Alonzo
ex-typographer
Right-wing deputy
alive and kicking
Falangist to the end

Nobody bothers me
I got protection
The Guardia Civil are my friends

Because he was a poet
was he better than anyone else?

He was a goddamn fag
and we were sick and tired
of fags in Granada

The black assassination squads
kept busy
liquidating professors
doctors lawyers students
like the good old days of the Inquisition!

General Queipo de Llano
had a favorite phrase
“Give him coffee, give him plenty of coffee!”

So we took him out in the hills and shot him
I’d like to know what’s wrong with that
He was queer with Leftist leanings

Didn’t he say
I don’t believe in political frontiers?

Didn’t he say
The capture of Granada in 1492
by Ferdinand and Isabella
was a disastrous event?

Didn’t he call Granada a wasteland
peopled by the worst bourgeoisie in Spain?

a queer Communist poet?

General Franco owes me a medal
for putting 2 bullets up his ass

A Poem By Kathi Georges

The Real Me

The only time I want your tongue
in my mouth
is about an hour after I’ve eaten.
Yeah, right when the bacteria
starts to form
and take their real
gut-killing position.

The only time I want your tongue
in my cunt
is when it’s bloody.
Yeah, so you can really
taste what’s
inside a girl.

You see, baby, I want you to
taste the real me.

I want you to see that
I’m full of bacteria
that can eat you alive.

I want you to see that
I’m full of blood that
drips drips drips
four days a month.

I want to give you
my life.

What do you want to give me?