PSH: Poets of the Week

week of June 16 - July 6, 2003

B.J. Hale and Bradley Mason Hamlin

BECOME A POET OF THE WEEK
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B.J. Hale
inaccurateincompleteallthings@hotmail.com

Bio (auto)

My name is Bobby Ray Hale. I am from a small industrial town of Kingsport which is located in Northeast Tennessee. My location explains my hillbilly name. Im an 18 year old poet/DJ/musician/artist. These poems are meditations on the hyper-modern culture and how it affects (infects) us.

See more of B.J.'s work here.

The following work is Copyright © 2003, and owned by B.J. Hale and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

a boy
who watches
so much
reality television
that he has lines
and all the "characters"
memorized
like
bible verses
should be frothing at the mouth
for he is surely
deathly
ill.

man woman child can
seeee and dominate
so impressive though
most hairy and
awkward warm touch
finds spots to please
with the enthusiasm of home
alterations hypnotic.

...........................................who did shout and
...........................................kick shins in
...........................................doubt tantrums.

.............who did let go
.............of slippery rocks
.............succumbing to fear.

courageous cursing
shows laughing ass
holes for what they
are laughing ass
holes but showers
of saliva worship male
female giving takes
a more solid structure
begs for vibrations
real humbled.

"I swear
to God
if she was a character
in the script...
no she was just so...I would totally kill her."

Bradley Mason Hamlin
bradleyhamlin@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

Bradley Mason Hamlin was born in Los Angeles and raised on both the east and west sides of the territory. He served in the United States Navy from 1981 to 1984. He now writes poems, short stories, and novels and works for Mystery Island Publications. His hobbies include watching cartoons and listening to the blues.

The following work is Copyright © 2003, and owned by Bradley Mason Hamlin and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

Bottom Feeders

I see you
coming down to the bottom
of the mud
with me
searching the dark earth
for the last good gold coin
the deep buried treasure
of humanity
and there it is
against your fingertips
as you run out of breath
you have found
only the bones
of those who have drowned
before you.

Black Fire

Bones
scream for
angel's wings
just this once
give me
flight
over the
fire
just this once
let me see
God
naked
as a
jailbird.