March 4-10, 2019: Poetry from Angel Quin and Hanoch Guy

Angel Quin and Hanoch Guy

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Angel Quin
angel.q2266@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Angel Quin currently resides in Albuquerque, New Mexico figuring out life still as she writes.

The following work is Copyright © 2019, and owned by Angel Quin and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

 

Falling up flying down

Warm ground
Clear sound
Chasing smoke clouds

I soar
Swore I wouldn’t
I dive away
Die out

Signal you from my Elysium
Save home
Find you in the sky
We flow river banks

Passing currents
We’ll never lie in the same eon
You shock me with your existence
My departure wouldn’t touch you

 

 


Hanoch Guy
hanguy1010@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

Hanoch Guy Ph.D, Ed.D spent his childhood and youth in Israel He is a bilingual poet in  Hebrew and English, Hanoch is teaching Jewish and Hebrew literature literature in Temple University. He has published poetry in Genre,Poetry Newsletter, Tracks , the International Journal of Genocide studies Poetry Motel,Visions International and several times in Poetica where he won an award. His book Terra Treblinka is a finalist in the North book contest. Visit Hanoch on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2019, and owned by Hanoch Guy and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

 

Springtime in Moldova

A.
I enter a room with a thin pencil.
A naked man shows perfect teeth.
His foreskin shines.
He is mending a purple sock.
I write my confession on his back.
Ink stains turn into swirls.
The naked man whines and twists.
By the way, you can choose your burial date.

B.
Spring time in Moldova.
Dandelions have the nerve
to cover the war cemetery.
Tombstones trying on different skirts
brought in by a fat seamstress
who chases me around the cemetery
demanding I put her back in my will.

C
The thin man pees on the ceiling.
I have to fill my fountain pen.
My confession multiplies,
published in evening papers.

D,
Fleas climb the court doorman tattered fur coat.
He stamps my confession: Return to sender unknown.
Interrogators are buried under paper stacks.
The thin man on the ceiling shouts a court date in 2010.
Take off your clothes. You can borrow my socks.

E.
Still spring time in Moldova.
Battles rage on in the mountains
between rebels and royalists.
The naked man sharpens a thin pencil,
sticks it behind his ear, sends me
on a mission to find figs.

F.
The war moves down to the valley by the sea.
Enemies take a break, play soccer in the mud.
My blank confession marked illegible language
lands in the thin man’s open casket.

 

(Inspired by Bob Dylan)

 


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