August 26 – September 1, 2019: Poetry from Grant Armstrong and Michael Smith

Grant Armstrong and Michael Smith

Send us your poetry for POET OF THE WEEK consideration.
Click here for submission guidelines.


Grant Armstrong
garmstr1@go.olemiss.edu

Bio (auto)

Grant M. Armstrong (Oxford, Mississippi) is an unpublished poet who is seeking to find the right fit for his work.. He is greatly appreciative of your time and consideration. He is certainly not interested in pleasing everyone. He hopes some people cringe, others laugh, some hate, and some love his work. Frankly, he could not give a damn so long as someone attributes some meaning to his work. Even if that means thinking it is unadulterated shit. Grant is a Ph.D. candidate in political science at Ole Miss, who often feels stifled by mechanical and robotic academic writing.  He is married and has a dog and cat.

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


Guts

I’ve been lying on your lap
And lying to your face
As you sing me Italian lullabies

Like Christ on the cross
Nail me down so we
Can get this over with
So the dog can finally sleep

And let the life bleed
Out of my body
Like the light escapes
The neighbor’s house

 


Michael Smith
kael.thomas.smith@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Michael T. Smith (Lafayette, Indiana) is an Assistant Professor of English who teaches both writing and film courses. He has published over 100 pieces (poetry and prose) in over 50 different journals. He loves to travel.

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


Streets

(1)
Off Milton Street in those lonely hours
Ring cobbled footsteps of long ago;
And in this sea of stick-figured mass
Wanders a single dot soft and slow.

(2)
Sketch a picture of this mile-less street
Of charcoal black and virginal whites,
Whose dusty bits do better capture
A magical night of “what-if’s” n’ “mights.”

(3)
A breath of Shakespeare’s on each tin plate
As every street becomes a loose rhyme —
But a mark upon a chartless map
Of Parisian gesture known by mime.

(4)
So now blow the fire out of the sun
With the breath you took away from me
And then see the world with a wet light —
Lamp kissed — in the blushing tail of day.

(5)
For soon our stares become entangled,
And as if from Dipsa’s quickened nip,
The world is dead in but an instant
While our teenage sights stumble and trip.

(6)
Even Rufus couldn’t breathe it back
As the pollen of a memory,
To dust the forked road with déjà vu.
(A small Cyprus built of emery)

(7)
Time watches from eclectic shadows
This city of crushed origami
As solitary wanderers walk
Into their words soaked with history,

(8)
Eternal nights in constant replay —
A cassette of howls and horns rewinds
So that tonight you and I can count
To infinity a second time.

 

 



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