December 4-10, 2023: Poetry from Richard Lynch and Robert Wynne

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Richard Lynch

Richard Lynch lives in Gandia, Valencia, Spain. He may or may not like to read his poems out loud and claims to have been eaten by a shark.

The following work is Copyright © 2023, and owned by Richard Lynch and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

What Freedom Are Wings

Leap from a balcony
to catch yourself
in air
without
arrogance

See the thickness
of what
surrounds you
and become
less
dense

Crap whenever you want
especially on cars
parked under the
place you
call
home

Defy your gravity
and lift yourself
above the life
you
live

Feed the pigeons
even if they
make stupid
damned
noises

Robert Wynne

Robert Wynne earned his MFA in Creative Writing from Antioch University.  A former co-editor of Cider Press Review, he has published 6 chapbooks, and 3 full-length books of poetry, the most recent being “Self-Portrait as Odysseus,” published in 2011 by Tebot Bach Press.  He’s won numerous prizes, and his poetry has appeared in magazines and anthologies throughout North America.  Recently retired, he lives in Burleson, TX with his lovely wife and an aging German Shepherd. His online home is www.rwynne.com.

The following work is Copyright © 2023, and owned by Robert Wynne and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

This Simulation is Awesome

I can’t imagine how long it must have taken
to write the code for a sequoia or a dolphin

but the absolute audacity of the developers
to allow infinitely different, even contradictory

meanings of life – that’s pure genius.
Imagine creating imagination well enough

that it can conceive of itself in the abstract,
a great blue heron with a migration podcast

or even a suddenly merciful god, less like us
and infinitely more creative.

 

The Beginning of the End…Again

Dawn’s pink cheeks
blush at the leering moon.
Nothing is as chaste

as the sky itself:
great blue arms
holding the whole world

in place, embracing
even troublesome weather
without judgement

or passion. It’s easy
to have perspective
when that’s all you have.

But even time grows tired
of entropy’s failures,
how it never finishes

what it starts,
and it starts everything.

 

Answers

“Rooms may be
using us.” – Kay Ryan

Worlds have been
using me, quietly
assembling themselves
in my mouth, at my
fingertips on keyboards.
And to what end?
What to make of mail
delivered, unread?
I have yet to determine
the purpose of anything
but I have thousands
of made-up answers
to that one thing
you asked about –
including aquamarine,
the simple sound
of a ceiling fan
in a dark room
and the way smoke
talks to light in curls.
What was the question again?

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