January 25-31, 2010: Harmoni McGlothlin and Eric Evans

Harmoni McGlothlin


Bio (auto)

Harmoni McGlothlin of Ventura, CA, is an award winning screenwriter, a sometimes fiction author, essayist, and occasional poet who often prefers delusions to reality However, she prefers wine to both delusions and reality Harmoni’s work was the recipient of a 2007 Silver Telly award, has placed in numerous high-end competitions, and is the author of the book Venus Laughs, a sexy collection of poetic works Visit shop.notesandgracenotes.com to find out more about her published works.

The following work is Copyright © 2010, and owned by Harmoni McGlothlin and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Poet Between

I want a poet
between my thighs,
wicked tongue wrapped
in verse,
drive and provoke,
this dancing knot
of prose hidden here,
a hungry mound
saturated beneath a soft
cocoon of sweltering flesh,
suspended in expectation
inspired to spill forth
steaming compositions
sticky on his epic lips,
And he’ll rise then
breathing a new stanza
onto my fragrant neck
“Sandalwood,” he’ll whisper
as he fills me with a new
emphatically taunts
my music
to sing down onto
his tightened fuse,
running rivulets spiraling
along his determined thighs,
crying out into his
listening ear,
a requiem so potent it
drips off the page
and becomes some reality.




Eric Evans


Bio (auto)

Eric Evans is a writer and musician from living in Rochester, New York His work has appeared in Artvoice, Blind Man’s Rainbow, Tangent Magazine, No Teeth, Posey, Lucid Moon, Poetry Motel, Hazmat, Remark and many other publications as well as a few anthologies He has published six full collections and two broadsides as well as a broadside through Lucid Moon Press.

The following work is Copyright © 2010, and owned by Eric Evans and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


“Is There An Acrobat in The House?”

Do acrobats make love like the rest
of us, graceless and fumbling, so
slavishly obeying the laws of physics?
Do they stumble and stammer, mistime
and misjudge, powerless against
gravity’s stubborn pull?

Or do they revel in their flexibility,
journey to the center of their fingertip
balance, warm to the possibility of carnal
invention, the room a web of safety
nets and tension wire, a unicycle and
pole in the corner should the mood strike?

Do they tumble about the house as
a matter of course, swinging from the ceiling,
springing from chair to couch and back again
for the sake of the trick, neighbors peering
in through the front window like its a Sunday
matinee, steaming the glass, waiting on the
next set of thrills?

Do acrobats exist out of context, only
seen when upside down and above a crowd?
Are they mere civilians with a greater sense
of danger, a higher threshold for pain? And
when the theatre lights dim and the man
two rows over has a heart attack, does anyone
ever shout, “Is there an acrobat in the house?”

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