March 20-26, 2006: Rebecca Lu Kiernan and C.P. Aboobacker

week of March 20-26, 2006

Rebecca Lu Kiernan and C.P Aboobacker

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Rebecca Lu Kiernan

Bio (auto)

Rebecca Lu Kiernan has published in MS MAGAZINE, ASIMOV’S SCIENCE FICTION, NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW and numerous books and magazines in the U.S and Australia Her first poetry collection, “Sex With Trees ” was published by 2 River Press Canada’s YGDRASIL released her second collection, “The Man Who Remembered Too Much” Kiernan was nominated for a Rhysling award for her sci fi tale of seduction, “When a Snake Bites You in the Ass” She lives on the gulf coast.

The following work is Copyright © 2006, and owned by Rebecca Lu Kiernan and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Rummy Park, 45
(He Never Spoke of His Love for Her)

He never spoke of his love for her
To the unanswerable desert wind,
But washed her prints
Off the copper kitchen,
The marble bath,
The black lacquer bed Her poems went untranslated He never bothered to say
She had died or run away He washed her blood
From 70’s avocado attic carpet,
Burgundy truck leather,
The coral cove where he shivered to choke down the howling Simply, he buried his identifying jewelry
When the moon was bloated full
And let the wolf swallow him whole She never spoke of her love for him (This story is a ticket to survive a night )
The unbending of lives in hands
Capable of unspeakable lies,
My tongue trying on your flesh for size How many trips to dispose of another body?
Please look away

Rummy Park, 49

Our season is unbreakable Nothing can stop
Honey from hexagon
When your fists unclench and you see this
Not in the stars but in shadows
And the lines on your hands,
You will see me,
You will stop trackless,
Beautiful friend,
Naked in my candle light,
Bubbling in my poetry,
Shivering in my rain,
Lonely walk on the moon,
Our secrets almost weightless now Does it take away your breath
To find my heart
Still shaped like the cup of your hands?

Rummy Park, 50
(The Night Before Your Trip)

We try 69 in the park Sprinklers are going off We think we see a U.F.O But we have to let it go
I can’t finish you when I start to come,
Rise up off your thrusting cock
Mouth won’t close,
Slobber on your white thigh,
Try to dismount You hold me to multiples Stars dance
In the marigolds and wet grass No matter how I squirm to get away
Hold me, oh god, hold me to this
Nothing terrestrial matters I have no questions about where you go,
No rule about calling
When you are out of town Even if you leave the planet,
No world exists
Where you wouldn’t spend
Your last quarter, last breath
To hear me whimper in our squeaky bed
Of burnt pine and cherry silk,
“I’m kissing you now,
Wishing you were here “

Rummy Park, 53
(If Anything Changes)

You wouldn’t like martinis, pineapple bread, Pushkin You would not have a sharkskin shirt,
Raspberry pharaoh hound,
Chinese vase of heliotrope by the bed You would not see
My hands in the dark,
The face on Mars
You might write me from a monastery
Of crooked douglas firs and candlelit silence You would neither return home,
Nor, invite me to your stone country
The moon is coming and I am not ready The light is blurring your confident edges At sunset you would be a potential angel If I move you might not see me
Apart from twists of trees and circles of sharks,
Alien faces on unalterable worlds.

Rummy Park, 54
(Inside My Hot House Orchid)

You can see
Tongue pink petals
Spread so wide, spread so wide,
Contrasting yellow throat
Violet speckled,
Pulsing with the filtered breeze
You pump from the forest willows
What an enjoyable house
And conservatory plant,
Such bright bloom in sheltered site,
Flowers with such flamboyant flesh,
For cutting.

C.P Aboobacker

Bio (auto)

Now Retired, Professor and Hod, PG Dept of History of a Govt college in Kerala, India Resides in Kozhikode District, Kerala, India Married, with three girls, all married and employed Now editing a bilingual literary ezine yet to be launched Earlier twice poet of the week of PHS.once in June 2004 and next in August 2005 Nearest city-Calicut, Kerala.

The following work is Copyright © 2006, and owned by C.P Aboobacker and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


I am peeling the onion
The first layer is silver red
Ok, itís a pleasure to help her in the kitchen
An overburdened wife is a burden
With children ready to go to school
Myself ready for office

And I peel the onion
The aroma of her food is inviting
I peel the next layer of the onion
Layer after layer
Color fades
And turns white
A petrified sight
A beautiful morning

Eyes begin to dampen
Onions dampen my eyes

It’s not easy to peel onions
A mastermind created every layer
Joined them together
With an art of nature
And with a care of the man
I go on peeling

Onion has a secret
It secretes dampness in eyes
Something to be sorry for
“Hey”, she calls, 
“What the hell are you doing?
Peel it, ya!”
Layers unfold
A manifold curiosity
Now! It is edible!
The tender innerself of the onion
I take it to my lips
To put it on my tongue