November 7-13, 2005: Randall Forsyth and Miles J Bell

week of November 7-13, 2005



Randall Forsyth and Miles J Bell


BECOME A POET OF THE WEEK
click here for submission guidelines

Randall Forsyth
rforsyth@mymailstation.com

Bio (auto)

Randall Forsyth writes poetry and teaches.

The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Randall Forsyth and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Culver–Clothing Store to the Left

Driver–cobalt blue, British Leyland,
swerves a turn, parks, though seems
delerious .man, 5’8″, dressed slick, though
it is hot, hot and summer day, exits
restaurant–carrys an inconspicuous tube Approachs sports car, holds tube to head
of driver–there is a loud “POP” sound.

Slick man dressed to the 9’s, puts on mask,
gas, billowing in the parking lot I’ve rolled up the windows, shut off
the vents, wait in the Toyota for girlfriend,
Tuna sandwiches to go.

Getting home, with her and the lunch,
I’m asked what day is today before I can answer, am told it is
on the Calendar.


Poem Read, Outloud, Corcoran Gallery
12:53 P.M : Terry Gar and an Entourage

Guard One
grooms the
rest of the
Guards–two
through seven –poised with
Batons,
they smell of
Oleander Oil Chains, some
kind of echo .


Moorpark Scripting,
or, Discussing Cable

One day, a tart,
a cream pudding .

–And, up my pant
leg, a rat the size
of a jar of Vaseline.

–And, in my hair,
the heavy odor of
shelling, gun-shot,
another chemical agent
that requires Cetaphil.

One day, Rousseau,
Nabakov, and New Yorker
Magazine .


Miles J Bell
wheelchairbarbie@myway.com

Bio

I am 34, married, and I live and work in Northern England I have been writing poetry for a year.

The following work is Copyright © 2005, and owned by Miles J Bell and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

His wonders to perform

When it was proved that
space isn’t entirely infinite
God found himself
with a problem Not enough ether
to go around, for different
afterlives, etc Too many
creatures dying these days.

So in a genius
energy efficiency drive
He decreed that
heavens and hells
be combined.

Good dogs found
toothless, clawless cats,
half-blind with limps;
He grounded kestrels and
gave rodents flick-knives Former boy-band members
had a strapped-down audience
of cellists and college bursars.

And He looked at his work,
poured another beer, 
and found them both
exceptionally good.

She watches him eat

like it’s going out of fashion But passionless, filling a hole
where a man should be She wonders
what little changes she could have made
to make things better then or now
or at least different somehow.

He wonders why she’s always staring
at him, wishing she would just sit down When she stands he can see all of her The photographs of when she was
younger will always be prettier She only smiles for visitors –

if only he could go out and come
back in again She should love him,
(even with grease around his mouth
and crumbs on his chin) Now she’s
suspicious when he wears aftershave
(he only uses it on weekdays,
office days).