June 12-18, 2000: Mary Beth Magin and Krys Jarvis


 

week of June 12-18, 2000

Mary Beth Magin and Krys Jarvis

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Mary Beth Magin
he_still_believes@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

Mary Beth Magin is a senior at Irondequoit High School in Rochester, New York She plans on attending the University of Pittsburgh in the fall Mary Beth has been writing for a few years but is still struggling to become adequate The poets she has met on the web have amazed her and touched her She would like to thank them for their kindness
Her writing can be found at http://mix.eccentrica.org/small Any comments would be appreciated
On a side note, she finds this describing of herself in the third person quite awkward.

The following work is Copyright © 2000, and owned by Mary Beth Magin and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.

lilas

her name was leslie,
and she lived in her
father’s arms,
her mother’s
smile the three of them
together in
a yellow house
on Hirsch Road,
with
white dresses in
white closets,
and a Sunday morning ritual
complete the picture with
a crooked mailman
and a crackpot pastor gossiping grey ones,
glove-white arms
and powdered tea
arrangements
rosebud ornaments
she was a yearling

and three years later,
leslie’s face
shed,
a movement as sharp
as the prick of a
school dance corsage,
as dark as the blood
served at mass
her father’s face hides
in an apartment
on Thomas
now every morning
there’s sleet where is
leslie? mother just
hems the thin line
of her mouth
in,
sips tea
and bows
Catholicism
as one more
weight too
devastatingly
pretty
for large hands
to handle,
so his
wither standing by a tollbooth
near a lady wearing
blue high heels
and a patent leather purse,
he rubs his thumb against
the lining of his coat
pocket, remembering
that little blonde
lock of hair, and his
packets
of birdseed “she was such
stained glass,” one visiting artist
told them if only she’d
return and drink
tea, if only her ribbons weren’t
alone in the closet,
if only
she’d come to the park if only he wouldn’t
frighten easily, if only
things didn’t
slide if only
she loved him still.


love some slack

like when he slides his finger
direct
.to the space
.between
a bridge of your
teeth
and
gums
you there
resembling
for he
a horse

whether foal

or mare


untitled

whose-its and hair

a gigantic, sad
tooth
in the dentist’s chair

i liked the idea
of something so strong no drill
would hold
in me
“do you mind swallowing blood?”
otherwise, it’s a bother,
using pounds of gauze
outside the window–
they are liquid, they are solid
shifted weight
on the counter tells me–
what to dream of, now,
it’s the miracle of the veins the trees
and how could they form i love your map, your
topography i will hold
your tin soldier for a day,
and that
will be my
ever we’re constantly
almost dying; that is
exactly why i
will hold him for ever i can’t pronounce
anything, a little
gushing i loved the idea, yes; i disclose to you,
i hated falling
i can’t pronounce
anything.


Krys Jarvis
theshadowpoet@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

I am 29 years old and live in Austin, Texas with my dog; a 10-month-old pitbull named Dexter and my turtles A strange mix of pets, but they get along well I have been writing off and on most of my life I just started to take it more seriously in the last couple of years I am completing my first chapbook and hopefully it will be out mid May I have had my poem Ray of Light published in A Time to Be Free, The Joker Wild published in di-verse-city 2000, South by Southwest 1998 was printed in The Austin Chronicle, I was the featured poet for the month of May 2000 for the ezine GRIT, featured work for the ezine moe’ pi toe’ in May 2000 and my poem Hot Air was published in theywhosearch, Voice 1 My hobbies and interests are writing, reading, nature and the outdoors Hanging out at Barton Springs is a pleasant pastime of mine
The following work is Copyright © 2000, and owned by Krys Jarvis and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsover without written permission from the author.


Barbie’s Dead

I looked upon you
A princess
Blonde hair
Blue eyes
Living in the dream house
Driving a pink corvette
Dressing cool
Always having a man
Your curves
Became the envy
Of those who saw you
Mimicking women
Looking like you
Trying to be you
Cool and calm
Relaxed and mellow
Then came the real toys
My brother’s soldier
Destroyed your home
Burned your house
And he cut off your hair
Laughing hysterically
While I sat in somber
What happened to you
The dream house is gone
The car wrecked
Your golden locks gone
GI Joe has won


Leashed

Walking in
I feel the tug
Beginning the day
With two steps back
Forcing every step forward
Choker feeling tight
Tighter with each step
Restraining even more so
With every movement
The dawn brings authority
Awaiting anxiously for dusk
Freedom in the night
Escaping the grind
Leaving the drudgery
Till morning calls
Leashes being placed
Toiling once again