'Unbuckled: NoHo Poetry' Today at T.U. Studios

Today Patch brings our readers some original poems and fiction from members of the group, which meets regularly in NoHo at , including this Saturday at 4 p.m. The meetings are open to anyone who wishes to share or listen to some original creative writing.

The Loudest Voice by Beverly M. Collins

Provocative echo shook the land called wolf and sheep to follow.

Slaughter house filler’s quest to feed a place within that’s hollow.

All content is on display; not seeing is just a choice.

Bandwagon jumpers went off the cliff behind the loudest voice.      

Morning Moonrise   by Beverly M. Collins

Stopped on the freeway; I notice the moon

has clocked in to do the morning shift.

What a hostile territory for the Moon.

The sun glares jealously upstaging it. The blue sky joins in to downplay it.

Even the gridlock is a tad disrespectful

to its beauty.

The Moon hangs there ignored and

brokenhearted as a jilted lover.

I long to tell the Moon to clock out

at once and report back to its post at

9:00 p.m.

How could the moon forget how much the

night sky gladly compliments its glow or how

the stars are a willing chorus of

background singers for its flashy show?  

Poems from ‘Poems of Woman’ by Mary Mann

               It has passed as any other            

               And the sun sets,

               But that thing, that honor

               Trembled in the heat

               Known but to God.

               Disintegrated,

               Burnt the eye

               Of mortal that would behold it,

               Pierced the nerve –

               And he, innocent propagator

               Stands smiling,

               Unaware,

               Judging as a child

               The tear that fell.      

                              Ii

               That was not your place,

               There where I put you,

               But my own projection in space.

               And now it is gone,

               And I only know it;

               For I only saw you there,

               I only knew you,

               There,

               Where the little waters

               Left no trace,

               And only the great tides

               Roared about you,

               And only the great winds

               Blew in your face.

               You were never there,

               Only a figment,

               An image

               Of my own projecting

               That the knife cuts deep

               To displace. 

Finally by Radmoir Luza

The crow I have been

For so long

Is now an eagle

The body and mind

An electric guitar

The shame and guilt

Have gone through

A priest's ears and eyes

The trembling hands

Found a home

In yours

The actor exited

Page right

And turned incarnation

To ink

The bloodied ego

The beet red bully

The voluptious victim

Buried near the Sunset off-ramp in this city of

Random reincarnation

 

Meadow of Misfits by Radomir Luza

An afternoon of atomic bombs

A morning of carnations

A dagger to my lazy flesh

Leaves me longing for air

The kind few get

On their second time

Through this stratosphere

Their animated journey

Towards Shangri-la

For it is true

That neither you or me

Have an equation

To fill our silly time 

A God-honored

Time-absorbant

Formula towards

Forgiveness and pain

The shaking hands

And trembling souls

Know nothing

It is we

With tsunamis

Blue tangerines

And yellow dwarfs

Who must rise as one 

And fall as many