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Poetry of September 2019

- by Linn Barnes

Among the Clouds
-Linn Barnes

Playing a guitar properly 
is not unlike threading a needle to 
the wind as you bring into being
vast clouds of elemental sonic 
shrouds draping the slim
line of spacetime you may
find yourself tangled up in
for a moment harnessing
shadows of pure joy
careening off the fabric of 
where you may be delivering
a cuff or a pulse or a bump
into the the thickened air
and waiting for the perfect
and tender bounce in 
what can only be described
as a close to perfect 
moment of communion
transfiguring confusion
and blessing the 
vanishing holy air.

Bad Weather
-Linn Barnes

When the sky bulges,
you’d best duck,
and if you’ve got 
any luck,
you might be left
stranding among
the riddles of the 
grim possibles
where most 
of it won’t matter,
save the outside 
chance that maybe
you’ve bought 
the right ticket
on a quick ride
down a sad lane
where there might 
be one tree left
one leaf 
about to 

The Dunes
-Linn Barnes

The crumbling tower of 
lies and outrage further
rattle the bewildered mind
when this sad president 
tries to change a forecast
for no apparent reason
while the storm bears down
on the atlantic coast
and millions of soon to be victims 
wonder why he still breathes
and has not been led into 
the lonely wind blown dunes 
where the grass is sparse
and the winds are harsh
where the graves are but
a murmur of the lives lost 
to the rising wind and sea
where mercy does not exist
for mad men and fools
and only decay prevails.


-Linn Barnes 

And now the shadow of fear 

spreads gluon like 

into the worst and most 

despicable whatever sanity 

might be before we judge 

what it can never be

and then when it does 

we wonder why

as the next sad magazine 

lubricates it’s horrid way

into the willing chamber 

of death without remorse

and life without love

while the volume rises 

to an interminable scream.