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
standing
and
one leaf
about to
fall.
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.
Texas
-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.