Swimming with Elephants Publications

an independent, not for profit, publishing agent focusing on supporting the working author and non-profit organizations


Leave a comment

Kite Flying Reprise

Yoga Mom

Whoever knew
that watching a kite as it flew
could be so therapeutic?

But there it was,
our rescued kite,
500 feet of new line,
a twenty foot long rainbow tail for balance,
some brisk gusts of wind.

After the somewhat traumatizing experience
a couple of weeks ago,
the disappointment at the lack of offered help
the sadness of losing the kite
and the time spent retrieving it from the tree,

it felt so durned good
to fly it up high again.
Catharsis
Therapy
Freedom
Joy.

View original post


Leave a comment

Donald Justice’s Excerpt From Five Portraits

The Slow Room

Portrait With Flashlight

from Five Portraits
by Donald Justice

What lonely aisles you prowled
In search of the forbidden,
Blinking your usher’s torch,
Firefly of the balconies!

And when you found it – love! –
It was to pure French horns
Soaring above the plains
Of Saturday’s Westerns.

The defiant eyes laughing
Into the sudden beam,
The soft Mexican curses.
The stains, the crushed corsages…

Off, off with those bright buttons,
Poor spy. Your heart’s as dark
As theirs was and it speaks
With the same broken accent.

Girls read it in your eyes now
And ask for your autograph.
They torture you for secrets.
And you give them poems,

Poems with hair slicked back,
Smelling of bay rum, sweat,
And hot buttered popcorn.
Furtive illuminations…

projection room

View original post


Leave a comment

gods

Daily Share

bernard s. barnes

Tom Waits growls and wails from the living room stereo
I crack a fresh beer and join her on the bed
a freshly-bought anthology of early Bukowski poems sits on the desk
read me something, she says
I read her poetry and drink beer
as she listens with eyes closed
her mouth held in a grin of contentment
I finish a poem and close the book
resting my head back on her thigh
she sighs deeply
I can’t remember, she says, the last time I’ve been this happy
neither can I
is this not Heaven?
are we not gods?

View original post


Leave a comment

Your Fingers

Lardeau Valley Time

I found one more prose poem in my mind. So here it is. Theme still Fingers.

Your fingers play my heart like a flute
Flinging your notes to my mind
Fluttering fingers so long and slim
Caressing my life with your joy.

Your fingers play my heart like an organ
Swelling my thoughts with the sound
Rich and round from so far down
From fingers strong and long.

Your fingers play my heart like a cello
Pulling rolls of sound from the depths
Teasing the notes to the surface
With fingers slim and tender.

Your fingers play my heart each time
You touch me. On the face,
On the arm, at my neck.
Stirring such feelings of wonder
That your fingers are magic to me.

View original post