Poetry || Submissions

Memory round cruel edges.
Even spikes are worn
smooth as buttons.
But I will keep your words sharpened
and someday, yes
while you are smiling,
you will have them
driven in your hands.
 
Memory was originally published in Parnassus Literary Journal VOL. 18 NR.3 Fall 1994

The Final Curtain

I left when I realized
the most expensive
piece of furniture
in our house
was your mother,
and you sat
in her lap
as she pointed
out to me
what needed to be done.

The Final Curtain was published in The Lilliput Review #65 February 1995 

Pollutants

Each puff I take
of a lucky strike,
I stand an uncensored
smokestack.
Each spoon of sugar,
each sip of wine
pollutes my holy river
of blood.
One bar of soap,
mascara line,
deodorant stripe,
makes a waste dump
of my skin.
I don't have to protest
at a nuclear site.
That mirror in my room
provides me the ground
to battle my own police.
 

Pollutants was originally published in Prophetic Voices  of Heritage Trails Press 1995

A Plate Full Enough To Share

How casually we fill
the hollows of our cheeks.
Swallow without chewing.
Our hands are filled
then emptied
all puffy by the thumb.

We grab and twist
each piece of bread.
Flatten its feathers,
tear its breast,
so the crumbs
resemble a shredded napkin
in a four star restaurant,
while we wait. Always waiting.

Let us have only enough
to remember each taste and time.
Balancing the cup
with a stranger's hand,
so each sip
tastes sweet as the kiss
of morning
pulling you from your bed.
 

A Plate Full Enough To Share was published in Poetpourri  Volume IX No. 1 1995

  Moment
 
 The wind scraped the sky pink,
 as the fist of the east
 bruised the clouds blue.

 What lay beneath them
 streaked the glen with shadow.
 A leaf
 spiraled down

 calling more to follow.
 The twittering cricket leapt
 as a swallow swung
 one last loop around me.

 I was stitched
 by that thread
 and blanketed by dusk.
 
 
    This Pounding In My Ears

Our art is flimsy.
       We need to paint with fire.
   Scald our hands.
Point the finger.

     We think we may warp reality
   With a tug, a bind.
 Lay the thread
      Weave thought into tapestry.

 But outside the studio
   The critics swarm
   Like moths
  Hungering for holes.

   I know no silkworm
  Who has not eaten
       The cocoon that gave him
  A place in this world.

  Breathe fire
   Comrade.
   Consume yourself.
Brand the living.
  Kick to ash
   The dead.
 

This Pounding In My Ears was published in The Haight Ashbury Literary Review  Volume 13 Number 1 1994

 

Richard Ballon writes: Here are several poems to drink, salt , pickle or poke at. Some of them may pinch back.  I have been published in many  small journals such as The Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, Poetpourri,Changing Men, Social Anarchism, Black Buzzard Review, Oinionhead, Saint Anthony Messenger, Chrysalis Reader, The Rockford Review, Prophetic Voices. The last six years have been dedicated to work on a local access television series named Zephyr which I wrote and directed. This mini series has won four awards in access video contests. Richard is available at richardb@admin.umass.edu