GUEST POST // spring by John Flanagan

break a leg young thing
this is your moment
after all those morgue afternoons
rehearsing old school mystiques
fine tuning your pauses
making each phrase count

your entrance upstage
deliberate slight in silhouette
moving into light and out
making us sit up

a stir
a single shoot
peep of crocus
hiatus
second delivery
you hold our breath in yours

delay the extended arm
purple patch declamation
flourishes of yellow madness
in winterspent fields

in the morning we’ll blog and tweet
your budding craft
your youth

 

by JOHN FLANAGAN
© All rights reserved 2018

a Circus, Part #2 (Fragment #010)

A howitzer! It had begun with a conversation about the howitzer barrel aimed at a banquet! Hmm… Maybe I should say, “It began with our conversation about a circus!” to be more precise. I can’t say that I’m very snarky but I really don’t like circus art. I see many societal blemishes in it. A circus is an ugly show in my opinion! Nasty clowns with inflatable hammers who bash each other and the audience… A rubber girl who squirms like an epileptic with convulsions… A mangy dog with an old abacus – can I REALLY believe that IT is able to count to ten? Honestly? Can you believe in this? Golly! You’re such fools!

I realized that I was shouting only when I noted the expostulatory look from my lovely Chilperic. But I had decided to ignore it. And I’ll still tell him tonight that I’m a big girl, and he can stop parenting me! I must finish my speech!

So, I decided to gather all this rabble and to shoot them out of the howitzer. It’s the only decent performance in the circus! And when I had finished, I was quite pleased with myself.

A strange creature in the corner looked at me… And just then, I began to shiver, out of the blue… And after that chill I heard a stomp from the side corridor.

∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼

I stand on the stage and feel like I’m blind. I can see nothing beyond the blinding glare of terrible searchlights. A black gaping abyss is beneath my feet… the silent auditorium.
– ¡Señoras y señores, buenas tardes!
What? What the hell? I’m not only blind… deaf also! Perfect! Just perfect!
– ¡Ceremonia ‘Premio Dardos Award’ a la vista!
Oh, dear me… how could I forget? Hell… HELL! I try to recall where I put my list of nominees… on the table… or on the bookshelf… in the glove compartment?
– ¡Unbolt arenga!
I’ve never cursed myself like I do now… I can’t lay an egg! Not today when I’m so close to my target! Not today! My list of nominees… damn it! I don’t need it! I smile at Prakash Hegade. One step ahead… I close my eyes and start to speak. Without my list. Without any preparation. I’m saying their names by heart. I’m reading my heart list…

21 Shades Of Blue ∼ Dead Cat Comes Back ∼ Field Of Thorns ∼ Henry Game: His/story ∼ In Search Of The Perfect Spring ∼ Johnpoetflanagan ∼ Northern Nevermore ∼ PoeticDepression ∼ PoetryBySkull ∼ Prospermind ∼ Raycabiro 
SpahrPlops ∼ Strings Of Soulfulness ∼ The Poesy Project ∼ UP!::urban Po’E.Tree(s)

I’m happy. I didn’t lay an egg! I smile at the black gaping abyss and…

∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼

…and I wake up on a big heap of rotten beetroot and zucchini. (to be continued)

P.S. Ah… sorry, my dear Prakash Hegade for my creativity… Guilty! Now you can arrest me! The last thing that I should tell my heart nominees – “All information and rules regarding the Premio Dardos Award are here.” The end. Take him away!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015

 

My special thanks to one and only Cyan Ryan,
a great friend and an excellent editor,
for grammar corrections and improvements this essay!

P.S. And for this incredible video too… thank you, Ry!