NEW PROFILES  

BARE has new interviews with poets:

Bill Abbott

Marcus Whalbring

  NEW WORK ON BARE  

Bluejay

Sarah Short

To the Blue Jay that perches upon my backyard fence,

you are the naïve portrait of my solitude in all of its glory.

You sit so hushedly, meditating upon the verdant.

Too: I wonder what for?

Would one not be more enamored of one's songs?

Birdie’s glide and stride over slippery morning skies, a film of cerulean brush strokes twisting and pulling against thin clouds that loll and crawl lazily.

Besides, a capacity for free flight would be a trait one would hold firm, fight, persisting feverishly to keep up high!

And yet here you sit, and I sit.

And I will remain until you bound,

and then I will keep, keep sitting here.

Too: I wonder what for?

The Day Our Planet Dies

Cato Weisberg

 

Today is the day our planet dies. You sit on your back porch with a hand in your hand solemnly thinking of all that will be lost. The history, the stories, the memories you have of yourself and others sitting on this very porch. All gone. Everyone you have ever loved gone, everything you have ever hated gone. All gone. But how gone are they really? Their atoms will be scattered but you take solace in knowing that their matter will never be destroyed. Maybe billions of years from now they will be a part of life forms we could have never dreamed of. Forming new history, new stories, new memories…  


A blinding light flashes, their hand slips as simultaneously the lives of all the many living things on the planet come to an end and the planet’s various atoms begin a journey of many lightyears, searching for a purpose.

Reflection

Alana Becker

 

Gazing at me with an empty stare
she calls out my feelings
like no one has. The one who
lost her breath
spitting meaningless words
to a grown woman with a half-listening ear.
I climb down the stairs to the main room
where I meet her eye to eye, only
this time she walks
through my spinning head.
This time she is not there.

Tomorrow

Anonymous

 

It's a simple path to my clandestine cave,

(Even if the ghostly ken will it unpave).

Just don't forget to cover the eye

Lest you feel the urge to cry.

 

Now enjoy the same-thing stream

Of, in a wordly way, little mice.

Have a feast of meat, cake and cream;

You know you want a life of vice.

Sun

Joy Ku

Sun went missing in the sky
The shadows did retreat
Raindrops dripping, dripping by
The rushing hoard of feet

Songbirds then did take to heart
To sing to their content
The grumbling clouds departed
And let sun out to repent

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