Poem – I Feel You (By Robert Beveridge)
I Feel You inside me curled ready to spring you feign sleep rest at the base of my skull await stray lustful thoughts of you, devour them, reach down constrict my lungs with your presence
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Poem – Inward Images (By Robert Beveridge)
Inward Images Your hair hangs thick and tangled over the soft cheek its ridge of bone smoothed by years of smiles the blonde ends brush your nose, glis- ten with perspiration, cover the curve of half your lips so set, so strident determined in desire one liquid green eye imparts immediacy infects me with sexiness brazen stare […]
Read morePoem – fading scars are fading (By Robert Beveridge)
fading scars are fading Twenty-five years ago I unloaded a truckful of books. I’d done it a hundred times. Seventy-pound boxes into the back of the store, ten, twenty, before the bolt that jutted from the door handle caught my elbow. Three-inch tear extended the inner crease of my left arm. As the manager, what can you do? I […]
Read morePoem – On the Death of Dada (By Robert Beveridge)
On the Death of Dada Face your fate, old friend. The Cabaret Voltaire’s been closed. The movement’s at its end, but I suppose That those of us who live In the snakepit’s writhing dance Have learned, through you, to give Our poetry a second chance. Shall we dance? I know you died before My birth; it was a quarter […]
Read morePoem – Opinion (By Robert Beveridge)
Opinion The majority writes the opinion. When the box scores are posted the team is found to have won despite an unacceptable number of errors. There are, however, no disqualifications.
Read morePoem – Ride and Dash (By Robert Beveridge)
Ride and Dash He can always spot ’em the ones who’ll try to run at a stoplight get the ride for free for them he keeps the .38 under the seat they always end up being the most generous of the night’s fares he can call off for the night after one or two
Read morePoem – Outsiders (By Robert Beveridge)
Outsiders The Club sits in the back in the middle talks over old times it’s an amoeba that splits every once in a while pieces go off to New York or Indianapolis but always pull back together up here a few drunk poets wander in now and again but do not understand the amoeba fraternity these […]
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