Literature In Los Angeles

Archive for the ‘POETRY’ Category

THREE POEMS

In POETRY on May 30, 2017 at 4:15 pm

Poems by S.A. Gerber.

Lila Axl

Al Fresco

The jagged street corner

provides a brief respite.

I am chewed up and

spit out by the sidewalks.

Both weary and leery of

trains, busses, and all

methods of ‘road tripping’.

Back in “los angel city”,

downtown to be exact.

(Madness, it seems, has

always migrated West).

In the alley I find a seat.

Back against an abandon

warehouse, I sip what’s

left of my pint with Mort.

Someone coming out of

“The Pantry” gave him their

doggie bag, and we split

pork roast and fried potatoes.

In this down and out version

of ‘Al Fresco’, Mort is a man

of taste and largesse.

We finish off with red wine

he purchased for 89 cents,

and my last two cigarettes.

Leaning back against the

warehouse, facing the

unseen Pacific Ocean,

both silently cursing the

choices we’ve made, yet still

enjoying the calm, winter night.

Could be worse…

this could be Minnesota—

freezing our ‘sacks’ in

downtown Duluth.

The pork could’a been dried out—

We could be alone…

yeah.

Could always be worse.

 

One More L.A. Short Take

Ten thirty-four pm—

still sipping at my

after dinner cappuccino,

in this upscale

Beverly Hills eatery.

Been sitting a long time…

waiting for the check.

The manager approaches…

says he’ll take us whenever

we are  ready.

Our waiter, it seems,

had a late night audition.

 

Promise of Paradise

I see the cheated.

I watch with sadness,

with a “Day of the Locust”

kind of irony, the folk

who came to California,

aspirations and delusions

aplenty, and tragically

had to settle for far less.

Every secretary is an actor

along with every waiter;

every cabbie has a script,

and  all telemarketers are

would or want-to-be producers.

The ride in compact-Japanese

‘limos’ to ten-plex ‘mansions’

where they attempt escape

by any means available.

What becomes the hardest

to erase and the most painful

to endue, is the final realization

that not everyone with talent,

who saves their pennies to come,

hits the target.

Most promises of paradise lay

as faded and broken as the

old ‘back-lot’ facades.

Nathaniel West knew—

John Fante knew—

Bukowski knew.

They braved the trail only to

stop to yell out a caution

over their collective shoulders.

They knew.

Poems by S.A. Gerber.

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MOVING FORWARD

In POETRY on February 3, 2017 at 7:05 pm

Poem by Changming Yuan.

moving-forward

Walking or running
Progressing is but

A con-sequence of
Stumbles or downfalls

Followed
One by another

Poem by Changming Yuan.

Artwork:  Lauren Bacall – Oil Tempera by Tsunemasa Takahashi.

DROUGHT

In POETRY on October 11, 2016 at 1:10 pm

Poem by RK Wallace.

Los Angeles Approves New Campaign To Aid In City's Homeless Crisis

Green Card alien,
standard two year probationary period;

no social
security,

no medical
insurance,

but there was free,
unlimited,
soda pop
refills.

A thousand bucks
for two hours in a hospital
bed, dehydrated from flu.
I was told to drink more
liquids, rehydrate
what they adopted two centuries ago as
Scottish Common Sense Realism,
but, the TV advert said we had to cut back because of the
water shortage in Southern California.

I was told I might experience some dizziness,
the virus was affecting my balance.
The doctor advised me,
“it’s like a military invasion, even when it leaves,
its imperialist presence can still be felt.”

An hour later my ex wife helped me
dribble out of the car,
morphined out of my face,
she could have been anyone.

I couldn’t stop laughing at the state
of the world, and myself.

A foreclosure sign
sprang up in the garden
of a neighbour’s home,
like the genetically modified
flowers on the beds
of the synthetic lawns
they once prided themselves
with. The tears of the night
street sprinklers started to engulf me.

The recycled waste
water felt like velvet
upon my drugged up skin.

However, when that wet layer of marine like
medical fog wore off,

I realised;

I could have taken a three thousand mile ride
on a jumbo jet back the U.K. for much cheaper than
a two mile ride in an ambulance or a fire truck,

instead of worrying about where my rent was
going to come from for the next two months.  

But that’s ok, some places even give you
free refills of salad and bread!

Poem by RK Wallace.

Photo by David McNew/Getty Images.

WALK OF FAME

In POETRY on July 21, 2016 at 1:57 pm

Poem by Jared Fortunato.

Fortunato_J_Image

Stars on the sidewalk  
cracked black granite set with gold
cigarette butts and styrofoam cups
litter the firmament beneath the feet
of defiant girls walking two abreast
icicle heel percussion  
igniting dust to crackle static charge  

Temples on the corner  
step ziggurat in plaster and neon  
spandex prayers and tinsel offerings
siren through air conditioned doorways
calling camera blind tourists  
forensic glass rituals   
sacrificing breath to the sun  

Poem by Jared Fortunato.

Photo by Jared Fortunato.

ELISA

In POETRY on December 8, 2015 at 4:33 pm

Poem by Liliana Isella.

220px-elisa_bridges_1994

On Benedict Canyon, I get lost.
On a poisoned letter
through a naked chest
under a sunny lie.

Yellow.
The erratic road
to the ledbetter of my memories.

Valentine’s Day.
The key is forever close
and your gate is never coming.

Crimson smiles to soften your iced feel.
The dinner crumbles on the velvet altar
as the candle runs out of its last breath.

Under your porch, I light one.
The deaf wind of your absence
dances the miserable trail
of this famed curse.

Benedict, rock this end
in a dreamy cradle of bitterness
sips from needles through incurable veins
to end a river of stolen violets.

Bless this slumber
on the holy birthday of violence
dying leaves between silks of sacrilege
in a worn-out bed of scarlet photographs.

Waits to be forgiven
agonies to be buried
white flowers falling from blue shutters
into the last night of fire
of my breaking shiny mirrors.

Poem by Liliana Isella.

Photo: Elisa Rebeca Bridges.

FROM A DANCER

In POETRY on March 24, 2015 at 3:12 pm

Poem by Liliana Isella.

lila img2

Now that I’m tied up to this floor
I can tell you.

I can tell you of the blood
the blood I spit in the silence you left
the blood I breathed in from the tears you gave me
the blood I painted all over the nights you stole away.

I miss you.
I miss the sun in your walls
I miss the summer up your stairs
I miss the sand in your hand.

You’re the arrow in my feet as they slide on this ocean of wood
you’re the touch in my hair as it breaks free from its duty
you’re the whisper on my skin as the piano plays our last note.

Poem by Liliana Isella.

Photo by Ballerina Project.

GREYDON

In POETRY on January 17, 2015 at 5:17 pm

Poesia di Liliana Isella.

3370310830_6f22920161

Vorrei
entrare nei tuoi occhi
correre tra i tuoi pensieri
scivolare sulla tua voce

Vorrei
perdermi fra i tuoi respiri
inginocchiarmi fra le tue mani
baciare il tuo sapore

Vorrei
afferrassi le mie corde
spalancassi le mie porte
piegassi le mie ultime forze

Potrei
nascondermi nel tuo nome
rifugiarmi fra le tue parole
sciogliermi nel tuo dolore.

Posia di Liliana Isella.

SHOTS AND LIARS

In POETRY on January 11, 2015 at 2:22 pm

Poem by Jonathan Doughty.

plasticjesus

Actors are best at smoke and mirrors
So habits daylong but hidden confess
Talent’s torsion
Injecting that experience released in memory —
Likely along other tracks?
A mind expansive
And forward-thinking
Seeks a safe body

Salt earned and shed in a ring or cage, or
Back at bars on breaks from a stage
A life of liver shots, both

Dangerous recreation under blowing snow, both
While she climbed Everest then froze happy
He sniffled and smiled after-hours in Toronto

Honesty calls
All life
Successful risk
In a curved universe,
Running as fast as possible
Finds yourself slowly back where you began

Stop ahead

Poem by Jonathan Doughty.

LOS ANGELES

In POETRY on September 1, 2014 at 3:16 pm

Poem by Liliana Isella.

You
you saw my theethless time
suns crushed on pearled ceilings
twilights in line on a highway of ice

You
life that cannot be stopped
by a ring of steel without its bride
by a white crinkled veil over a pillow of needles

You
empty promises under bridges of ocean
night of the seagull that slashed its wings
twisted crossroads of sunburst backs

You
now and ever, Los Angeles
your candles fire dreams
and all your stars go up in smoke.

Poem by Liliana Isella.

Photo by Alice Sienna.

Tu
che hai visto il mio tempo senza denti
soli spappolati su soffitti di perle
tramonti in fila su asfalti di ghiaccio

Tu
vita che non puo` essere fermata
da un anello d’acciaio senza sposa
dal velo d’un cuscino pieno d’aghi

Tu
promesse sotto ponti d’oceano
notti di gabbiani senza ali
crocevia di schiene assolate

Tu
ora e sempre, Los Angeles
le tue candele accendono sogni
e tutte le tue stelle vanno in fumo.

Poesia di Liliana Isella.

Foto di Alice Sienna.

JUAN

In POETRY on March 26, 2013 at 7:59 pm

Poesia di Liliana Isella.

Mexican Lover

Cinque

i dadi tirati

su un tavolo in discesa

Cinque

le tue dita

fra il sudore della mia terra

Cinque

i miei battiti

dentro il sale dei tuoi respiri

Cinque

le tue note

all’ombra della mia pelle

Cinque

le lune e i giorni

che rimpiangono i tuoi occhi.

Poesia di Liliana Isella.

Foto di Oriela Medellin Amieiro.

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