lamentations of the sun

i see the woman on the beach
walking slowly with blazing-pink shoulders
slightly hunched. savoring the sea air skipping
across her tongue. she rolls it in her mouth
like old wine. the sun on her skin makes her feel young.
and pretty, soon a tan will surface pushing
five or even ten years from her face;
she has come for a makeover.
she will suffer the pain of blistering,
endure the shame of peeling,
risk the chance of cancer,
return again tomorrow with her fold-out chair
below her arm and misting bottle
peek-a-booing from her beach bag.

i see the teenage girls clicking
along the boardwalk, passing time outside
the ice-cream parlor, flowing in and out
of shops like wind through a dry mouth.
the sun cuts into an eye, it wants to set
into them, sink into their skins and melt
their bones down. in mini shorts and bikini tops
they taunt the sun with oily thighs. daring to defy
the seeds of time. i watch them aging
in apparitions of heat rising off the planks.
their beauty and brazenness withering,
falling from the vine.

i see the tent where mothers escape the heat
sipping pink lemonade, swapping exaltations
of game winning goals and good-kid grades;
vigilant of shark fins and strangers lurking near,
even the lifeguard is oddly suspect.
the swimming boundaries are drawn at the closest
buoy. their children wrestle with waves and float on
rubber dinosaurs; the sun weeps for them.

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About Jeffery Van den engh

Jeffery Van den engh was born in the Montreal Jewish General Hospital not too long ago. "I read T.S. Elliot mostly, but my greatest influence comes from music. I am inspired by many things, but mostly memories. I write because I'd be foolish not to." Jeffery has written this poem for his bio. for my more readers i haven't yawned very long in literary circles. to bear away in basements clueless to the sensual flux of seasons. to masturbate salvation. to suckle inspiration from the posthumous teat of some old bard as life leaps and sprouts beyond the sheen of chessboards freshly greased. through nicotine pasted casements angled only by a bible turned propping stone. where semen glazed posters portend towards a plaintive future. a bleak tunnel. perhaps a blade of moonshine. to slurp pretensions and mochachinos smoking catastrophes on corduroy sofas. to seek out kinship with williams and ginsberg. to ridicule daddy with reference to cronus. i regard your disquietude. would you have me cease to notice. my arms in raised pomposity. i coliseum cheer. sparrow songs truckle when you speak. please undo me with your wit. slit my wrists with paper daggers. to abscond to paris patios. bleeding woman with my tongue. to squat square chested on a breakwater trembling from the ocean score. to flake away in fiery conversations. to build up like hysteria squeezed into a padded jar. to erupt with scorn and snobbery. to juggle for the bar. to bury my face in lunacy dripping drunken la dee das. is to me a waist of life. which is to me replete with inspiration.
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Graphic of the Week

Thursday, February 16th, 2017


A mama possum Hurries across the boulevard   A hopped-up hipster bozo Piss yellow hair blowing in the wind   ...
by Steven Gulvezan