mélange

  1. Home
  3. mélange
    4. (Page 5)

tribute to a giant: willie mays

Issue 8.1 October 1978 George Mosby, Jr.   (a poem from childhood) whether he was chasing down impossible-to-catch flies and with all the grace of the mantis on the sting in slow motion catching them or rearing way back and letting go balls of crowdpleasing smoke or banging the old giants to sell-out crowds and…

dreampoem

Issue 8.1 October 1978 George Mosby, Jr.   drunk on the free easy and wild spirits of pure rhythms i am in a land that has only known black feet through the silky vines that float down from the quiet-green leaves of flowers that reach into the sky i watch an antelope (with all the…

think about this

Issue 8.1 October 1978 George Mosby, Jr.   you know she controls powers so hellish they can gather and attack as locusts would on fields but you want her you think how softly to touch her   George Mosby, Jr.’s work appeared in phoebe multiple times in the 70s, 80s, and 90s. Unfortunately, little biographical…

When We Sleep

Susan C. Waters   Spoon-fashion we dip like buoys in the lake of our dreams Your steady breath spirits the sail of fantasy’s ship & your flesh warms the insufferable cold journey into the past When we sleep we must dream each other’s dreams. Waking, I feel the sleep drain from your body, & upon…

Early Winter Afternoon

Susan C. Waters   Beads of rain cling to slender, dark branches In the calm they reflect the white, tinted gray, of the sky Delicate silent they are like so many days in the onrush of time Tenaciously they resist gravity & become                        …

Night Train

Susan C. Waters   The telephone lines are silver threads in the web of this night Trembling they shimmer in the waterfall of uncoming lights & a lone street lamp which illuminates the path to the past, to fields filled with early winter Shimmering shimmering they tremble against the sky they rush toward cities I…

The Great Gift #2

George Mosby, Jr.   like a petal caught flush against a light gush of breeze a bold-black hawk swoops close picking a wounded sparrow from the ground   then up in perfect vertical flight she leans into the wind and then she smooths out —an arrow of freedom heading into the horizon with my mind…

The Interview

Bob Pielke   For over two years now I have had in my possession the following taped interview, here transcribed for the first time. I would like to say that it was my disbelief which has prevented me from releasing it earlier, but this would be deceiving myself. I know better. In reality, it was…

Crossing the Borders

Candace Black                     for mary-ellen Remember the first one?  The watery green, deer gliding through rushes. We were young as that valley and now, miles later, I can tell you these things aren’t common— I am being whittled here by something more than mountains. I think lines on maps have nothing to do with this.…

New Thinking About Loss

Lynna Williams   I can’t see it myself. The way I am, it’s over when it’s over. I don’t overstay, and I don’t look back. Take when Karen left. She walked out of the house just before noon on Sunday, September 5, and by 1:30 p.m. I had the bedroom walls painted and a new…