Self-portrait in meditation
Tag Archives: J.C. Hawkes
VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Kenneth Vincent Walker
Residual Scars There are some Wounds that time Cannot in fact heal, Only serve to expand The agony that’s felt. At times the mind Plays cruel tricks and Is torturous upon our Remaining time, living In our glass fortresses Which we have built. We compromise our Feelings, all memories Aside, but they remain In ourContinue reading “VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Kenneth Vincent Walker”
VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Reece Beckett
Sweet Smell of Success…
Sometimes it doesn’t always smell so sweet…in fact sometimes it isn’t even successful…and there’s humor to be found there among the tragedy of it all and perhaps a bit of hope to salvage the mess but isn’t that why we dream and what happens when those dreams come during the dead time of being awake?Continue reading “Sweet Smell of Success…”
VOICES FROM THE FIRE: J.C. HAWKES
I Am A Poet What does that even mean —— It suggests I -> might be a god but I do not think I am a god. Am I shaman – journeying and healing the tribe I don’t think I’ve healed myself – (let alone anyone – else). I listen to the Melvins – TheyContinue reading “VOICES FROM THE FIRE: J.C. HAWKES”
VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Danny D. Ford
Balancing Act
VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Dan Holt
Mini Bike You had this mini bike with an engine the size of a lawnmower It sounded like a chain saw buzzing up and down the street The one time I rode it the fucking thing shot out from under me when I hit the accelerator and smashed into a tree Your dad drained allContinue reading “VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Dan Holt”
VOICES FROM THE FIRE: George Schaefer
WHEN THE WRONG GIRL GETS PISSED OFF BY A POEM I was talking to this young lady I know and she was really pissed off about a poem I wrote about getting laid in the back seat of an old ’73 Buick LeSabre I didn’t see why this one poem in particular was so upsettingContinue reading “VOICES FROM THE FIRE: George Schaefer”
VOICES FROM THE FIRE: J.C. Hawkes
R E D C U R T A I N I have replaced my face with a red curtain because, I am hooked in and willingly I disappear into arms of cockroaches, a stockpile of dream and manifest of circulation. I found you at the closing of market street and we saw each other Continue reading “VOICES FROM THE FIRE: J.C. Hawkes”