Grass

From Doggerland

By Dicko King

 

Those warriors,

their wars shelved,

 

their skills dormant

after death’s near miss,

 

their wounds closed

without a men,

 

would burn the wet

gray grass, pull its roots,

beat the ground with

sharp sticks,

 

drum over the mortal

thump of a fear-filled

heart’s beat outside

its fallow room.

 

It was enough

to make farmers of them,

their pounding hearts

pulsing in their heads,

thrumming the neck’s

strings, such

music, such

 

humdrum

— they wouldn’t hear

any call to arms, or think

a cutting word, barely

 

could they cut the bloom

off earth’s fresh face,

 

digging shallow graves

in narrow rows, planting

seeds like

bodies.

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Off the Grid Press is pleased to announce the publication of our 2014 Prize winner

Doggerland: Ancestral Poems by Dicko King

Doggerland can be purchased online here or by sending a check for $18 (includes $3 shipping charge) to OTG Press, 24 Quincy Street, Somerville, MA 02143. 


 

The winner of our 2015 manuscript contest is

Finestra's Window by Patricia Corbus.

 

Pimpernel 

By Patricia Corbus

 

 

In the rain, alizarin spatters and runs down towers.

The breasts of the whore weep with regret & compassion,

& the gates, all 28 of them, open and close,

clanking in the red tail lights.

              Sirrah, then my face was my own,

all makeup washed away, nothing tweezed.

My eyes were wide-open catalpa blossoms

drinking rain, my mouth a green traffic light,

& men in tuxedos carried me arm over arm

from the Trocadero to the Stork Club.

              I had never heard of Darcy, so lately dead,

hit by a flower-pot thrown by a monkey,

but I caught his desire for me red-handed.

             – Yet, in the long run, what could be better

than knowing one’s own worth –

though by the time I recognized her, Truth,

              pushing a shopping cart,

had hot-footed her sweet face and tattooed butt out of town.