Passing by the Spanish Restaurant

September 26, 2015 at 9:23 am (Dani Clark, Poetry)

Each eve from office to bus stop
I walk by a Spanish restaurant
all blood red and velvet inside
where I can see
rows of bottles making pretty
over a brass bar.
It can be summer
people eat outside on
sidewalk tables
the fragrance of fried fish curls
like a woman’s finger
looping and looping in the air
and making me want
I’m not sure what.
Or, it can be cold out
a couple is ensconced
at a small table inside
she looks down traces a finger
on the bleach-white cloth
something illicit and warm
is happening
is made fuller
by the breaking of bread
and the garnet liquid.
We are always
and everywhere
passing each other by.
A suited man will look
beyond the glass one day
to a woman with brown hair
walking slowly on the sidewalk
now is the time he thinks.

But how in a million years
could I ever open the door
put my palms on her face
siphon her aliveness
have her walk away with me
into the night.

-Dani Clark


Permalink Leave a Comment


August 31, 2015 at 10:48 am (Dominic Alapat, Poetry)

I am a quiet man

I have imaginary conversations with no one

All day my moods shift like waves on a beach

Speaking of the beach I love the sky and birds

I love the buildings of Bombay the sight of lit windows at night

Sometimes my mind gets charged with murderous thoughts

Making me sink like a dead animal’s skeleton in sludge

I hate crowds and noise if it’s hot I sweat a lot

When I was younger my hands and feet would get chilled in the evenings

A boring book can send me into dim despair

Amidst trees I am sad and gloomy amidst mountains and breeze serene

I love to watch sunlight on things

They become magical they take me to my childhood

If I can’t dream it’s death

I love taxi journeys bus-rides

Trains I love their sonorous horn at dawn

I love elephants

I love to watch large white clouds move slowly across the sky

When I get stuck I burn away in anger

When I see glowing streetlights snaking along the road I am lit up a 100 lifetimes over

I become a traffic policeman

I become a prostitute

I become a telephone operator

I become a waiter

I become a stray dog

I become a beggar

I become a magistrate

I become a local train.

I become an aeroplane

I become the falling rain.

– Dominic Alapat

Permalink Leave a Comment

Cosmic Eye Somewhere

July 26, 2015 at 7:22 pm (Dominic Alapat, Poetry)

There are some open spaces where you can be
preferably on a rock under a tree.

The vehicles in the distance you will barely hear
the old buildings across are dead and dear.

And as the rhymes you read open your mind
you look up at the sky calm and quiet.

There you see the endless white flowing
also perhaps one or two birds flying.

Now the day darkens and you feel
one with the trees one with the breeze
and you begin to walk home
one with the streets.

Shops and shoppers,
vegetables and vendors
gladden your eye.

Streetlight and headlight
brighten the night.

– Dominic Alapat

Permalink Leave a Comment

Time Not Telling

July 7, 2015 at 7:59 am (Dani Clark, Poetry)

Her watches started stopping
when he came back
to where she always was
lost in stacks shelving books
him grinning and just washed
full of the loneliness that you smell

First when the chain link affair
began bugging out
she delivered it to a fat jeweler
who took it hostage
demanding sixty-two dollars
it’s not the battery he said
you need a whole new movement

but not two days after paying up
did the slinky unpredictable thing
boycott her again

Now the studious leather one
she has no explanation for why
it keeps freezing at odd moments then starting up again
no warning to say when it will happen

Or geez she also doesn’t know why
she doesn’t just give up
on these so called watches
resign herself

to time not telling anything
and not wanting to be told

since his coming home
all those years later
made of it
a falsehood of physics
a magician a very bendy thing.

– Dani Clark

Permalink Leave a Comment

I Could Not Stand Up

May 26, 2015 at 6:42 pm (Dominic Alapat, Poetry)

not even

to my knees

there were words

so heavy

my head knocked

against the street constantly

I did not want to go on

but if I stopped

nerves burst through

my body

and my back cracked

so I stumbled on.

Out of nowhere

the music began to sound

the notes slow

I saw the sea

and as I started

to stand up straight

through the mist

several skyscrapers rose.

– Dominic Alapat

Permalink 1 Comment

Antietam, Mothers’ Day

May 11, 2015 at 8:23 am (Dani Clark, Poetry)

The earth will suck

the dark blood of boys

will seep into everything

soil, drink, song

terror will become marble

a generation, maybe two

before the scene becomes

just sloping fields, green hues

dandelions in phase yellow

my son striding a frozen canon

and me pleading heaven to keep us

as far away from war

as we are right now

but a mother, her wretched prayer

barrels through me

standing on the battlefield

where her boy my boy so alone

writhing, breathed his last.

– Dani Clark

Permalink Leave a Comment

The Watchman

April 19, 2015 at 4:20 pm (Dominic Alapat, Poetry)

sat under the mango tree

on a blue tin chair

tapping his stick

on the ground

in the afternoon.

Across the road

a white Fiat slept

in its rusted garage

in the shadow

of a faded

yellow building.

The white sky

burned in

complete silence.

– Dominic Alapat

Permalink Leave a Comment


April 1, 2015 at 7:55 am (Dani Clark, Poetry)

Oh wounded of the world

would you

hook your finger into the gore

pull out the bullet

hear the clink

on a metal tray

if I said

doing this would mean

never befriending a leathery old woman

never seeing her eyes afire

never listening to her raspy voice say

I don’t take no tea for the fever

never knowing then

exactly what she means?


– Dani Clark

Permalink Leave a Comment

The Sky

March 15, 2015 at 5:00 pm (Dominic Alapat, Poetry)

is a big blue jar of water

I drink from all day

the birds do too

before returning to circle the buildings

how beautiful they look


going round

and I stay

at my window

and watch

I find

the shops

the thin strip of road

the timber sticks stacked

the trees

the locality


just waking

in the glowing golden light

giving it wings

making it merge with the sky

in the morning.

– Dominic Alapat

Permalink Leave a Comment

Time to Go

February 22, 2015 at 8:25 am (Dominic Alapat, Poetry)

tossing through

the yellow room the ship of shadows

in all this talk of trains…

to see pink buildings sail the sky

you can’t miss them

buzzing through in a taxi’s

butterfly flight

where blue red green

and others you’ve seen

bring you back home

in an orange steamer’s dream

blowing in the afternoon.

– Dominic Alapat

Permalink Leave a Comment

« Previous page · Next page »

%d bloggers like this: