Grawlix Poetry: June 2012

Issue 3: Wilderness, Fili, and Love, and Heat

Summer in all its post-pubescent glory is among us! People are out and about and, Artists, your poetry is getting foot traffic like you wouldn't even believe. We hit the College World Series- Omaha's local yearly big sports thing- and all sorts of places. Photographer, sculpture, digital artist, and big, awesome Greek, Anthony Lanza helped us out with some photography this time. Props. This is a very pretty batch.

Artists whom we have published, please leave your deviantart accounts and art page links down in the comments section so readers can go and gush.

Be sure to like our facebook page and deviantart page mainly for the sake of our egos, but there's some good stuff there as well. Like-minded people and whatnot.

One other thing: Grawlix Poetry doesn't care much at all about exclusivity of our published pieces, please do get your art in front of as many people as possible. With that said, we really wanted to publish some phenomenal poetry by Maureen Kingston, before she had to retract her submissions because they were published in other (not nearly as awesome) publications. So please please please go check out some of Maureen's poems, she's seriously a brilliant writer.

Get your friends to submit and keep this little project in mind. Cheers!

A Touchy Fili

By Kevin Heaton 

Boomer babies 

have balloon prostates,

& nest eggs the size of
acorns.

I’m that lone gray squirrel
in yonder

poplar, the one over there
above

that field of tall cotton
all bolled up

going at it in a
cloudburst. I avoid

disinterested exertions
& proof all

adversaries of any
consequence.

There are those with
pedigrees

that fancy themselves
discerning

truths for others—others
see truth

as the way they live. I
don’t consider

myself a bard, but rather a
touchy fili,

recalling heroism like a
warrior poet.

I smell the coffee, eat
slab bacon,

& forage for cold
French fries

in discount parking lots
with stray

mongrels who write free
verse,

& refuse to cringe for the inquisitor.

A Touchy Pathway

Stadium Gates

A Touchy Diamond

A Touchy Pub

Incompatible Propagations

By Kevin Heaton 

I refuse to slander fallen
leaves

for simply clinging to dead
branches,

then mulching themselves

into the manure of things.

Some flora god recants
near-death

experiences through the
boughs

of an evergreen tree;
feeble attempts

at wheedling the needles
into acting

more like pine straw.

Why can’t petulant coyotes
let

sleeping dogs lie?

No good can come from
swapping

incompatible tissues, or
forced

propagations, but I will
not confess

my indiscreet graftings 

to a divorced

counselor. 

Stealing Home

Bleacher

Alley Cat

Stadium Courtyard

The Love Affair

By Kate Hammerich 



life slides
under the door and

I think about
you 

not knowing how to love

and touching a
person's sleeping eyelids

to change a
dream, to lie here with you

under a silent
oak tree, the sunlight

has begun to
breathe and I am digging you a grave for your past 

and your future, I am

holding you
here, the trunk of my car open to let the sweet

sound of a song
rise into the

air, it is
rushing by too swiftly

and I have
premonitions 

or I just got lucky 

or everything means something 

nothing
vanishes without a trace

I hold despair
in the palm of my hand and cannot dance without
spilling it 

onto the floor, it seeps into the carpet

but you are
holding out a towel 

and the sound of your laughter is like paper birds settling on the branches of

the tree growing
from my ribs.