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Showing posts with label Michael A. Wells. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michael A. Wells. Show all posts

Monday, February 01, 2016

An Accepted Poem, and I Missed It... Go Figure


So I went to Submittable last night to check on something and discovered quite by accident that  one of three poems I had submitted to Nude Bruce Review last year (yes, I said Nude Bruce)  was actually accepted in August. Woot!

I feel like a fool for missing it. I don't usually check Submittable for results, instead watch my e-mail. This reply went to an old email address that I am you using for writing related stuff any more.

The poem titled Without You is located on page 86  of the Spring Issue or Issue 5 CLICK HERE and scroll to the page.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Mag 237: Snow Blindness





The shear delight in soft white.
A burst of morning on my horizon.
Dangling, delicate, delicious.
Woven  intricacies of light and space.
I am lost in the bright blight of colorlessness.
Entranced in my own snow blizzard




Michael Allyn Wells


Mag 237

Saturday, April 05, 2014

Poetry Broadside for Poetry Month 2014

Some of you may have received a poetry month broadside from me in the past years to commemorate National Poetry Month.  After taking a couple years break I have created a new one for 2014.

These are limited. There are 100 signed copies. They are printed on a nice card stock and have a matte finish. I've seen some of my earlier ones framed and they look very nice. If you would like one simply email me Michael Wells telling me you would like one and give me a snail mail address that it can be sent to.

Again their are only 100, and when they are gone, well, they are gone.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Mag 212: My Life Between Four Corners


My Bed by Tracey Emin


It's is my world
my boxing ring
my respite
my motel-hotel
away from things-

My grunge stage
my drinking buddy...
hello vodka and Three Musketeers!

My sleep hole
my vanity
my calamity
staging ground for all things creative-

I've got my floor art
my candy wrappers
origami sheets
fluff dog

And here's my razor-not what you are thinking.
and somewhere is a phone

This is my sex den
my playpen
my aggravating
boredom whim.

I own it
I made it
no one can take it.


The mag 212


Michael Allyn Wells

Monday, March 17, 2014

TWO NEW POEMS published in BOSTON LITERARY MAGAZINE


The Spring 2014 edition of Boston Literary Magazine  is online and the print edition will be available soon as well.

I'm honored to have two new poems of mine in this edition.  As Always BLM has some great work in it. The editors do a fine job!

My two poems are:

I Stole Your Voice  &  I Listen to My Cereal    Go Check Out  All the Work in the Spring Issue HERE!

My thanks to the Editors for making me a part of this magnificent edition! 




Sunday, March 16, 2014

The Mag 211: House of Simon


Feast in the House of Simon - 1610, El Greco




It was evident Simon's house was the place
to be this day. More then one Apostle scratched
another event from his calendar 

to make an appearance. Even as it was in the house
of a  Pharisee-  they were in the presence of Jesus
and this would be more then a fresco 

more then a story to tell the grandchildren.
Wine was poured and hard rolls plated 
were hardly touched as Simon would offer

up question after question of the one
they called Christ who would with delicacy
of a needle on vinyl respond to each one.  






Michael Allyn Wells

Saturday, March 01, 2014

In the Moment

I am careful not to forget
but just as careful not to dwell
in the past-

today is my fragrance of choice.
It is big enough to allow for fantasy.

It is in this moment
we can walk on gravel,
we can skate on ice,
tiptoe through clouds,
and dance on air.

Friday, February 28, 2014

Sunday, December 08, 2013

The Mag 197: Aerial

From The Guardian, Eyewitness


Aerial

Copious triumph overhead
the conquest of sky by sea gulls

who blend into the blue gray skies
and abruptly are everywhere.

A sneak attack on the beach head.
A monumental event – bombarding

the shoreline with an ugly grace.
Only God could engineer aerodynamics

on such a gangling bird. Feathered wings
on a lunchbox.


Michael Allyn Wells


The Mag 197

Sunday, November 17, 2013

The Mag 194



The Letter

The nights are cold without you.
The days much too long.

Distance is measured
by lustful thoughts-
I cannot help.

I send this not to guilt you
but because my lips can reach you
no other way.

I have sealed the envelope
with the dampness of my tongue in hope-
and the stamp a breath & kiss.



Michael A. Wells


The Mag 194

Sunday, November 10, 2013

The Mag 193


Danseuse ajustant sa bretelle, 1895-96, Edgar Degas


 The Ballerina's Private Warm Up

She feels the constriction 
of a cocoon and the solitude- 
therein lies the crystalline craving 
to spin herself free.

A twirl to unwind- to whip-up
the motion to unclog the black and white
all around her-  she wishes for wind

she wishes for a spin-off of gale force
to extricate her from this morose.

She rises on her toes - shaky first
then in a solid stance her arms rise 
overhead with poise a momentary pause.

There is no music, except that alone
in her head- the composition
comes with spontaneity 

Is a powerful turn 
she thrusts herself into a running leap,
long legs scissor in defiance of gravity
then another, and a third
with a solid land- quickly
rising again to a pointe

she spins again 
shaking free of the grayness
her heart pounding
her chest heaves 
as she drops down
arms collapse to the floor
head bowing supplication...



Michael A. Wells


  



Sunday, October 13, 2013

MAG 190


Dog by scavangercat808
 
 
My Parallel Universe
another world out there
framed in my view— 
a world of ruckus
fast moving cars
I can chase
only in my imagination 
a postman strolls unflinched
oblivious to my bark
 
children chasing balls
will pass and give a nod
hey you they offer
no hand to pat my head 
there are noises
I can’t even identify
people   cats   birds
smells the permeate
my universe 
I know these things exist
all beyond my reach



Michael A. Wells


The Mag



Sunday, October 06, 2013

The Mag 189

 
Photo credit crilleb50
 
 
RUMINATION
 
The ticking-
the constant ever after ticking.
I sit for this
I sit for that
it weighs one the mind
it bends at the heart
 
of it all, I see no reason
I hear no rhyme.
I do not cherish this passage
of time-
 
after which I know nothing of.
The grass it grows
and flowers and blooms
and goes to seed-
My knees ache
 
all the while I ruminate;
then conjugate things
of despair-
 
things I remember
that brought me here-
those that were painful
and some that were dear.
 
this ticking continues
I suppose that is good-
it's all quite foggy now
like I knew would.  
 
 
 
Michael A. Wells
 
 
 
 



Thursday, September 26, 2013

Removing Obstacles - September 2013

anticipation contains an element of doubt
they agreed not to shake hands
agreement is good - right?

some will always want failure
act quickly - but not too fast
it seems peace often is left
to some degree of chance

Sunday, July 07, 2013

Hardly Worth Mentioning


A poem I wrote several years ago found a home at Punchnel's.

 Hardly Worth Mentioning  is the second poem of mine  to appear in  Punchnel's Magazine these last two months.

I always find interesting material in Punchnel's...It's a fun stop on the Internet and not just because of my work. ;-)

Wednesday, May 08, 2013

Poem Up On Punchnel's

My poem titles "Both" appears on Punchnel's today. This is a really interesting venue, an eclectic collection of material. Check it out!  Oh, and click here for my poem.

Saturday, March 30, 2013

Dragonfly


Surround the summit
in flight
in exacerbation of wingspan
a sentinel aloft 

Sunday, September 16, 2012

The Mag 135: Venus Has The Hots

Venus and The Sailor - Salvador Dali


Venus has the hots-
her dancing shadow passes before us.
Swishing her dress about.

The seductive danseur-
she can lure us into her orbit.
We easily feel connected
if not by want then curiosity,
brilliance in the morning
and evening-  

Even mid-day she can flaunt
in our imagination - or is it?




Michael A. Wells






  






Saturday, September 15, 2012

Journal Bits - Sept. 8 - Sept.14

A few items from my written journal...


  • September 8, 2012 - Oh how I love to start a new journal. Empty pages to welcome me. I always promise to try and be neat about my entries but I know at some point I will disappoint myself in this regard. 
  • September 8, 2012 - How many unwritten considerations/belong to the wind?//The future collect unclaimed thoughts.
  • September 8, 2012 - I did not speak/for bewilderment /I did not speak/for an elevator fell/to the bottom of my stomach. 
  • September 9, 2012 - "The invented person, borrowed from the real- abstracted, isolated- is the person we finally know, or feel we know. I made myself up from everything I am, or could be. For many years I was more desire than fact. When I stop becoming, That's when I worry." ~ Stephen Dunn
  • September 10, 2012 - There is a relevance in numbers/you can have a bullet with each one's name/with nothing to erase the massive history.
  • September 11,2012 - Feeling better these past couple of days about the Obama campaign. GOP is spending money like mad but the candidates, Romney and Ryan are making so many mistakes and their campaign handlers are really amateurish. I can hope this continues.
  • September 13, 2012 - Heard in a Lionel Richie song this morning on the radio during drive time... "...people want me to be what they want me to be..."
  • September 13, 2012 - You keep tabs on the important stuff/the primary colors of our life/I've always dealt with the more mundane-/the black and white...
  • September 14, 2012 - from a comment in Modern Poetry class, "the how of what you say is more important then what you say..."

* NOTE:  My journal is where I record notes, quotes, observations (large and small), and poetry drafts. It ranges from junk to gems.

Monday, September 03, 2012

The Mag 133: The Women of Summer Night

Summer Night - 1913 by Albert Bloch


They gather in secret
in the garden of delight
they leave behind 

much shame
and every other form
of constraint-  real or imagined

in the twilight of tenderness
they speak of no evil
they harbor no disdain

they are hear for each other
they are hear for themselves
they are here and this is why they come



Michael A. Wells