Writing, Poetry, Short Stories, Reviews, Art Contests
Were three kings came from the west,
one had stars burned in his chest,
one was cursed, one was blessed
Three kings.
Were three kings came in a tank,
names were bombs and bread and bank,
played the fool, the freak, the crank
Three kings
Were three kings, their songs were sung
by someone who had lost his tongue,
on laurel garlands they were hung
Three kings
Photo by Trevor Gerzen (Unsplash)
wolf-lieberman
as the news anchor tells us it is time, we can think of nothing better to do than to watch deep impact
the sky drops to an awful stillborn pink tia leone refuses a seat on the last helicopter
a man burns alive in front of his daughter elijah woods winds through traffic on his bike
we are thrown across the living room
morgan freeman asks us to remember the fallen
there is a redness. aching. birth. endcredits.
i am turning to you as the softer parts of me blend with the wallpaper
i am turning to you as we clot in each other’s throats
Stuart Buck is a BOTN/BIFFY50/Pushcart Prize nominated poet and artist living in North Wales. His second book ‘Become Something Frail’ was released to critical acclaim on Selcouth Station Press in 2019. When he is not writing or reading poetry, he likes to cook, juggle and listen to music. He suffers terribly from tsundoku – the art of buying copious amounts of books that he will never read.
Twitter: @stuartmbuck
An interview with Stu Buck of Bear Creek Gazette
photo by Ray Hennessy on Unsplash
Untitled
nearing the sallow
fen, the natural
eye spots
a cardinal, up-
tick deer.
golden
ragwort creeps
the footpath.
sun escapes
behind a yawn
of trees stretching
limbs to form
an awning. rock
and dust
sleep here
every night
without objection.
This untitled piece is from my 2018 online chapbook/audiobook “cling as ink.”
Freelance, patient
I am terrified
of whatever’s going wrong
with me but I am old
enough to know that
when it feels like a heart
attack, a broken
bone, diabetes,
typhoid, it’s not. It’s all
in my head like the pointy
fingers laughing at me
while I break in half
and halves again.
Support system
There are bones
relying on other
bones. Right knee-
cap is wrong.
Hip pops and thigh
crackles hot. Discs
light up with sparks
on tender meat.
Spinal fluid may
contain a patient
silt. It waits for any
color; determines
today as a mood ring.
Observation
The maple leaves
are little paws
stretching
in reflection. They
want to tap into
the river to reach
past stone and into
each fish.
My back
on the grass,
I eyeball clouds
through oak
and acorn. The roots
grow into me
and I await
dragonflies.
Word Collab Poetry: Saturation by K Weber
Poem from K Weber “Lullabye for Christie” inspired by the Dirty Three
BIO: K Weber is an Ohio poet. She has self-published 6 free online poetry book projects in PDF and audio formats for over a decade. Her forthcoming digital collection: A SUM OF OUR POETIC PARTS: VOLUME 1 will be released in 2022 and features more of her poems that incorporate words donated by others! All of her projects, her writing and photography credits, and more at her website: http://kweberandherwords.wordpress.com
IG: instagram.com/midwesternskirt
Twitter: twitter.com/midwesternskirt
On Being Awake at 5 A.M.
some days my sadness is so magnificent
that an acrid taste lingers in the mouth of the night
and i think about the thousand ways
that i might die and i think about the birds
Stuart Buck is a Best of the Net/PushCart Prize/BIFFY50 nominated poet and artist living in North Wales.
His second book ‘Become Something Frail’ was released to critical acclaim on Selcouth Station Press in 2019. When he is not writing or reading poetry, he likes to cook, juggle and listen to music. He suffers terribly from tsundoku – the art of buying copious amounts of books that he will never read.
Fevers of the Mind 