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Irene Riz
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I was rushing through the traffic.

It was slow.

A car crash at the highway entry 

blocked the road.

I turned around.

I wanted to take a train 

and missed the exit. So

I took metro hoping for

a straightforward ride

but it was interrupted 

by a railwork before Fort Toten.


In the connecting shuttle

I gave up rushing, 

took a breath and looked around.

There were two girls coming

from Christmass shopping,

a student holding a cup of coffee

and a volume of early writings 

by Karl Marx,

 an old man in Santa's hat

and a homeless in a woman's coat.

He told me, "Hi, Sister," and smiled,

"You are not completely white."


I answered, "I know,"

and looked outside.

We were moving through

a heavy snow.

It was the first one in awhile.


Every tree branch, 

the cars, the roofs, the benches,

the yards with left unattended 

forgotten toys

everything had a white outline

except for the sky.

It was grey with a pink undertone.


Do I need a broken metrorail

to notice the first snow?


IRiz December 2017
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Check out this Reading Aloud Meetup http://meetu.ps/e/DBTwf/tKQwR/d
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Lilies in twilight

 are  bright.

Their funnels collect 

all the white.


I ride fast.

The flowers fuse

 in multiple lines.


My cape flies

behind.

 The moon is full

 and the tide is high.


Foaming clouds aside,

I ride fast

on the border

 with flawless past.


My life 

is behind 

my shoulders.

Only sky is above

and many unshed

mornings.

IRiz December 2017


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Hispaniola

 a green cape of sugar cane

 in white frame of foaming 

        waves and sand.


Men on horses 

guarding tall crops,

black machettes, 

scrawny dogs.


Dry coconuts thrown 

on the shore,

far from home

wandering hedgehogs. 


Drunk waving of palm trees.

Gems of  recent rains 

on unruly leaves.


Sweet and bitter smell

of decomposing tropics.

Buzzing wasps.


Fluttering black wings of

unfamiliar insects, something 

in between a bat and a moth.

Swooshing by birds.


Clunking trail

of broken fossils.

Bleached leftovers of years

of intense growth,

petrified shells and corralls

inhabited by trembling stems 

of moss and succulent orchids.


Flowers under green arms

in the shape of stars and

orange-claws mocking local crabs.


Ubound happiness of being

and dancing

slender acrobats.

IRiz December 2017
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On turquoise background

shadows of clouds,

              dark blue ink.


Colonies of algues,

pictographic tangle

words of absent minded 

lines and rings.


Oceanic liner

lost in the horizen.

Moon semitransparent 

           melting gold.


Gliding in and out

of uplifting current

        birds and people voices 

                 cut the wind.


Firm and grainy surface.

   Sand  and salty floatsam.

     It is simply awesome

 splay my toes on sand.


Gladness in the air.

 Heart and soul  are bare.

  Mind unclad.


Life is light as feather

left by passing by

seagall.

IRiz December 2017

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My morning

Letter to Crowley, the famous occultist, satanist and spy.


Tired of taking familiar routes

I've come to a sudden stop.

Nowhere and nowhen to rush

I look at the wall 

with a small sunny spot

while the dog 

is quietly chewing 

a spare toothbrush.


Out of humming noise 

of awakening mind

I listen to one sound.


One string of thoughts

 attached to the letter K

is slightly out of balance.


The fabulous ending it adds  

to the word MagicK,

It's slightly too loud about

how it helps to transform

circus  into occult search,


to find out beyond doubt

who I am, what I was

and why I am still around,

the course to pursue,

and how to follow it out. 


It sounds out of tune 

providing direct answer. 

               I adjust it 

one quarter tone down.

The dog stretches. 

  

Finally fully awake we stand up 

to the world order

           and start

with a proper and perfect 

purposeless run in the park.

IRiz November 2017

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A poem with an uplifting end

Gloomy morning, cold air.
Angry gusts pierce through the layers
of my cheerful thoughts.

Birds are packing.
Silence awaits its turn to settle
in the abandoned nests.

Semidarkness is hollow.
One step off the edge
and autumn will follow.

Let’s celebrate what has left
with Champagne, caviar
and a string quartet,
burning bright through the night fireplace,
William Blake, winter loving embrace,
words and notes
that are welcoming snow.

Life is going on…
I just thought you should know.

IRiz 2016
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Triangle roofs, watch towers,
five hundred year old
steep walls.
Monuments stand on guard
holding their reins tight.

Tree shadows, the oblique obelisks
commemorating the former dusks
lean over the silver ink.
The river carries
electric zig zags
forming capital letters,
first lines
in the parchment of night.

Building tilted over the banks
breathe out the heat of the day.
The air envelops my shoulders.

The smell of water
and exotic late-blooming plant
hang low, almost falling.

Homeless sells his guitar
and it cries.
Nylon strings are attached.

Fish scales of my days
are scattered just right.
I have nothing to worry about
and nothing to lose.
And town is ready to fly.
Monuments on stand by
hardly holding their horses.


No highways,
no gates, no tolls,
neither dollars,
nor gold, nor bitcoins.
No streets,
no ground beneath my feet.
Memories
are my resting points.

Hopping from line to line
finding the right word
is my day. But at night
I fly with my town
five-hundred-year-old.


IRiz November 2017
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Welcome to the forest floor
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