Showing posts with label absurdist poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label absurdist poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, June 22, 2019

Poems By Giorgia Stavropoulou


Giorgia Stavropoulou is a poet, writer of absurdist fiction and a former clinical psychotherapist trained in systems theory and Lacanian psychoanalysis. She was born in Athens, Greece but raised in a bilingual home in multilingual Belgium, and now lives in Southern California. Her work has appeared in City (Journal of South Asian Literature), Journey Curves Anthology 1: writers reading in Athens, Zombie-Logic, Out-of-Print magazine, Clockwise Cat and Entropy. She also holds postgraduate degrees in Anthropology, South-Asian languages and literatures and Creative Writing (Manchester Metropolitan University).

Giorgia Stavropoulou

Giorgia Stavropoulou



hurricanes of fire


deep
under the sleepless
black soil
of the pacific ocean

a spur
puffing itself up

ignited
by your dead heart
beating in
arrhythmic rocks

stones

dwelling in alchemical lakes
of cobalt & amphibian 

in these dead waters
aquatic flames
of frozen fire
thinking themselves more alive
like unborn placenta
they want to form a human hand
they want reach out of the dark
in black lotus movements
ploughing through pale or
nostalgic corals

picture submarines at full speed
or fighter jets circling above gigantic tremors of salt
there are warships moving full speed ahead in the pacific 

their mission?
to inspect 
dwarf suns
being born
at 36 000 under
from a womb of archaic fire

suns
accompanied by
seventy-seven underwater 
blizzards

with turquoise-lightening sparking off in murdered water
and vibrations encapsulating the whales of regret


yes it thunders 
my friend 
deep down in the pacific ocean

isn’t your floor trembling and shaking?
hasn’t water told you
how exhausted it really is?

sea salt is plotting its next step

but don't worry
just take another sip
from your cocktail
at manhattan beach
while you still can

because
at your horizon

the polymorph perverse
hurricanes of fire began their ritual eruption
swallowing the disheveled pigeons of desire 
blurring the neat divisions
between above and below

you know
monsieur 

there’s a demon
inside you

waiting

to rearrange  
your plastic organs 


only $2.50 


india

an ant colony of shades of brown

in banaras

at the shores of the holy ganges

where corpses are crisp

and human ashes are mistaken for the heavens

an american breakfast is only $2.50

the view you get for free

bon appetite

no need to tip 



in black city’s invisible auschwitz


in black city’s

invisible auschwitz



i meet the angel of death

about to execute jazz music



my eyelashes adorned

with electroshocks

and my legs open:

clitoris erect

i sit like a real man



my corpse marching  

on whole notes

and half notes

when prison guards

mechanically

behead themselves

with samurai swords

and sound waves

attach themselves

onto my silicon skin

like termites

wriggling melodically

into my pubic hair

when my liver

escorts improvisation

to resurrect itself



when that happens

mermaids armed with condoms

and automatic rifles

will swim through the soft music

of city lights

staring at burning butchers



and all suns will

hold their breath

while the color red

sets foot again

in black buildings

and giant spiders

will menstruate on my hands



female robots

will burst out

in loud laughter

their silver teeth dancing

in bordeaux blue ecstasy

(hysteria gone overboard)



till the butchers

are finally buried



then the sirens will

piss out of joy

on their graves

and bob kaufman

will recite seven of

his jail poems

in black city’s

invisible auschwitz

Monday, May 21, 2018

More Poems By Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The Raw Art Review, The New York Quarterly, Punk Noir Magazine, In Between Hangovers, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.

Poet Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Poet Ryan Quinn Flanagan


Dirty Coal


The coal mine of his head
was caved in by a deliberate brick
and all his ideas were trapped inside
deprived of oxygen and smothered
in soot, his many dirty ideas
knowing they would never see
the light of day
and the doctors tried to work
through the blood rubble of
smashed cranium
and the family found god late
like betting on a horse that won
at the track three years ago,
but there was nothing that could
be done


so that his few remaining ideas
were left to have it out,
cannibalising each other
until the tapping grew
silent.


The Dishes All Put Away for Murder


Stacks of books are an unconditional enterprise
the tyranny of staple guns and children force fed vegetables
each evening like 3-speed blenders new to the world,
when I urinate I stand over the arc of it and think
of rainbows, how people snap pictures like Japanese fingers
and crop them down to nothing
the mud huts of Inner Mongolia just highly stylized dirt
glam rock in a home owner’s sense
the spiders from Mars all nesting in passing comets
and somewhere a little closer to myself
scraggly ear hairs must be plucked out by
industrious tweezers
the dishes all put away for murder
and a strange realization that what I think
is important means nothing
and the things I hold onto escape me
like a trapped bird back
to freedom.


Refuse Cheese


I was suddenly startled half-awake on the couch
by this giant head on the television
that kept screaming:
REFUSE CHEESE!  REFUSE CHEESE!
and I thought to myself
what the hell is this guy’s problem
that he has it out for cheese?
They always give these crackpots face time
to build the drama.
It was not until some moments later
when they showed some protesters holding up
signs that read:
We Support Refugees!
that I understood.
Deep Guttural Belch


you have travelled such a far way
to be expelled.
You must be tired in that carbon monoxide
poisoning sort of way.  
Where nobody moves even though
they look like they should.
That’s how my friend Kevin looked
when he hung himself.
The stillness of a windless field.
But you’ve come so far.
Perhaps they will give you your own
time zone to play with.
Or the keys to the city perhaps.
I made the guest bed up with fresh linens
if you want to lie down.
I hope traffic wasn’t too bad.
Just So the Little Old Church Ladies
That Go Door-To-Door
Know


Any
man
who
sticks
his
own
toothbrush


up
his
butt


before
brushing


is
beyond

saving.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian born author presently residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario Canada. His work has been published both in print and online in such places as The New York Quarterly, Windsor Review, Vallum, The Antigonish Review, CV2, Horror Sleaze Trash, Evergreen Review, Your One Phone Call and In Between Hangovers.