Saturday, June 16, 2012

Volume II. Issue I.

June 15, 2012 
The Ides of March Journal

Presently recorded, traced back to ages away 
preserved behind glass, buried neath sand 
once a commonplace relic 
now revolutions and turmoil replace.
 poem and photo by 
Eleanor Bennett

Featured in this issue, culled from eight eligible submissions: 

Bryce Ansla: 
    ---"Coming Home" 
Anthony Cappo: 
    ---"Theodoric's Lament" 
    ---"Portella della Ginestra" 
Carter Hayfield 
    ---"Pluto 2006"


 "Coming Home" 
--Bryce Ansla 

Afghan sand has dulled my dogtags for two years. 
Two years of recon in the dark, chasing
opium lords through dunes and danger. 
I shot five men muling drugs 
through the desert; they would have killed
me if I hadn't. 

I was finally sent home to my wife, my life. 
I dream of bullets in the desert. 

On a streetcorner where I live, 
three men were arrested 
for selling heroin.  

The desert found me.


"Theodoric's Lament" 
---Anthony Cappo 

These pompous fucks with their extinguished 
empire snotting their noses at me. Barbarian, 
they say, though my language now sings 
in the court of their land. I learned their tricks 
in the East and now their Western cousins kneel 
at my boot. Barbarian. I build churches, palaces, 
hire their artists but still the pursed smirk, 
the stifled giggle. Not to my face, but I hear them. 
But what to do? Hack every one of them? Crucify, 
as they would? No, they're of use so I'll suffer 
their slights...most of them. But these fops drink 
the dregs of history. No more legions to enforce their Pax. 
The forest is dark out there, believe me. Wilder eyes 
lie in wait, with tongues that char mosaic and marble.  


"Portella della Ginestra" 
---Anthony Cappo 

When the assassins came I laid in the prickly 
pears, bougainvillea shielding my eyes, 
the cries of children shaming the air. 
They shot from the hills and on horseback, 
May Day raid of cops and bandits. Il Duce gone, 
but goose steps march on. Lords enforcing 
vassal domains. When the firing ended, 
eleven slain; I remained to tend the wounded. 
What's happened to my Sicily--envy of Athens, 
bread basket for Caesars, sonnet's cradle, 
jewel of Normans and Holy Roman Emperors? 
The Barbarians are back--mafia scorpions, sleeping 
in the walls of state, engorged, paid to strike, 
and bleed the life of all who till in peace. 


"Pluto 2006" 
---Carter Hayfield

Pluto was meanly flung 
from its planetary rung, 
given a different home
like you'd throw a dog a bone. 

Now just a planet minor, 
he spends his days with Quaor, 
Orcus and Sedna.  
Tough break, little fella.  


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