Live Encounters Poetry & Writing Volume Two November-December 2024
Dante’s Gate, poems by Louis Efron.
Dante’s Gate
through the gaping jaws of glass jar candles
eager ghost-like serpents
stretch, swirl and snap
dispersing into the heavens
leaving barely lingering warmth
from the slowly fading light
of recently extinguished wicks
our still-puckered lips
withdraw
from last kisses
blown onto the twisted thread
like the contorted
blurred faces
of our departed loved ones
once held in the flame
still haunting us
even after
new light replaces old
Rag Dolls
in their charcoal-colored
glass marble eyes
glued into shallow stitched beige pouches
we see our trapped reflections
below golden yarn
meant to be caressed
like their fixed expressions
we refuse to cry
to show weakness
when thrown against a wall
careful not to make a mark
where whiskey bottle shards
scent a favorite beating spot
worn cloth bodies
without energy
to move from harm’s way
outside
a bolt of lightning
snaps at the earth
like the knuckles of a drunken father
reminding us of
the power above
to deliver justice
with a stern hand
from those we love
raindrops tap on dollhouse-style roofs
like a chorus of tiny
scrambling kitten paws
bringing calm
to our now empty rooms
were we rest
our dented faces
in dark corners
until daylight cracks window shades
awakening those meant to hug us
Moon Landing
once a starry-eyed child at play
at the feet of nonbelievers
never losing sight of an unattainable moon
forever dreaming of a world
seen through tinted gold visors
topping marvelous marshmallow suits
we glance back at Earth
like a newborn untethered from its young mother
floating
our exposed legs
planted in thrift store silver rhinestone buckled boots
resting on cracked asphalt
below bourbon and urine-drenched curbs
like rotting tree branches stuck in ice
on a bitter celestial night
about to break
when trying to stand
with gravity pulling us down
yet again
relit discarded cigarette butts
pressed to our blistered lips
dropping ash on our stained white T-shirts
like asteroids imprinting scars
on the surface of our own moons
orbiting
between earth and sunrise
darkness momentarily fills our space
until shadows of our cardboard crafts
approach our grey cratered faces
removed from the warmth
we should call home
around the fringes of broken wings
we celebrate
our distant touchdowns
on what we believe to be
heavenly dust
© Louis Efron
Kevin Cowdall was born in Liverpool, England, where he still lives and works. In all, over 300 of Kevin’s poems have been published in journals, magazines, and anthologies, and on web sites, in the UK and Ireland, across Europe, Australia, Hong Kong, India, Canada, and the USA, and broadcast on BBC Radio, RTÉ Radio, Ireland, and local radio stations across the UK. His 2016 retrospective collection, Assorted Bric-à-brac brought together the best from three previous collections (The Reflective Image, Monochrome Leaves, and A Walk in the Park) with a selection of newer poems). His most recent collection, Natural Inclinations, features fifty poems with a common theme of the natural world. His poem for children, The Land of Dreams, was published on the Letterpress Project website, wonderfully illustrated by Chris Riddell, and is available on YouTube