Poet of the Month: August 2007 nacona

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Poet of the Month: August 2007 nacona

Post by heinzs » Sat Aug 18, 2007 3:21 pm

Sorry that I'm a bit late with this. I've been temporally swamped, and it was a hard decision between several excellent candidates. However, in the end, the choice for this month is:




I'll post some of his work here a little later.
Last edited by heinzs on Sat Sep 22, 2007 6:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.
An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
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Post by heinzs » Sun Aug 19, 2007 12:13 pm

I'm going to cheat and use his submissions to the "Darkside, vol II" as examples of his work:


Her figure has been sculpted.
Now the lady lies on exhibit,
her marble skin
against the dew slicked grass.

A stone for the chiseling, she walked
along South Beach,
my following footsteps masked
by wave collapse and wind howl
in consonance with Ocean Drive traffic.

Trailing her over the sand dunes
towards neon trimmed hotels,
she breached a waste-high wall break,
and stepped into the little beach-front park.

The hungry dark swallowed us,
and a cloud covered sleeping moon
offered up no lucent rays of assistance
as she navigated like the Magi
by a neon star’s glint through the Queen Palms.

I drew close to her, a shadow
merging into her flesh, my black leather
hand gag vibrated with her squelched scream
as I swiftly stabbed into her backside.

I slit her up the spine, reworked,
and defined her features—
like a modern day Michelangelo
my fingers molded her form
into a masterpiece.

Just the one scream and she was carved.
Laid out in one great red gush at my feet,
I blanketed a newspaper over her head,
and walked off down the street.

All day she laid there like a bum
asleep in the park as the children played
around her, and I smoked
cigarettes on the wooden bench
observing death's prolonged abeyance.


Taking Care of Brother

Finally I crack
like a rock-struck windshield,
and register his hate
filled face as I thrash under
the brunt of his weight.
My cheeks sting from his slaps
as if the echo of his palms
still strike. My flesh
vibrates as he farts on me
again, and I feel
my old self splitting
from the epicenter of his ass
as the room fills with his stench.
He grips my hair,
and when he pulls me up
off the couch, the weak me
falls away in slivers.
I allow him hair-leash me
down the dim hallway,
and into the death-black bedroom
across from mine.
I close my eyes,
feel him push me down
to my knees by the shoulders,
and listen to the familiar sound
of belt and zipper.
Then his desperate whisper
in a gust of rancid breath—
“Eat that wiener!”
I open my mouth,
and as his hands grasp my head
I feel the warm flesh slide
across my silk pink lips,
and taste his sweat-salted cock
as I bite down hard.



She is Barbie in a package.
the plastic glosses her features,
and I can barely make out
her face or the sunshine
of her hair, but I fantasize her fear-
filled eyes stare
at me
as I stand looking
at her screaming face.
Her package is a house
painted with red and orange
flames, the fingers of fire
reach towards her.
The scene is alive.
Fire crackles in chorus
with her muffled screams.
I look
at my hands
to a book of BP matches,
recall how she slid them over
the counter with a pack of Marlboros.
I think about her walk home alone
in the dark after work, and of the wait
in her shadow-shrouded back yard
for all the lights to blot out.
I pick up the gas can
the ground
and remember the tinkling sound
as it doused her house in a vaporous sheen.
Number one hundred and seventeen,
I think to myself as I walk off
into the night with the gas can in hand.
When I get home I will add
the matchbook she gave me
to the shoebox with all the rest.

*Berlie & Drew- The periods before "down", "down" and "from" should be invisible- Thank You


Raven on Raven Rock
(Raven Rock State Park, NC)

The Cape Fear side winds
below like a snake,
its muddiness slugs
towards the Fish Traps.

Perched on granite summit
no man-hand has climbed,
I watch the fall line,
follow water with my eyes
to where boulders and foliage-
crowned islands
rend brown river white,
and fly fishers cast their lines
in a hoop out to the current.

Trees billow over;
the watercourse repels their effigy—
its screen of silt reveals no secrets.
One could plunge their beak all day
and never clamp a bite.

The Sun ignites the horizon,
an eagle owl’s eye
peeking over the Blue Ridge,
ready to blink the world into night.

Shadows dance the banks
as fins thunk within coolers
fishermen pack with their harvest.
With backs turned, they pay
no mind to their hatchling
while it breeches the coop—
pigtails sway in the breeze.

It strokes the stream, an admirer,
bends in closer and closer
to see itself—
the serpent swallows its image.

I take to the air with my catch.

*This poem previously appeared under the title “Osprey on Raven Rock” in the summer 2007 issue of the Loch Raven Review.

Becoming Virginia Woolf

Everything wavers,
iridescent glass
moils above me
as a chilled gush-gust
continually flaps me
along the riverbed.

I sway like seaweed.

Carp, Pike, and Barbel
regard me with interested eyes
while awaiting dinner.

My fingers glide across
anchors of stone
that pack each pocket,
stroke the smooth surfaces
which weigh me down
with unquestionable intent.

I watch trapped oxygen escape
from each waterlogged nostril -
air balloons rise towards the heavens.
They tick time like a doomsday clock
constantly counts down seconds.

Soon the mouth dam will fail—
aquatic air will flood in
and fish will clench and gnaw
with cannibal jaws
while they eat me as their own.

*This poem previously appeared in Here and Now.

Guide Dogs Only

She must think he’s her guide,
hand looped as a handle
for the leash of his arm. She jerks
him back by twitching fingers
onto the curb of Orange and Church,
her gauze taped eye titillates sunlight
like the mad iris of an angered God,
nose crinkled as if tainted
by car-carbons that smog
Orlando streets— then the beats:
thwack, thwack, thwack,
and the metallic clank of an aerosol can
when her handbag whacks his back.
Worthless little shit’s and You idiot’s wail
over the hum of light stopped cars
as pedestrians rush by like late
executives, hurry off to conjured
cubicles. She draws
a pointed heel back, a punter,
ready to deliver a blow. I step forward
out of his future to stop her.


Critcher Meadows
(Boone, NC)

His bride rides air
like a bottle rocket,
plummets downward
once high thrust halts,
her charmeuse flaps—
rent wings misrecollect flight.

Her launch pad bucks
and brays in the distance
behind her, stomping rattle
sounds with its hooves,
its mahogany mane flames
as if fire in the wind.

She thuds like the hoof
of her groom's horse, stamps dirt
as he races toward her
across Critcher Meadows,
through knee high grass blades—
a forest of fescues conceals her.

He jumps his saddle too late,
she’s eloped with another—
her bruised face bleeds reason,
she only has eyes for death.
He shakes her rustling fabric,
stands single on the altar.


The first time
a boy broke it off
with me, he looked
me in the eyes and said:

“Fags don’t serve papers,
they tell you to get the fuck out!”

I learned then what love is about.
Since then, I fin through my world:
a Siamese Fighting Fish,
ready to attack my own kind.


Double Agent

I sit on the couch,
THUNK my shoes to the floor,
and shed a day’s labors.

Old Grandfather ticks
through time in the hall,
refrigerator hums fill the kitchen
like a siren’s song. I close
my eyes, recall
our raid play by play.

We pour out the back
of a black truck
a stream of oil,
a school of ski masks
race towards the front door.

I can still hear the CRUNCH
of the door being kicked in
as a woman’s shrill screams
slice the silence within.

I imagine their stares
as we storm into the room,
interrupt their crack-pipe pass,
and the shatter of glass
when she chucks it to the ground.

Tears stain their cheeks with shame,
three bowed heads are lead
in handcuffs toward the flashing
red and blue lights as I rise
a cooled glass pipe to my lips.

I light it and forget
that I am one of them.


1:00 am on Lake Harney

The night sky is scratch art,
a trillion glinting specks
stylus sketched
on a black plane,
carbon copied into rippling water.

I manipulate grains of sand
with my toes. The dark blusters
with sonance. A chorus
of horny frogs blare
over squeals of cicadas,
drowning the cricket’s frail rings.

A warm Florida breeze gentles my face,
Spanish moss sways as the moon jumps
in a flicker of yellow
back and forth in the lake.

Behind me the house is dark,
concealing its conked-out contents,
eluded in a Sominex sleep—
they cannot discern what they lack,
I've shed them like a skin
discarded at my back.

I disown mortality—
that flesh cocoon has ensnared me
ten years too long and it knows it, it’s ready
to give as I step onto the tide-slapped pier
and fishy-air taints my nostrils.

Brittle boards stretch out before me—
a plank that destiny blades my back to walk,
stupid pirate, I creak those slats willingly.

As I step forward a heron bursts
into the sky from the water,
white feathers spread
wide like an angel’s.

If only such beauty could change me.

* This poem previously appeared in The Poetry Worm#40.

She is a lioness
circling her cage,
jilted with three young cubs.

She roars,
her brown eyes chagrined,
a patch of dark girding
the cleft of her thighs.

Her chestnut locks sway
to her paced fury
as she wears an O into the floorboards.

Occasional peeks
through the blind-slits for father
diverts her.

She renders us invisible
before we brave the living room,
but soon her eyes will oscillate
into focus.

She’ll pounce us like prey,
shred our youth away
with talon words.

Such furrows
only miracles can mend.

An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
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Post by nekot » Sun Aug 19, 2007 4:16 pm

Congratulations Shawn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You have earned it every bit.....

:bow: :bow:

:thumbsup: :thumbsup:
~eloquently scattered~
nekot's tokens


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C.R. Ebowski
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Post by C.R. Ebowski » Sun Aug 19, 2007 9:39 pm

Congrats Nacona.....
Well deserved
:bow: :bow: :bow:
:thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup:
"Nobody can get the truth out of me because even I don't know what it is. I keep myself in a constant state of utter confusion."

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Post by nacona » Wed Aug 22, 2007 6:02 am


I am truly honored, I am sorry if this has been posted a few days, I have been a bit under the weather due to an injury so I have not been on here as much as I would like. Thank you so much Heinzs! I do not even know what to say, this is such a wonderful surprise. Thank you!



Thank you very much for your post, kind words, and support. This is truly an honor! I was having such a bad week too, I needed something good like this to happen. Thanks for the congrats and taking the time to post. You take care!


C.R. Ebowski,

Thank you so much for taking the time to post with your congrats! I appreciate your kind words and support. I am truly honored, thanks!


Shawn Nacona
"I know how hard it is for you to put food on your family." —Greater Nashua, N.H., Jan. 27, 2000 -George W. Bush


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The Fat Cat
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Post by heinzs » Wed Aug 22, 2007 3:52 pm

I was supposed to post this a lot earlier... but I've been tremendously swamped at work and at home. You well deserve the honor, Shawn.

An' it harm none, do what ye will. Blessed Be.
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Post by spanky2007 » Wed Aug 22, 2007 7:53 pm

Congrats on Poet of the Month.

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Post by Ven » Thu Aug 23, 2007 6:19 am

Congratulations Shawn. A well deserved accolade. :thumbsup:

"Forever is short thought when your skipping this close to the edge".


Google this number; 1905363966


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Post by Tony Fiona » Tue Aug 28, 2007 10:21 am

:thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup:
:whip: :cool: :cool: :cool: :cool:
" There's a race of men that can't stay still
A race that don't fit in
They break the hearts of kith and kin
and roam the world at will. " ------------Robert Service

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C.R. Ebowski
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Post by C.R. Ebowski » Wed Aug 29, 2007 1:35 pm

Congrats :bow: :bow:
"Nobody can get the truth out of me because even I don't know what it is. I keep myself in a constant state of utter confusion."

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