Two Poems
Terry Persun Ore Mill Refined and formed, flattened for use, copper sheets rolled into squares. Art from labor, labor from science, scratched, pushed, colored and covered. Using a thing is like following a dried streambed, nails of the mind protrude, hold firm an ore mill at the foot of an idea, the edge of a lie. The Ekphrastic Poem I want to gather the soft fluff of chicks, the pinch of crab, the sting of scorpion into the folds of my chest, my stomach, loins, and feet, feel it quick like the skin of a lover—no time to think. All my senses must hold the colors, brush strokes, emotion in bare hands, letting slip the noise of paint, screaming its message in unintelligible ways. Then drag the horror home, the raw fuel, hurried words, the beauty back to a place where my own sacrifices have bled, my own childhood dashed against rocks, love-loss, pitch-black, brutally-honest, where it can open to pleasure one rewrite at a time, a blossoming unrecognizably brilliant and lovely. |
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About the Author: Terry Persun has been writing and publishing since the early 1970s. His poems and stories have appeared in many small and university magazines including Wisconsin Review, Kansas Quarterly, Riverrun, Rattle, Hiram Poetry Review, Drop Forge, Bluestem, NEBO, Eclipse, Bacopa, and many others. His poems have appeared in six, single author chapbooks and four full-length collections. Terry speaks at writers conferences and universities across the country. Visit Terry's website here.