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Published | Whispers from the Unseen
http://www.unseenwhispers.com/2011/03/09/published
Whispers from the Unseen. A Journal and Forum for Writing in the Arts. I want to be a straw. Hollow, so. That it’s clear I have no feelings. When each letter arrives. Igniting in my open palm. That what I have sucks. Can come through as an elixir. That teases as it taunts:. You can’t catch a buzz. From → Joseph Bastow. Click here to cancel reply. You can use basic XHTML in your comments. Your email address will never. Subscribe to this comment feed via RSS. Have Words Will Travel. How A Poem Happens.
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A Little String to Pull | Whispers from the Unseen
http://www.unseenwhispers.com/2010/06/18/a-little-string-to-pull
Whispers from the Unseen. A Journal and Forum for Writing in the Arts. A Little String to Pull. By J Scott Mosel. I remember it like it was yesterday. How we held hands and cried below a window. Filled with light, branches bending the wind. You wore your blue soul, just the way I like it,. The one with the open back, folds above the hips,. A litle string to pull and find God. You spent the morning in the Egyptian room,. Touching the black sarcophagus , flirting. With the docents, as you remained unnoticed.
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Dr. Quigley Belonged To A Tribe | Whispers from the Unseen
http://www.unseenwhispers.com/2012/01/30/dr-quigley-belonged-to-a-tribe
Whispers from the Unseen. A Journal and Forum for Writing in the Arts. Dr Quigley Belonged To A Tribe. By J Scott Mosel. Dr Quigley began to take his coffee. Black, right about the time a clover. Appeared on his chest. At first he thought it was a type of stigmata. He belonged to a tribe that did not yet exist,. And this gave him enormous satisfaction. At night he dreamt deeply, his extended family. Vacationing on cruise ships along the west coast. Of California, probably Venice Beach,. Close to the rive...
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Dr. Quigley Walked the Streets | Whispers from the Unseen
http://www.unseenwhispers.com/2013/12/10/dr-quigley-walked-the-streets
Whispers from the Unseen. A Journal and Forum for Writing in the Arts. Dr Quigley Walked the Streets. By J Scott Mosel. Two suicides in one season. And Dr. Quiqley walked the streets in vain. A poetry for this does not exist. He watched the snow begin to fall,. Large wisps that tapered off into fog,. Soft pebbles of light in the 21st century. If only you were born in a nearby star! If only you were a message from God,. Manna from another universe,. Or this one. He did not care. And as his breath deepened.
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Dr. Quigley Walked Down 7th Street | Whispers from the Unseen
http://www.unseenwhispers.com/2012/04/02/dr-quigley-walked-down-7th-street
Whispers from the Unseen. A Journal and Forum for Writing in the Arts. Dr Quigley Walked Down 7th Street. By J Scott Mosel. Dr Quigley walked down 7th street to enter Chinatown. Amused by the big screen televisions, he stopped. For a moment to stare at a commercial of butterflies. Helping an insomniac go to sleep. Tender, sleep. Last night he dreamt of long palatial hallways. In the hospitals for the damned, afraid to look sideways. Into a room, afraid to see death,. The smell of feces in his nose. Nothi...
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It’s All Good | Whispers from the Unseen
http://www.unseenwhispers.com/2013/09/03/2128
Whispers from the Unseen. A Journal and Forum for Writing in the Arts. It’s All Good. By J Scott Mosel. My birthday once again comes out of nowhere. And I think of 45 degree angles, splitting a corner. In equal portions of two gorgeous halves. I think of calves and I’m alive again,. Calves on a spring morning long ago. On cobblestones beneath the dogwoods of my youth. There are many reasons to sigh but old love. Is not worth it. I would rather sip this beer. After work and scratch a good itch. Click here...
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Dialectical Ghost Lines | Whispers from the Unseen
http://www.unseenwhispers.com/2011/01/12/dialectical-ghost-lines-2
Whispers from the Unseen. A Journal and Forum for Writing in the Arts. By J Scott Mosel. She taught me to see. While still in the womb,. How to read with unformed. Eyes–I close them, and she is there,. A dialectic of alphabetic blood. And still in flow. She weaves letters. Into puddles of light. If she moves near you, in a dream,. Her skin appears the color of Easter eggs. She is fragile. Her lips are blue,. And there are tiny wrinkles on her ears. She jots down notes about the future. He said, “. He cam...
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J. Scott Mosel | Whispers from the Unseen
http://www.unseenwhispers.com/category/j-scott-mosel
Whispers from the Unseen. A Journal and Forum for Writing in the Arts. Posts from the ‘J. Scott Mosel’ Category. Two Minds One Leash. Dr Quigley Walked the Streets. It’s All Good. Round and Round Come the Grandmothers. Mothers Do Not Question The Mystery. Dr Quigley Belonged To A Tribe. A Little String to Pull. Phallic and Fallopia: Alveolar Assimilation. The Only Ones You Need. Sonnet to a Prenatal Stranger. Phallic and Fallopia: An Epilogue. Dr Quigley Noticed the Letters. The Way They Stopped. Billy C...
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Winter Earthworks | Whispers from the Unseen
http://www.unseenwhispers.com/2011/01/29/winter-earthworks
Whispers from the Unseen. A Journal and Forum for Writing in the Arts. By J Scott Mosel. I am full this afternoon–the treetops. Lit with orange and purple, the shadows blue. And long–sledding on the earthworks. At Fort C.F. Smith. What is left of the Civil War. Is hidden under the snow. The kids do not know. Soon, they are wet and cold, pants dark and steamy,. Bodies sliding down into the hollow. They are happy. There are other boys here , and they take sides. One boy looks at me as we begin the trudge.
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