Maurice Oliver spent almost a decade working as a freelance photographer in Europe.
Then, in 1995, he made a lifelong dream reality by traveling around the world for eight
months, recording his experiences in a journal instead of photographs. And so began
his desire to be a poet. His poetry appeared in The Potomac Journal, Circle Magazine,
Bullfight Review, Tryst3, The MAG, Eye-Shot, The Surface, One Forty Two Magazine, Word
Riot, Retort Magazine(Australia), Taj Mahal Review(India), Stride (UK), and also online
at ink-mag.com, friggmagazine.com, dash30dash.com and tmpoetry.com. He lives in
Portland, Oregon where he is a tutor.
Chalk Marks, Indicating Where To Stand
Someone spells "silver" and the sightings begin-
-A seven leaning against an open doorway.
-The letter C written on a stick-on name tag.
-Zero disguised as a "random number".
-X printed in red on an eye chart.
-Two fives riding by on bicycles in caps.
-A damp three leading to illogical conclusions.
-One dark line that serves as a temporary road block.
-A period trapped in the belfry of a church.
-Two thinner lines longing to be arms.
-A comma everyone mistakes for a coma.
-Chapter One lacking any noise & laughter.
-Did-do marks near the middle of July.
-A pause, due to slippery hands.
"In A Forth-Night Holiday" Sonnet
Seven words learned in Italian. A background
partly hidden by fog. Hawthorn or lilac. Sage
or oregano. Her long red hair. Bells ringing.
A train whistle. It's soft nap. A Flock of
noisy birds. We had to clean it all up. A
blue velvet gown reaching to the floor. I'm
sorry, what? In a large bucket of soapy water.
One flowering tree. Lights on the fishing boats.
Artichoke or garlic. Moving sidewalks. Voices
overheard from the adjacent compartment. Sewing
with dark blue thread. Or probably clouds. A
coral neckline. Her sensual nap. Dog or wolf
baying at the moon. Couples walking arm & arm.
Idly stirring my coffee. A bruise to the knee.
Costume jewelry. Damp bread in hunks. Telephone
lines. Zig-zag stitching. Hills remembered. A
a dragonfly might. Tongues for sandwiches. She
steps from the shower & reaches for a towel. Wind
strong enough to push us. Then more lovely weather.
Plan B.Part 2.
This time, let's try using mythological figures:
-In a small box flying over Dresden at night.
-A birthday celebration of a cat with twelve toes.
-Once upon a time in a microwave.
-A drawer full of things that could never glow.
-Dreaming of snow falling in a spoon.
-Brushing his teeth with his lower lip.
-Or While striving to be a tail-end pornographer.
-One nail driven through the heart of a page.
-A garden paradise made completely of broken bottles.
-To believe in beads & women with tangled hair.
-Barely anyone to say, everyone said.
-Or it's snowing in Tokyo, which never existed.
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