The Larcenist (Volume 1, Issue #3)

By Audrey Rey and Mina Hunt

The Larcenist is an international literary magazine, published bimonthly in paperback and ebook form.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312277427

Book preview

The Larcenist (Volume 1, Issue #3)

The Larcenist

Stealing reality to achieve art

The Larcenist

Volume I, Issue 3

ISBN: 978-1-312-27742-7

Editors:

Audrey Rey (poetry, stageplay)

Mina Hunt (prose, stageplay)

Illustrations: Hana Mori

License: Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 2.0

Cover illustration based on the poem Roses by Katie Alexander

Visit http://thelarcenistmagazine.wordpress.com for more information.

Poetry

icon books

Matthew S Early

Mousai

When she reads to me in moonlight dreaming harmonies

there is an effervescence of crackling seascapes,

her vocals are never bridged, well in pools

by the foot of our bed as spectrums calm

in spirals of cool, viscid oils,

and her breath of perfume abiding in alabaster

allows me the sweet release of thought

only hearing the coherence of her lips,

refrains in the Mousai's artistic spheres.

My eyes saccade her form as she reads to me her poetry,

claiming her, donning my thoughts, my illustrious desires,

attempting to ship what is left of my unclaimed love

within the banks of her well writ poesies,

her verses hung ornamentally speak to me

in formal imitations of ancient poets

invoking the muses Erato and Euterpe.

Her demure while she reads in esoteric tongues

allows my infatuated ears,

pillowed comfortably by her charming singsong,

to regress as water from ice, freed to steam again,

liberated to fly by each stanza,

freed of Augean interpretation,

satisfied by graceful suspire,

her lyrics so blessed by the Mousai.

The Book Burning

The veins routed the long, cold streams

like waterways that would not thaw

even into the furnace of their hankering hearts.

none knew the children were beneath the shadows.

none knew their diseased systems were contagious.

Tell me preacher,

when you first lit the cleansing pyre

were you the fire or the wind?

Could you hear their skulls

shrinking from the chilled notions

or the vacuous brains compensating for the loss?

And tell me,

did the dolts of your propaganda

seek solace; did their infested vessels

seek their cheeks to rosy against glow,

and did your hard-on thicken

and your girth sicken your mind

while you placed your sunken lips

to their parching ears

and sucked what was left

of their independent condition

while they expected cultivation

and mistook you for it?

none knew the children would never understand.

none knew that they were lemmings along to your edge.

Did your incredulous hands warm against the blaze?

Did the religious books burn red like your American blood?

The veins of their mind continued

to route those long, cold streams

along the waterways that would not thaw

even as those foreign pages bounded in

sheathes of un-interpretable verse

became unwarranted dross.

The children would later sift

through those smoldering blessings

still reeking of your sour breath

seeking purity, but only lifting their eyes.

Some would never discover

that the smell of the righteous

would well serve investigated.

Some would later discover

these molten principles could never be exhumed.

Wreck on Main Street

Spring breeze

Cherry blossoms and magnolia blooms

Squirrels crossing power lines

Bells from the Methodist church across town

My neighbor throws seed for the black birds

She waves and smiles before the front door swallows her inside

Suddenly there's a wreck on main street

It's my cousin and she may be dying

Her skin became a bag for broken bones in just a second

Everything that was structure

Is now flowing chaotically inside  of her

The blood in her veins is stoned

And refuses to stay in the vessels

There's a clavicle in her lung now

Unaffected by the cacophony of sirens

A Mockingbird calls from an Oak