north of oxfrod

Two Poems by Jonel Abellanosa

human
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Lucid Dream
                  After “Human Condition” by Rene Magritte
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Seeing the black ball
enlarged on the floor,
I remember the rubber ball
I use to lower my blood pressure,
making my hand useful,
deflating and deflating
when I’m resting
after doing nothing.
With that image of the ball
I know I’m in my dream,
participating.
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I decide to do nothing,
just sit feet from the canvass,
to let the sea participate,
so I could see it
paint itself
into my waking
memory, bring
myself to calm.
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Constellation
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Past lives like Leo’s nine stars.
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I remember what I knew
before I was born, arrow-arced night
sky, lyric deja vu. Nonlinear time
pulls me like bowstring, the future
a hide of bronze, ancient past reflecting,
mythic as the mane in the mirror.
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Temujin was a Nemean lion.
I see Mongolian Steppes, clear as grasslands
of my youth. Standing in Cebu City,
I hear hordes, behold horses sending dusts
skyward. I stand before pyramids of skulls,
captives impaled, bloodthirsty desire.
At peace with myself, I let myself
be Karma’s child, agreeing to pay
for my sins centuries ago. I look
at my homeless friend wagging his tail.
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I say his new name – Genghis Khan.
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Jonel Abellanosa lives in Cebu City, The Philippines. His poetry and fiction have appeared in hundreds of magazines including, North of Oxford, Fox Chase Review, Thin Air, The Lyric, Poetry Kanto and The Anglican Theological Review. His poetry collections include, “Songs from My Mind’s Tree” and “Multiverse” (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, New York), “50 Acrostic Poems,” (Cyberwit, India), “In the Donald’s Time” (Poetic Justice Books and Art, Florida), and “Pan’s Saxophone” (Weasel Press, Texas).
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Billie by Marko Otten

billie
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Billie
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Billie is gone, no… (no… no… no… no…)
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Yes Billie, you are gone! Damn it.
No more wagging a tail… no
No more jumping the jetty… no
Deep deep diving it will take us to
Retrieve your reflection that used to float
Freely on Pandora Pond
A weird silence rests heavily upon the water now
Stared at by four frozen blue tits on the shore
Listen Billie listen
Listen to the magpies muffling their mournful
Whistling in the undergrowth.
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Meanwhile in the kitchen uninvited emptiness
Moves around mysteriously…
But giving it a closer look Billie
I can see it’s your fond face watching Louise’s cooking
Don’t tell me you want goodies
While showing off just a black lit contour of a dog
What you’re doing to her!?
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She is so sad. It’s not fair Billie.
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Somewhere in the blue woods off Domino Road
There’s this grassy patch where kangaroos gather
With faces grim and sad they are moaning
You used to be a friend Billie!
Their playful chaser, a noble hunter… gone Billie
You are gone Billie
They keep on waiting there: surely soon you must return
Won’t you Billie? They insist
Evening come, nighttime fall… they insist
Send them a bark at least, you can do one.
.                                                                                                   —>
Early next morning after the rain
When a black body is not shaking off a heavy shower
In that out of control manner of yours
Dull twilight will reveal under the lower canopy
A lone wombat’s tearful eye
Like a prolonged whispering…
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“Where—the—f—are—you—Billie?”
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portret Marko Otten (1)

Marko Otten is a historian and a former college administrator & principal. He lives in Arnhem, the Netherlands and sometimes at Pandora Ponds, Trentham (Victoria, Aus) or Avinguda Diagonal, Barcelona (Es). https://www.hetboekenschap.nl/product/provo/?v=7516fd43adaa

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