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  April 2015
volume 12 number 1
-table of contents-
 
  home   (archived)
 
  featured poets
  Lynne Bronstein
  Deborah Edler Brown
  Sir Mark Bruback
  Hélène Cardona
  Diane Dehler
  Amos Greig
  A J Huffman
  Cynthia Linville
  Bray McDonald
  Angel Uriel Perales
  Kalpna Singh-Chitnis
  Ajise Vincent
  Kelley White
  Alicia Winski
 
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Diane Dehler April 2015
   

 

bio


art by paradoxius

    Diane Dehler is a poet known for her postmodern lyricism who has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She received a degree from the Creative Writing Program at San Francisco State University and has been published in numerous poetry journals & five anthologies. Most recently her poetry has appeared in, The Munyori Literary Review, Pirene's Fountain, Edgar Allan Poet, Deep Water Literary Journal, The Taj Mahal Review, Truck, Cultural Weekly, Artemis Journal & The Criterion: An International Journal in English. She has poetry forthcoming in The Lummox Journal, Fjords Review and The Mas Tequila Review.

   

 

Sylvia's Bell Jar

Sylvia's bell jar is not the only -
I was born in one; a flower of perfect preserved beauty.

A flower untouched,
Which goes without saying.

A first moment,
When passion unseals a vacuum.

Shells accumulate on a vast seashore far from me.
I intend to move out of the jar forever and take up residence in a spire of shell.

Home- chez maison.
The sea will spoon in, lap drizzle drazzle on the breath of ocean, against my body.

On this vast white beach of mind, grains of sand burn on my footsteps and all is well until
the tide comes in.

Azure spill of water, cold gray surf foam lifts me from my prized nautilus chamber.
Out to sea, float shell & I...

I suppose it would be safer to stay in the bell jar.

copyright 2015 Diane Dehler

   

 

Angel White Lipstick

What if I can't find the angel I saw at the Rodin Museum...

Was the angel real or existing only in imagination...
Mine... to be precise...

A visit to the museum...
Light crackles through an ivory mosaic in my mind.

Vague images...
Impressions...

I do remember kissing a platinum angel wing.

...Surreptitiously, of course.
...When other heads were turned away.

My intention was to capture the angel.
I did.

I revisit the Musee Rodin in my mind.
The Villa des Brillantes stands before me & I enter.

Unbeknownst to me an enormous angel appears behind me.

An aura...
Streaks of light encompass me.

...An opaline January day.
The light pools as gentle rain & glides down the chandelier above.

Outside in the garden I see the angel again.
Blurred, I am certain it has just moved or is perhaps a gateway.

Gate/ Gateway.

Did Rodin ever visit the depths through his portals of hell?
My thoughts are drifting...

I am uncertain if a glance from the nascent angel accompanies
me everywhere...

Or is it just a herald of an incipient migraine?
Yet, I live a mythic life amidst all the ordinariness of the everyday.

Surely this angel follows me because I kissed him.

People are stalked by the heavenly for far less.
I imagine that the angel is love with me.

The wrong kind of love...
Not to protect; to awaken experience...

To blast open the dreary millennium's angelic lights into every
orifice of psyche & cause...

To eradicate a profound discontent.

Does the angel know that I can see him?
His erotic manifestation of beauty seizes me with abject fear.

How can I ever accept...
Make do with an ordinary mortal after this?

Do other people see the flood of light purveyed by the Angel?
Do they wonder about my eyes which now glow supernatural blue?

I can never be content with less than divine now.

The angel desperately trails the erotic forever...
Difficult consequences for both of us...

Will we be friends and chit chat
via email?


Will he meet me for a frothy latte
that reminds him of the billowing heavens that he abdicated for me?

Don't even ask about any unfortunate children that might result from such a union.

A lady with pale hair pursued by heaven.
Light streams...

My glossy tendrils are wind, ocean...
a childhood daisy.

Yet, to him I am forever a seduction.
I kissed the angel with white lipstick.

He wears it now permanently and I am just his pale shadow.

copyright 2015 Diane Dehler