Archive by Author

Last Minute Stocking Stuffer!

https://kelsaybooks.com/products/from-concentrate-presale-to-be-released-in-january-2021

Exclusive opportunity to peek into the quirky world of author K.E. Robiscoe.

Click above to purchase your copy of “From Concentrate”–a limited edition volume of poetry published by Kelsay Press. Featuring formalist and free verse, wordplay and villanelles, your heartstrings will stretch and your grey matter expand as you assimilate Ms. Robiscoe’s unique turn of phrase. Riffing on topics ranging from pop culture to Edgar Allen Poe, romance to Gilligan’s Island, Zeitgeists, Ferrymen and black velvet Elvis’s, too, this eclectic blend of the absurd to the poignant is peer-reviewed and surprisingly on point.

Zagar and Evans

We are
a chain gang.
the Internet
our uncommon bond
linking us one by one
–even when you don’t click–
to a global database
masquerading as
an interesting diversion

 
Did I say interesting?
make that:
invasive
color that:
empirical
rephrase that:
insidious

 
instructor
barking out
CMDs
and insisting on
CTRL
of every, every
goose step forward
unseen feet
knotted
to hangdog heads
take
–tripping
misstepping
not noticing
enthralled by
subliminal suggestion
of
a world that doesn’t exist
–doesn’t pass the tactile test
(olfactory either)
but
does move merch.

 
Deemed better for us
than actual interaction, let’s
remember:
there is power in numbers
but weakness in division
which,
link by link
we are.

Real Mi Dia

I spent

2/3 of life

asleep…

living unfettered

for the
 
rest

~behind closed eyes~

 

who’s to say which world is real

and if said—

with what credibility?

what IS real anymore, dontcha wonder?

you find your own truth

imbue your own meaning

and even mob mentality

is subject to perception…

 

The best thing about

this fraction of

“real me time”

~besides the flying dreams~

is the knack for waking up

before impact.

before shoes drop

before hands grab

&

hammer falls

 

Something that doesn’t happen in

the waking world

sleepwalking thru

these smothering

times

 

the third

(when the “we” doesn’t rouse)

the better realm

in which to believe.