Thursday, June 1, 2023



The Cheering


Sorrow is hollow ground

with dried mud

cracking trapped space.

It’s wearing green screen suits

against a green wall

freezing everything but faces

with movies projected on cheeks

we watch in the nude

drinking opinionated Scotch

with American inhalable fear.

We are molecules, cells

invisible parts of something

that brightens in abundance

or bounces in 4:00 AM non-stop minds.

Hyperbole is our common name

trained to the glare that scares and moans.

We move as if concrete were setting

on multiple alternate lives.

Sensation is the escape we love.

Imagination winks us on.


What It’s Like


The way plants turn yellow and limp

Flowers faint to the ground

Or trees so brittle their limbs

Break off in wind


The way anything that danced

Now lies still


The way the hand resists a pen

And the need to speak lessens


The way the dying

Grasp towards air

Eyes fixed upward


There is no practice for life ending

The closer ones gets the less one conveys


How can we know?


“Ready to go”

is relative

to imagination.


Sharing Time-Magic


Time swells in its own memory

bumps of pain and pleasure

sparks from the vault

telescoped with mind mouse-over

and what was is

with less exaggeration …

a chance to study yourself


A salt lamp mind

holds helium feet down

on alter egos, ecos, gaia…

animated meat suits becoming earth

wrapped in costumes and shrouds

filled with inflated multi-dimensions

many births and happy days that

give meditative breaths on the laptop

every moment a mantra…

words- worlds- worth


Soft Reality


Through wavering auras

invisible antennae

we read and are read



like Saguaro cacti

with the moon in its arms

and the sacred scent

of campfire wood


through the sky’s embrace




Dogs were penned in

with dirt and weeds

where a lawn might have been.


At night the dogs howled

afraid or just screaming

to the animals of night.


Fear was in the house.

Speech was discouraged

to keep from setting off

the man of fire

who would lash and scorch

then burn you down.


There were threats,

always "don't tell."

Fear and shame

tainted our blood.


Our world was tight fisted   (Continued)

with just enough love

to keep fear from swallowing

just enough love to learn

the heart can burst.




BELINDA SUBRAMAN had a ten-year run editing and publishing Gypsy Literary Magazine 1984-1994. She edited books by Vergin' Press, among them: Henry Miller and My Big Sur Days by Judson Crews. She also published Sanctuary Tape Series (1983-89) which was a mastered compilation of audio poetry and original music from around the world. Earlier is this century she had a podcast interview show that was broadcast on three internet stations. A few of the shows are preserved here: HTTPs:// In 2020 Belinda began an online show called GAS: Poetry, Art & Music which features interviews, readings, performances and art show in a video format available free at  An online journal by the same name is here: Belinda is also a mixed media artist. Her art has been featured in Beyond Words, Epoch, Flora Fiction, Unlikely Stories, Eclectica, North of Oxford, Raw Art Review, El Paso News, Litterateur RW, Setu, Texlandia, The Bayou Review, Red Fez, Chrysalis, Maintenant 16 and many others.  Recently she won 2nd Place in the Sun Bowl Exhibit, the longest running art show in the Southwest (since 1949). She sells prints of her work in her Mystical House Etsy shop.

No comments :

Post a Comment