Picaroon Poetry - Issue #19 - November 2019
Well here we are, rogues and rebels, readers and writers - our last issue of Picaroon until the middle of 2021. I want to thank everyone who appears in this issue - poems about busking and goats, fruitcake and pawn shops, and Christmas and ghosts and so much more - and everyone who has ever sent something our way, been published in other issues, or read what our writers have shared with you.
Well here we are, rogues and rebels, readers and writers - our last issue of Picaroon until the middle of 2021. I want to thank everyone who appears in this issue - poems about busking and goats, fruitcake and pawn shops, and Christmas and ghosts and so much more - and everyone who has ever sent something our way, been published in other issues, or read what our writers have shared with you.
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Howie Good<br />
Cosmic Blues<br />
I’m not really into cosmic things, but I don’t have a choice. Salvador Dali is forever.<br />
I used to see seagulls everywhere. Then a mirror unrolled from the sky, and the<br />
seagulls were just skeletons. None of it made a lot of sense. Someone said to me,<br />
“It’s simple. A black hole is where time and space disappear.” Simple?! Solid<br />
objects are melting into air at an alarming pace. It’s not an unknown future. It’s<br />
almost here. I think it must be like a wasp nest in a barrack in a German<br />
concentration camp or 634 minutes inside a volcano.<br />
24
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