Art Credit: leannelanefineart.com
Wine on the Lips
By: Michele Habel-Coffey
I breathe in deeply and hold
Hoping to stave off the aftertaste
Of cheap wine and dying dreams
But the nine dollar red
Is soft on the palate
A delicious bitter-sweet
It leaves no after taste
It bears no acrid smell
It is yet cheap
I know a treasure when I taste it
The world shifts
As the innocent wine envelops me
And sends me off
In a warm blanket of waking dreams
And a smile that arrives
The moments the memories permeate
And bring me back
Wine, you and I
We will see the future bound together
On cheap shelves
Touched by dime-store hands
And we will rise to the occasion
Passing one day around tables
On the lips of giants
Who will smell our vintage
And declare us rare indeed
by Michele Habel-Coffey
My fingers trace the outlines of my cup…
Lingering circles, damp with coffee
And with dead epithelials- words unspoken
Sloughed off by the heat of the black liquid
Stimulated edges of nerves
Give way to fresh, soft lips
And caffeinated hope
by Michele Habel-Coffey
An image on a big screen
Out of reach
Silence your cell phones
And dim the lights
Let’s eat the oily, overheated seeds
And see what we want to see
With a force
Hard to the chest
A line in the bone
You are there
You were there
A wind blowing through the crevice
The breath in the break
Breathe into my lines
Taking in the my dust
Inside of you
We are one
Artist Credit: Sharon Erla
Title: Necessity is the Mother
Mother Earth Art
Evidence of Red
by: Leanne Howe
First, night opened out.
Bodies took root from rotting salt
and seawater into evidence of red life.
Relentless waves pumped tidal air
into a single heartbeat.
In the pulp of shadow and space,water sucked our people from sleep.
That’s how it all began. At least
that’s all we can remember to tell.
It began with water and heartbeat.
In minutes we tunneled through corn woman’s navel into tinges
of moist red men and women.
Yawning, we collected our chins,
knees, breasts, and sure-footed determination.
A few thousand years before Moses parted the Red Sea, and the
God with three heads was born in the Middle East,
the Choctaw people danced
our homeland infra red.
Finally when the stranger’s arms reached to strangle the West,
on the three-faced deity
who said that chaos was coming.
When he puckered his lips and tried to kiss her she made it rain on him.
“Maybe you’ve forgotten
you were born of water and women,”
she said, walking away laughing.
By Michele Habel-Coffey
The images flow across his skin
I glimpse his art –without, within
Born of pain and needles thin
A deepened sort of midnight blue
Outside the edges, bleeding through
And for a fee, he’ll bleed you too
Behind the blood, a colored scar
Fairies, Christ, and Balthazar
Meandering in local bars
So paint upon a canvas sacred
Covering – leaving less so naked
Flesh and pain are what you make it