Friday, August 24, 2018

Flying Home. by Jim Bourey



Sucking bourbon soaked
ice cubes
at thirty-seven thousand feet
may not be Zen
but it sure could be
Nirvana.





Jim Bourey is an old poet who divides his year between the Adirondack Mountains and Dover, Delaware. His chapbook “Silence, Interrupted” was published in 2015 by the Broadkill River Press. His work has appeared in Mojave River Review, Paddock Review, Gargoyle and the Broadkill Review and other journals and anthologies. He was first runner up in the Faulkner-Wisdom Poetry Competition in 2012 and 2016. He has served as an adjudicator for the Poetry Out Loud competition in Delaware. In his North Country months, he is active with the St. Lawrence Area Poets and has taken part in Art/Poetry projects in Saranac Lake.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Black Magic Woman By Alexis Child

I carve a voodoo doll out of wax Hold a lighter to its chest It's hot, hot, hot She's lost her heart Her lovely head And beautiful l...