2010 Festival

George McKim



George McKim comes to the art of poetry, just recently, from the art of painting. He has been painting for thirty years and holds a B.F.A. in Painting from V.C.U. an M.F.A. in Painting from E.C.U. and has also studied at the Skowhegan School of Painting and Sculpture in Maine. His paintings have been in group exhibitions at the North Carolina Museum of Art and the Tampa Museum of Art as well as various galleries in the region.  He has worked as a graphic artist for twenty years.
His poetry has been accepted for publication, or has been published in Simply Haiku, Rust and Moth, Hanging Moss Journal, ChicagoPoetry.com - Cram 6, Crossing Rivers into Twilight, Everyday Poets and  Everyday Poets Anthology.


in the flesh of evening, windows
                                     push and pull deep afternoons
                                     through squares of lung. eons.

just outside,
       the neighbor’s kids
       ambulatory. percussive. imp as summer.

your cellphone rings with
                         the smell of spaghetti. like dishes. clanging.
again, without success
            i try to scrape thick mosquito sunlight
                                           across the angry canvas of winter

that crazy tree on canterbury
                 is that the faint swoon of lavender.
                 on brown. gnarled. limbs. twisting east?  

inside & yellowed,
              i’m making out with television sunset.
          & learning how to build skyscrapers
                                             without rulers, without numbers

saturday morning

clouds drift coma deep
in pastures of long oxygen

light, yellowed green
through leaves of saturday morning

veins of wood blood, and
between capillaries of air,
verticals pulsed blue

in the mirror of december:
october’s suicide of color


13th goodbye

at death’s first blush
albino crows call your name

can you hear me?

your vacant eyes
the color of north korea
skin loosely wrapped
thin as labor camps

&your mind
drifting, cracked
grayed smooth
from oceans of work

the pale wafer of your voice
distant as owls
mornings away
down roads &roads

built spaces
your square eyes,
once you were fallingwater,

can you hear me?

your broken sun
your black sheep,
dull as money

my bones
remain at half mast

in turquoise deep graveyards
white caps crawl homeward
clawing at the sun

your catherine on the half-shell
her gale force hairdo
perfectly limned
flowing sultry &
brunette like prayer flags

oceans re-form themselves
under the exploding sun
gargoyles &prophets
&minute hands trembling!

can you hear me?

folded paper sailboats(?)
without bones
without drawings
racing blue stars, blue stars

the anchor of time
is not holding, not holding!
paper sailboats

always goodbye,


Posted on 2010-06-09

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