a poetry e-zine










Poems By Angela Felsted

the brain is a living
pulsing wall of sound.
a broad bass drum
shaking on its haunches.

a jazz pianist circling
through the lonely dark
bones of the circle of fifths
soaked in chord remains.

a bugle call in the
belly of a whale.
a pitch-perfect key
denied by the lock.

a wave of pulsing life.
a neglected child of science.
see her pouring Ritalin
into its roiling mouth.
see her refuse to sing.

under waning stars

i trusted him.
he had gentle hands
ones he’d hold to my
head like earmuffs
in the bitter cold.

so much tenderness in
his callused palms.
so much warmth as
he wove his fingers in
mine, led me to a copse
of trees, slid his hands
beneath my coat.

friends, he called us
in the hushed fervent
voice of a preacher
clasping my body to
his, front against front
like a god fearing man
prays palm against palm.

our shoes made
circles in the dying
leaves. our friendship
dying with them.

(Has appeared in Drown in My Own Fears)

Angela Felsted is a musician, poet, and nature lover. Her work has appeared in issue fifteen of Drown in Your Own Fears, in the Cliterature Journal, and on her website. Her chapbook, CLEAVE, will be published by Finishing Line Press in January 2012.

Copyright 2011  Chantarelle's Notebook