by Sotère Torregian

What Time is it Where You Live ?
     from “Tempus Fujitsu”
          for Emily Sanagorsky

What time is it now
where you live
And I try
to rise to
my life’s work yet b bumbled in sleep
And you dream of fishing    perhaps    and mimosas
for the holiday
with your mate
( I mate -less and yet    plethorous
in herding    dreams )
as I reach
for my books    as guardsmen of my realm    of    La Sagesse
poésie            Vision-quest

And you gaze in the morning at the bluest sky

Just waking in bare-feet that need swarming
I breathe
a bit of fire for them
out of my creative    verve
Which reaches out to encompass    the Four Corners of
the West    where you prospect in your science

of which I remain an ignoramus
but a    knower loving
that which you are and strive to enfold

Sotère Torregian
December 18, 2021

by Sotère Torregian

Whiffenpoofery
     from “Tempus Fujitsu”
          for Collin Schuster

qu’ il y ait besoin d ‘ un cri pour s ‘ y referer
— Aimé Césaire

MINIMUM
HIKE
FALLS    SHORT    STOP    GAP
Saliesians    East Timor    Wishes
Machine    Washable    Methinks    If You

dare    this Cantabile    Show Itself

The    O Rudyard Kepling -White -Man’s -Burden    bar none
Explore    Alternatives as resource for
Yelp our Language    matters    escapade
Police-car sirens    sound    offing
Like wounded animal    in
The distance    abruptive
of your waking
Take    Shape
I am always changing    into

Sotère Torregian

by Iris Rifkin-Gainer

When the news is good
joys rise up like planets in my breasts
I travel with the stars whirling, whirring
a figurehead with tousled, sculpted curls
among the waves

Waves, stars ~  it is all one in these travels
Good fortune, health, memories, loves
tossed in constellations, sparkling like the days
a dipper filled with water from the spring
recalls

by Iris Rifkin-Gainer

Now, time was the jewel
drenched with words
in the pearly morning light

Each perfect frame
turning on a dime
in your bones

Shrinking from
the job at hand I
fathoming the shape of space
decline

Each perfect frame
breached with words
burning without rhyme

In my bones
fathoming the shape
shouldering the crest
of time