AM

Author

Alex Mascarenhas

38 works

Genres: Essays Poetry
Poetry

Silence of the Books

And still, cameras or no cameras,
even libraries close.
As the P.A. system announces fifteen minutes to closing,

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Poetry

Snow in the Summer

In her spring I met her
Loved her in her summer
Her leaves didn’t see falling

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Poetry

Thanks, Giving Turkey

A special day for us all
Yet, o turkey, poor, poor turkey
You’d rather yourself recalled

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Poetry

The Ballad of the Man Who Was Once a King

Once upon a time
Succumbing to beauty was a man’s undoing
No longer his prime

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Poetry

The Chase

I saw a girl, I met her gaze
And her eyes smiled, dazzle, daze, haze
I want her child -- was shut my case

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Poetry

The Chase II

She blew smoke
She’s no bloke
My heart’s broke

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Poetry

The Corn and the Thief

Happy birthday to the unborn
I have blue shoes, new, never worn
The anniversary of disbelief

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Poetry

The Day Rooster Galore Came to Town

He was not born Rooster Galore
Yet Rooster Galore he became
The town he hailed from was of sin

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Poetry

The Door

What’s behind a closed door?
I look at one now, white
I want to see through it

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Poetry

The Drowning

Hmm... I like your walk, I love watching it
The thickening’s on, the ticking is down
Tick-tack... tick is green; tick-tack... tack is brown

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Poetry

The Good Days

Today’s a happier day, it’s brighter
Don’t mind the rapier’s sway, don’t fight ‘er
I get up, I go out, I get it done

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Poetry

The Skirt

The first thing I saw
Was a flying skirt
A skirt in the wind

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Poetry

The Visage

I saw a face, you see
This face I saw today
It dwelt in yesterday

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Essays

To Live and Die in L.A.

Actors in Los Angeles are like the angels themselves – a dime a dozen. The first time I heard – well, read, really – this expression was in the Arthur...

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Poetry

Touch-and-Go

Walked under the moon
Three Thursdays ago
I looked through my eyes

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Poetry

Two Dreams

The dreams are swift, she leaps, lands, throws her skirt
In bed adrift, unconsciously alert
I shut my eyes, I don’t cease to live

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Poetry

What If There Was No Editing…

Cry, baby, cry
When there’s no one around
When all there is

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Poetry

Why Must It Be?

Why must life be
Enviously
Pursued by the one who scythes

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