Three Poems by Jack e Lorts

Ephram Pratt Ponders the Silence of the North

Posing like a
wire coat hanger

preparing for sleep,
the length

of the movie
was measured

in slow motion,
in a dimension

known only to
Norse gods,

known in the mythology
of lightning,

of sounds heard
between

eternal silences,
caught in the same

slow motion.
Ponder such wonders

in the silence
of Valhalla,

try to know if
Shackaleers

understand
Norse silence.



Ephram Pratt Instructs the World of Light

Coarsened into silence
by approaching air,

heavy with a devilish liquid
stemming from

tankards of whispers
relayed through

tongues of fire
by the ghosts of light

lingering in the
softness of

acrylic gondolas,
adrift in errant

pools of light,
melting into

the broth of angels.
Tense your muscles

as you survey
the tactics used

by the shackaleers
weaving in and out

of variegated trees,
film-red and dying,

cleaving to a slow slumber,
ineligible for flight,

touched by silicon and
intangible as darkness.



Ephram Pratt Exhales the Bliss of Light

The bandage on the clock
fits tightly

like amnesia
leaking into

a dry pool of acid,
into a drift-wood

alabaster ingot
tasting the wares

of insulated daylight.
Crease your fingers

as if they were
on fire,

ignited by
crystals of joy

dripping onto the page
of mismatched

mandalas
clustered in silence

around an enclosed
isothermal blot,

anchored in space
by practiced

and practical
insignias of light.

Jack e Lorts, a retired educator living in a small town in eastern Oregon has published widely, if infrequently, over the past 40+ years, in such magazines as Arizona Quarterly, Kansas Quarterly, English Hournal, Agnostic Lobster, Quantum Tao, High Desert Journal and elsewhere.  Author of several chapbooks, his most recent is "Dear Gilbert Sorrentino and Other Poems," from Finishing Line Press.  Active in local, state and national Democratic politics, he is currently Mayor of Fossil, OR (population 479).