Offcourse Literary Journal
ISSN 1556-4975 

Three Poems, by Christopher Barnes.


Penelope Cruz  

They coo Alcobendas is a low-born lot.
Madrid perks us with an essential rendering.
Tutus and attitude starkly set.

Synth-blip promos, having a caper.
Then the art house pixie pops up topless,
slides on L'Oreal's Telescopic mascara,
gearshifts her savvy in imperative cameos.
The marring of air-walking
by the director's muse
is all it takes
to pinpoint the inimitable.



Olympia Dukakis  

to the never-ending woe begone posture.
When you're Cheshire catting
as Anna Madrigal surmise,
or wrinkly Mama Sinatra
we're undespairing.  Tonight at 7
you'll head up a turnout,
a Frisco State faculty
with grounded feet, Guru-perked demeanour,
a go-between for the fitness
of a slew of scenes.  In or out of The Greek Chorus,

unexpected, fine-drawn player.
Broadcast the pallor
in vivacity exceeding 70,
shed light on excerpts, Shakespeare in the Park,
briefed on silver-tongued transfiguring,
nuanced adjustments.



Martina Navratilova  

A reverse twit shoves off Czechoslovakia,
followed-through to the Self-On-The-Block superpower—
you grab shots
at chewing in-the-wrong fat, pronto
with an overhead smash.

Sporting 'Under Armour'
you slice service by dint of ball boys,
a forehand drive and rallies on Washington.  

Constellated in the midst of Billie Jean, then Dusty
— just as fleeting in a skirt.



Christopher Barnes is a frequent contributor to Offcourse. See his bio here.


Comments? Tell us!

Back to Offcourse home page