GHAZAL
LO! TIME . . .
T. Ashok Chakravarthy
The resurging tides of fate
Swarm my thoughts in haste
The joy-filled dance of rage
Break the spikes of hopes cage.
Time, stirring the strings of death
Never considers affection or faith
It befalls on me too, without mercy
Dismantling the citadel-illusionary.
Showering wisdom of peace on some
Implanting a violent tendency in some
Imparting ways and means for some
Time replaces every barrier in some
Lo time, the inventor of worldly deeds
The object of mistrust is misplaced
Immortal love, if for you do not exist
Even reality and illusions cannot co-exist.
THE TWINKLE OF PEACE
T. Ashok Chakravarthy
The barriers of peace lay broken
The peace loving people lay crest fallen
The concept of universal peace is shaken
The poetic instinct for peace should awaken.
Shattered and taken aback beyond belief
Let us regroup to restore the peace’s leaf
There’s a saying, pen is mightier than sword
Let us pierce with our love-filled peace words.
Poems and verses from our pens should flow
The highest impact on hearts should they show
Our share of concern for achieving world peace
Should sway all forlorn hearts, at all the places.
Yes, some self-proclaiming, so called
saviors
Are provoking and sowing the seeds of terror
Innocents are made pawns in their misadventure
What’s the future if they are not derailed here?
If the thoughtful tears from our mighty
pens
Are not aimed to stir hearts with our concern,
Even the twinkle of peace is forced to vanish
Yet another hope to restore peace will diminish.
POET/PROFESSOR
Gene Doty
Professorial
poet or poetic professor?
One an oxymoron, the other flat absurdity.
No beard can transform tenure into hipness,
No street-swagger lends danger to the processional.
Tasseled headgear, tasseled footwear—
that's the ticket that punched your talent.
Faded blue jeans with worn spots,
Rugged boots flecked with mud guarantee nada.
Well, Gino makes no claim
To poetically tenured fame.
He awaits the posthumous award
Of stone slab and green sward.
BLUES
Ruth Holzer
The king snake's eyes of milky blue
outstare summer's blinding blue.
Fields of chicory bloom overnight,
replacing withered with living blue.
The butterfly feels a hint of chill —
a shadow blots his powdery blue.
Rose-breasted birds asleep on a wire,
their folded wings display pure blue.
A foreign
stone finds the right hand to adorn —
lapis lazuli, the gray-veined blue.
Last view of the lake with mirrored spruce
in the dawn of departure, black and blue.
No man, no luck, and she's not feeling too
well —
Ruth is close, but not there yet, into the blue.
AGAIN
Barbara (Abra) MacKay
In my dream my
love let me hold her hand again,
And I felt myself drift above the clouds again.
She said follow me into this rubble strewn
city
Where we will let go the doves and be at peace again?
I am sorely wounded by this over long war,
My legs shorn of their sockets, how will I live again.
The journey home by land or sea is long
and perilous.
I feel death's glove, will I ever sit by your side again?
Do not pity yourself Abra though you have
lost your love;
Do not covet the dead who will never see light again.
A COMMON LANGUAGE
Barbara (Abra) MacKay
We are still shy of each other as we seek
a common language.
Without trust we cannot achieve a common language.
You speak of eternity, I of the here and
now, come lie by my side;
Let us mingle our tongues and reap a common language.
I fear for you caught in the cross fire
between East and West,
Which tear asunder the human bond and delete the common language.
I do not know how to pray to your god nor
you to mine.
Who then will enable us to conceive a common language?
Oh gather me close, let your body and mine
be as one,
for may we not yet come to speak a common language.
AUTUMN
Barbara (Abra) MacKay
I open my eyes and see signs of autumn
in yours and recognize the design of autumn.
How easily one season passes into the
next,
summer's soft pause before complying to autumn.
Time the illusion, it is cycles we live by
striving to remain in the eye of autumn.
Out on the field, dandelions turn
from summer yellow to the dye of autumn.
How each season, Abra, has it color, the
white of winter
the green of spring, summer's yellow, the wine of autumn.
THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST, THE MOVIE
Tree Riesener
In the lobby, the usual tantalizing decision - chocolate or popcorn; decided,
soon begun,
half saved for refreshment during the evening’s entertainment of high-noon
crucifixion.
What do the popcorn makers buy, Omar,
that’s half so precious as what they sell?
Buttery grain to awake my thirst for wine unmixed with gall as for his swoon
at crucifixion.
Count on ten
minutes of coming attractions, car chases, mayhem, so even running late, with hard-to-find parking, we’ll be in plenty of time for the bridegroom’s
crucifixion.
Extreme violence, over seventeen suggested,
but no sex, so parents tell their screaming children, "Sh-h, that’s just a plastic hand they’re nailing for this
dummy
crucifixion!"
Daffy
Duck and Roadrunner violence is cathartic and removed from reality; toddlers
can learn about Daddy’s love through torture by an age-appropriate cartoon
crucifixion.
A
poor middle-eastern boy persecuted by the arms-laden majority, dead but
undefeated;
hey, you Islamic radicals can’t show this film for inspiration; that’s our
own crucifixion.
Slasher
films become old-hat so remember with Mel’s $16.99 crucifixion-nail
necklace;
the horror’s not the tree but the previews, food and drink of this zoom-in
crucifixion.
GHAZAL TO THE NIGHT
(with apologies to Byron & Browning for the 3rd Stanza)
J.E. Stanley
Enveloped in a
purple haze all night,
the guitar renegade plays all night.
Beowulf is fiction, insubstantial myth.
Grendel roams free and slays all night.
In cloudless
climes under starry skies,
lovers count the ways all night.
The holy
celebrate rites of spring,
sacrifice virgins in praise all night.
The moon goes
dark, forever gone,
leaves only stars ablaze all night.
Insomnia
displaces troubled dreams:
the poet in deep malaise all night.
HAIBUN
JUST
FOR YOU
For Sarah Tuchinsky
(From the song by Lional Richard)
Gerard John Conforti
Just
for you, I would gather white roses from the hedge thorn and give them to you.
Just for you, I would walk the meadows in search for the unknown violets
hidden in the woods. Just for you, I would listen to the sparrows' song in the
middle of winter outside my room. Just for you, I would embrace your emotional
pain you feel every passing day and show my love for you. Just for you, I
would sit and listen to you when you are in tears. Just for you, I would go
through endless nights of sleep and think of you. Just for you, I would gaze
at the moonlight and stars which you dream of at night. Just for you, I would
climb a ladder to the universe and seek the light in your heart.
Lying
beneath stars
I feel the light in my eyes
closing to night
Just
for you, I would give up my life to save yours. Just for you, I would stand at
the shore and watch the moon rise. Just for you, I would never give up the
love in your heart. Just for you, I would bring happiness from the compassion
you feel for me. Just for you, I would never turn from you and walk
away. Just for you, I would feel the coldness of winter just to keep you
warm.
My
frozen hands
holds the sunlight
keeping me warm
Just
for you, I would bring the sunlight within you. Just for you, I would never
betray you nor bring you tears you cannot hold. Just for you, I would reach
the summit of the mountain and gaze up at the galaxy.
Some
laugh at me
some weep for me
I continue onward
Just
for you, I would bring you all you want. Just for you, I would keep you safe
as much as I could. Just for you, I would always try to help you with your
hardships in life. Just for you, I would do all these things and know how much
you mean to me.
Never
have I known
love in all its blossoms:
spring breeze
HAIKU
SEQUENCE
CITIES
HIDDEN BY RAIN
Beginning two series from a book by the same name
Rob Cook
1.
(NYC, any Sunday at dawn)
Streets empty except
for stray bottles
the early
light is crawling from.
Two years in the city,
I keep hearing crickets
in the
deli flowers.
Sunday morning, dark,
now where have the revelers
hidden us?
Drinking coffee at dawn
so the sun
can come
back.
The early city,
stacks of lit windows
The
crickets left
A woman sipping coffee —
her face lost
behind
steam.
I rest the phone against my ear
and listen
to the
cherry blossoms breathing.
Pruning the daisies’
yellow faces —
the sky
smaller today.
Even with the approaching F train,
this one guitarist
plays like
a sleeping pigeon.
Sick from too much rest —
how will I tell
my cactus
blossoms to live?
2.
Parts
of me from kindergarten
falling in tonight’s rain.
Father, was it from loneliness
you let those cockroaches live,
those
years before winter?
Coffee with nothing in it —
now I see you, homeless men
asleep on
the moon.
I have certain friends
I’ve shared coffee with
and not
spoken a single word.
Only when I crush
a cockroach
is the
world dying.
My
mother, who keeps
the weather to herself,
mixing sleet with today’s laundry.
Night with a book
that ends early,
rain that
I know.
LAST JUNE
Ruth Holzer
cancer ward –
she decides
to get married
white wedding –
her arm bruised
from the I.V.
over the threshold
to the hospital bed –
newlyweds
tomorrow
they'll bury her –
bride of disease
funeral
service –
a fly in my ear
not an angel
SAPPHO
(adapted
from Fragments 98a, 98b)
Andrew MacArthur
A very great
ornament
from my mother’s prime –
hair wound with purple
Ornaments indeed!
Bindings with spangles,
or hair like yellow torches?
Daughter, no sparkling tiaras.
Where would I find them
in exile?
SUNSET MANOR
Fran Masat
willows —
old folks
bending with the wind
new leaves
pinning them on the walls
of the dining room
jigsaw puzzle —
one piece more
than last week
a new arrival —
folks gather 'round
her one old suitcase
a row of matriarchs
united hand to hand
in their walkers
crowded parlor —
the same stories
from different families
Sunday afternoon party —
Mom and I share
a glass of water
a warm gift
for a Birthday Girl —
ninety-one candles
Alzheimer's unit —
singing Happy Birthday
again and again …
a child's doll
falling
out of someone’s wheel chair
dark patch on a door
a blank
where a name was
scratching his head —
a blank
where a name was
old women
moving in rays of sunset
white dust motes
old men
creeping down the hall
evening shadows
Grandfather's watch —
ticking
it must have sounded the same
SMALL DEEDS
Fran Masat
blossoms —
bees leaving
a gold haze hangs in the air
spring break —
a butterfly drifts
alighting on her shadow
damp morning
mosquitoes zigzag
seeking fresh blood
new flower bud —
a gnat and an ant rest
on a petal’s tip
her motive is clear —
a Mayfly glistening
in the warm sun
I do nothing —
a moth fluttering
in a spider’s web
clear night —
water striders passing
add dimples to the moon
SILENCE
ron moss
darkness
between rain
a loosening
of silence
light bulb
the silent burning
. . . of white
rain
exploding
repeat
silence
SEEKER
maria van dongen
where have
they gone?
my tongue thick with rust, and dust
tartar words
you're in my dreams.
and all that cannot be said
lies between
old (once) friend
how will you find me now
that i am mute?
SIJO
BARBED WIRE
Gino Peregrini
Make a movement through the woods;
sparrows fall without a sound.
Telemetry of the void: rusted barb wire beneath dead leaves.
Don't fret, Gino, you've arrived at today again, despite yourself.
CREEK-BANK
Gino Peregrini
creek-bank sitters with cane poles
plastic bobbers sun-shiny
snapping turtle: its beak pokes
from deepest pool of dark water
in clear water, my stringer's empty:
Oh, catfish, where do you hide?
~*~
The wake against the shore fishes a boy
and his father,
"don't cast the swirls. Fish weeds where the moon lingers among lily
pads.
Remember, life is in the resistance, not in the calm."
Daniel W.
Schwerin
A cabin window opens to moonlight enough
for reading;
spaces between logs leak creatures that slither underfoot.
Take care, though, do not lift the scriptures to take life from small things.
Daniel W.
Schwerin
Eden is beyond us, protected by a flaming
sword.
Adam doesn't invent the fire, the fire invents Adam:
short a rib, buck-naked, then cursed, but happy not to be alone.
Daniel W.
Schwerin
Our family Bible opens to the word,
'abiding;'
it goes back to leaves of grass, when lilacs last in the courtyard bloomed.
Mother's treasure has become mine. Words made flesh redeem the time.
Daniel W. Schwerin
TANKA
AWAKENINGS
Ed Baranosky
Show me how you will swallow the thorny chestnut shell.
[Yang-Chi Fang Hui, from the Wu-teng hui-yuan, vol.19]
late winter birds call
and dogs bark from distances,
every voice at home
but for the few waking wounded
snarling linear time.
the drapes are drawn
across forgotten dramas.
still, a two AM
freight rattles the windows
answering its incoming pulse.
even the old wooden
planks of long-laid floors move
to a steam whistle
haunting the hazy city
with sleepless wanderlust.
red-winged blackbirds
across the Humber estuary
permeate fractured sleep.
before early light
a time-storm gathers.
JAPANESE IRISES
Tony Beyer
Japanese
irises
petals folded
to conceal
the secret
of themselves
soft blue
Japanese irises
deepen to veined
tough purple
along their creases
air beads
climbing stems
Japanese irises
standing
in a glass jar
three hundred
volumes of poems
prints of the masters
Japanese irises
dominate the room
a small part
of the garden
but making it
a garden
Japanese irises
Japanese irises
drenched
by as much
dew as a
blackbird displaces
closed and open
Japanese irises
admired by
the fingertips
of passersby
silhouetted
against the lamp
Japanese irises
two dimensions
one shade
stained glass door
to our cottage
imitating
Japanese irises
in the flower bed
painted on the hut
of someone
who can't live
with others
Japanese irises
YOUR MEMORY FILLS MY HEART
shirley cahayom
listening
to the pitter-patter
of the winter rain
your memory fills my heart
with unspoken sorrow
in my blue suitcase
your love letters
from another space and time
are still intact
tied in blue velvet ribbon
you're gone now
but the memories
of the times we shared
linger like the apricot sunset
in your eyes
I write my name
and the question "where art thou? "
upon the shore
the waves washed my name away
but my question remains
a summer night
of star-studded sky
I immortalize your name
in a poem
written from my heart of hearts
THIS MEASURED SENSE
Tom Clausen
Autumn
nightfall
dropping my son off
for something else —
this measured sense
of a lifetime
never sure what he learns
but today at the end
of the “Last Samurai”
I had my son watch through
all the closing credits
the chorus of
cicadas
broken by one high whine
in the sticky heat —
this luck of quiet
a suffering confession for all
if I saw one
or twenty women
walk past
this quiet eyed reverence
for each and everyone
far from my family
these thoughts,
as we drive along
my daughter holds a toy
way out the window
night of the lunar eclipse
it comes to me
what is wrong at home —
something I did
or didn't do
how could it be
that I do not desire
to have an agenda
when the season's forever
slipstream in agenda
SNAIL SHELLS
Elizabeth Howard
tracing the steep gulch
granddaughter collects
an assortment of snail shells —
we talk of seasons
a time to live, a time to die
all winter
the hawthorne's red berries
brighten my window
yet I gladly give them up
for the robin's red breast
a walk through the mall
the stroke victim
lifts his feet high
hurdling barriers
I refuse to imagine
two feet of snow
t.v. brings Colorado's chill
to Tennessee
I poke the fire
brew hot chocolate
arranging jonquils
at the gravesite,
the mother reads
his name in stone —
the lad she relied on
a riot of wild grape vines
clusters of tiny fruit —
oh, for auntie's garden
the sweet purple essence
of Concords on my tongue
red calico hen
the doorstop I hated
stumbling in the dark—
in the dark of her passage
I place it by the door
spring peepers
at the old homeplace
and I am a young girl
head on a white pillow
a lullaby of frog voices
snow stabs
thru the eyes' window
melting the view
too many fences
for a complete sketch
joan payne kincaid
SAMPLING
ALL THE FLOWERS
I
must observe
the sun and storms at sea
all life's shapes
and colors – for I
may be called home soon
breaking
away
a cove of ice escapes
to the sea
oh, to join this current
float upon salty waves
trail's
end. . .
a descending sun
illuminates
and gilds the far shore
just as darkness falls
still
morning
no twitters in hedge-rows
nor windsong
yet the river ripples
flow steadily to sea
a
small car
weaves from lane to lane
out of control
the feckless mind that darts
from subject to subject
a
butterfly
lives just three days
so little time
marked by death it flutters
sampling all the flowers
at
play
in the froth and foam
of life
it is easy to forget
the value of each moment
it
is love
that reminds us
gives us strength
the tides of time run out
and we are stranded
so
many ways
to shield myself
from myself
even as a snail grows
layers of shell from birth
Two Envoys
If
Buddha met
with Jesus and Mohammed
would they despair?
burned trees mark the forests
and few fish swim the seas
would
LaoTsu
and all the saints
keep praying?
love like softest sunshine
warms even shaded things
THE WAY OF THINGS
Larry Kimmel
in the gray distance
the line between sky and hillscape,
barely discernible —
without faulting the facts
memoir becomes legend
standing among stately pines
disgraced and alone in my outcast state
yet always,
always an integral part
of the universe
to pick up the beach
grain by grain, how long?
in eternity
no time at all, I think —
the endless hour glass trickles trickles
first light
morphing into shadowless dawn
perfect stillness
what I am I am
right here right now
It's all right for them,
of course, the birds who at dawn
chirp, Carpe diem!
They've no reckoning to face
here or any other place.
Andrew Lansdown
When it bared its teeth
at me again, the black dog,
I bared, bared my neck.
But it would no more attack
than it would go, go on back!
Andrew Lansdown
Waking,
unseen birds
are rowdy with rejoicing. Song
from every dark twig!
Unbearable but for the crows
cawing the colour of the heart.
Andrew Lansdown
EIGHT TANKA
M. L. Mackie
unable to tell
the forest from
the trees
when I find
one chin hair
behind fans
gliding gracefully
before us
not geishas
but wild turkeys
their strut
is nothing like
my swearing
off the sauce
cold turkey
I take
my pulse to
find out
what makes
you tick
solitude
without poetry
the anguish
of a singer
without her voice
breathing
side by side
lost in
the intimacy
of unlived life
set off
by a likelihood
of rain
the fireworks
in my joints
shortcircuiting
the call I want
to make
remembering
she is gone
seeing on television
that small group of scattering kids
running from tanks:
once all I did was struggle up and up
playing King of the Hill on weed-studded slopes
Sanford Goldstein
. .
tonight
I take a mind-stretch
to an earlier joy:
ah, gifts from my first-grade classmates
when I lay in that hospital bed
Sanford Goldstein
at first
I cried remembering past decades
by my mother's grave;
now I'm glad she's at rest
in this quiet space of lawn and sky
Sanford Goldstein
a peanut-buttered slice,
a large glass of milk by his side,
and feelings whirl--
this seventy-eight-year-old kid
goes back to the innocence of more, more!
Sanford
Goldstein
CHANGE OF HEART
Thelma Mariano
as if
they sense my decision
to end it
the three roses you gave me
drooping on their stems
cloudy day
echoes my indecision
a man's voice
as he walks behind me
arguing with himself
our first night
sleeping skin to skin
today
even the city traffic
seems to hum
like the lull
after a storm on the high seas
I lie awake
listening to the in-and-out
of your breathing
bringing back
images of that night
so closely entwined
here on these sheets
the scent you left behind
how quickly
we fall into the rhythm
of each other's lives
there's comfort in the patter
of this morning's rain
ODE TO ONE OF THIRTY-TWO WINDS IN
PROVENCE
an ode to the Windgod, brother of
the sun goddess Amaterasu
Giselle Maya
greengrey the wind wails
mountain made invisible
mist & swirling clouds
panes & goblets tremble white
mountain stands deeply rooted
stone silent village
not a cat out in the streets
the bell's steelblue sound
lifted high by the wind’s drone
long roots anchor trees and houses
dream of stone
chapels
blown ephemeral bluegreen
each jasper carved stone
born through bent heather branches
shattered ochre lichened tiles
mounds of sienna sands
seep within the trembling house
pumpkin sun in hiding
hidden in deep cave darkness
rasped by tempest’s thorn tongue
forgotten on the line
ivory twist of linen
torn from pins’ clasp
undulating dragon's flight
over waved village roofs
howling gusts
pierce and
rattle the wooden shutters
sleepless and dreamless
the shivering village awaits
the bronze tempest’s passage
QUEER LOVE
Mrinalini Gadkari
can you see it?
i'm growing in his love
'coz I can now feel
how the seed quivers inside
when it gives off the shoot.
his love
brings out
my best like the soil
that under covers
the ugly zygotes, but still
gives out lilies and pansies.
possessive he
can
be same as earth snatches
water from clouds,
and pulls down the flowers
in withered graves.
lover boy
comes by
plucking fresh buds to please her
on Valentine's Day.
and earth bleeds from within
what's left after all?
MOTHER'S DAY 2004
(in loving memory of Enola M. Borgh)
Ellen G. Olinger
You gave your life
to Language and us
reading your work
fills the long hours
I freely gave to your care
How you worked to live
and were unafraid to die
remembering how
you basked in the books
I read aloud
The photo of us by
the graves at the
family reunion
"Woman, why
weepest thou?" *
*from
John 20:15 (KJV)
out of the window
on the bougainvillea
one last bloom
a single bird on an empty branch
I move closer to the singer
Patricia Prime
dampness
things drift out of focus
in the not-quite-dark
I look up at the sky
that is miraculously close
Patricia Prime
branches lift blossoms
so the birds take to the air
and first leaves shine
these are fair days of spring
and again I believe in magic
Patricia Prime
a Chinese woman
balances her baby
on her back
the pink and blue scarf
makes the two become one
Patricia Prime
I never knew
that by autumn
cicadas are silent
tonight they spread static
and I am the perfect listener
Patricia Prime
how a single poem
may shimmer and rise
off the page
I gaze out of the window
lines echo in my mind
Patricia Prime
ON THE BEACH
R. K. Singh
A cloud-eagle
curves to the haze
in the west
skimming the sail
on soundless sea
Watching the waves
with him she makes an angle
in contemplation:
green weed and white foam break
on the beach with falling mood
Crazy these people
don't know how to go
down with the swirl and
up with the whirl but
play in the raging water
They couldn't hide the moon
in water or boat but now
fish moonlight from sky:
I watch their wisdom and smile
why I lent my rod and bait
MIDNIGHT SENSATIONS
R.K.Singh
I fear the demons
rising from my body
at midnight crowding
the mind and leading the soul
to deeper darkness
Sleeps the night with
desires wrapped in blanket —
spring in the eyes
gods couldn't change the rhythm
of the body and its needs
Awake in dream time
he looks for the candle —
love's invitation
lighting up in the dark
and sings the body's song
The night queen fragrance
seeps in through the window
coupled with full moon
adds to my delight though I'm
alone in my bed tonight
The sleep is buried
in sex for diversion
yoga or prayers:
the dawn preserves bitter eyes
in the day's bleak passage
An insomniac
weak with desires and prayers
hears the heartbeats
rising fast with dark hours
survives one more nightmare
WITHOUT GENRE
TWILLINGATE
Gregory Vincent St. Thomasino
The verbena thinned
into separate purple clusters
She lay near that renascent sea
with air clear and cupidless dolphin
balancing fear anticipation her heart
swollen with apparent exuberance
That barnacled
crust
and then that silver plush
Her head pitched at zenith
she begged the copious twinkle
into winks of falling tear
asunder they sank
Now aquatic almost mirthful
she bore past seashells
and torn parasols
GREEN IS GREEN
Seth Stratton
As infection
grows my strength fades but
I feel no pain
My parents are concerned but I can not see why
They rush me to the car I can see the malcontent in their eyes
I see the letters H-O-S-P-I-T-A-L in the reflection of my car door window
The floor sent chills up my spine, it is cold as I stepped on the unwelcoming
tile
The vinyl has bubbled mountains, cracked valleys and the river between stained
a tint of red
The doctors solid and chapped hand touch my forehead
The tongue depressor gags me as he forces it down my throat
As my parents leave I feel like a caged bird wanting out of the solitary
confinement
The room is dark and it seems like the brightest light can not penetrate its
black grasp
But one light seems to have the key to the prison
The satellite of our mother earth the harvest moon of autumn
The first ray of light was like a spear
The spear golden and indestructible
It broke the wall of my depression and reached deep into my soul
When it came out it took with it a blanket or comfort and stability
The yellow has a brilliant shade of amber
I think how can something so simple be so breath taking
How can the owls song be so inspirational
The winds whisper so loving and hopeful
I pray to the power to give this night to me
Let me own it
Let it last forever
Than darkness engulfs the serenity
The brace of insomnia gives way
Sleep overcomes me
Will I wake up in the morning
Doubt is the demon in this nightmare
Morning comes my eyelids lifts
The brilliance of the star blinds me
The joy overtakes me my hart fills with courage and strength
I lifted my mighty sword of bravery and I vanquished the disgusting being.
My rose colored glasses are broken
Everything is new to my sight the world is new
And green is green is no more
