Plowing by Danny Earl Simmons

Plowing
by Danny Earl Simmons

Turning black earth against twilight
as muddy legs plod, shoulders ache
and bow before worn leather straps
that sag between his bull and his beliefs.

Bent in the knowing that gray
becomes green and sweat waters
ground into overflowing, he grows
dark patches of glove on his palms.

After supper, his thick hands reach
to caress flour from her cheek,
slide gently along the softness
there, coffee brewing on the stove.

Danny Earl Simmons is an Oregonian who has loved living in the Mid-Willamette Valley for over 30 years. He is a friend of the Linn-Benton Community College Poetry Club and an active member of the Albany Civic Theater. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in various journals such as Avatar Review, Boston Literary Magazine, Toe Good Poetry, and Pirene’s Fountain. His published poems can be found on his blog, http://www.dannyearlsimmons.blogspot.com .

Athens 1983 by L. Ward Abel

Athens 1983
by L. Ward Abel

Apartments out behind the McDonald’s with
Broad Street just beyond. Some songs were written
that winter in Athens, it even snowed like when

Joe showed up one night the roads were closed
to traffic impassible holding an Evan Williams
bottle. Later he drove back to Clayton County.

I remember “Beat the Jungle Back” and railroad
tunes. I jammed in a warehouse or two. O yes
all the while learning about Soviet crop yields

in a classroom near the tracks and river too.

 

 

L. Ward Abel, poet, composer and performer of music, teacher, lawyer, lives in rural Georgia, has been published hundreds of times in print and online, and is the author of Peach Box and Verge (Little Poem Press, 2003), Jonesing For Byzantium (UK Authors Press, 2006), The Heat of Blooming (Pudding House Press, 2008), Torn Sky Bleeding Blue (erbacce-Press, 2010), and the forthcoming American Bruise (Parallel Press, 2012).

reservation required by Sara Clancy

reservation required
by Sara Clancy

an ordinary cafe window
watches the daylight
long enough to concede
that no moon will
sweep its prosaic crystal

inside the room may speculate
in the music of glassware and hurry
until some perfect theory
bubbles between the contours
of conversation and shapes
you almost recognize

but color itself commands the rain
and resets the evening’s imperative
twisting the geometry of intimacy
until you know that you prefer
the canvas of an empty restaurant

and to be out on a cold night like this
looking in

Sara Clancy graduated from the writer’s program at the University of Wisconsin long ago. Among other places, her poems have appeared in The Madison Review, Teemings, Houseboat and Owen Wister Review. She lives in the Desert Southwest with her husband, their dog and a 20 year old goldfish named Darryl.

Not So Still Lives by Don Kingfisher Campbell

Not So Still Lives
by Don Kingfisher Campbell

Sun streaming through blinds makes oranges and apples in a basket on a
wooden dining table look like still life. Presence and aroma warm a living
room so much a tan carpet feels almost as inviting as earth to bare feet.
Lone desk lamp lights clay-colored desk into a model of an urban landscape.
Ebony laptop dominates surface like a modern building made of metal and
plastic. Its great window, a screen advertising ideas of the world. A bottle
of water nearby glazes nearly empty of emotion, just condensation of an
owner’s breath. A gentle mechanic whoosh and whirr mimic a typing body’s
efficiency. Oh oh, here comes another being to embrace the poet.

Don Kingfisher Campbell is currently studying for an MFA in Poetry at
Antioch University, Los Angeles. Mr. Campbell has taught Creative Writing
for 27 years in the Occidental College Upward Bound program and has been a
Guest Teacher even longer for the Los Angeles Unified School District.
Kingfisher is the host of Saturday Afternoon Poetry in Pasadena, editor of
the San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, and founder of POETRYpeople youth
writing workshops. Don has recently been awarded a commission by the city
of Pasadena to compose a poem for the City Speaks art exhibit and also won
first place in the 2011 Whittier Poetry Contest.
(http://dkc1031.blogspot.com)

Identification by Alan Gann

Identification
by Alan Gann

Terns do not twist and dive
to unheard ballets—
sense of self-worth does not hinge
on daily review of their performance.

Elegant heron
does not pose to aid my meditation,
summer goldfinches
do not flash their brilliance
for the pleasure of being photographed.

But in woodland dawns,
when trilling chorus pings from tree to tree,
we each sing our first morning song
to remind the world
I’m still here and no matter
what happens before the night descends
all contribute humble notes
to the eternal golden song divergent.

Alan’s friends are surprised he is still at large and allowed to teach creative writing workshops and 8th grade sex education. He is on the board of the Dallas Poets Community, and a poetry editor for their literary journal, Illya’s Honey. In 2011, he had poems nominated for a Best of the Net award by Red Fez and a Pushcart Prize by Red River Review.

Eclipse by Anne Westlund

Eclipse
by Anne Westlund

Darkness at mid-day
The birds quiet
The streetlights go on.

Told not to look
Could blind a person.

The sun
Peeking out behind the moon.

Just a game of hide n’ seek
Hoping, always hoping
I’ll be found.

I look
Not blinded
Not content
To look through plastic.

In former centuries
This event would mark
Revolutions
And civic unrest.

Now just a cosmic blip.

I was 10.

Anne Westlund is enrolled in a Masters Program for Interfaith Studies. She lives in Western Washington, near the coast, with her family and cat, Betty Boop. Six of her poems have been published in Lifelines by the Poetic Muselings, published by Inkspotter Publishing. Five of her poems and three of her photographs have been published in the first Restoration Earth Journal published by Ocean Seminary College. Please visit the Poetic Muselings group blog at: http://poetic-muselings.net/

Winter Graffiti by Wanda Morrow Clevenger

Winter Graffiti
by Wanda Morrow Clevenger

Sneakers rubbing inside rubber
boots sunk deep in snowed mounds
soaking pants and socks and shoes at very last
until we are spent from freeing
icicles from gutter spouts with
crispy mittens for numb-fingered graffiti.

Denim-tucked knee boots tediously carving
desire in a crystal field to read only
if named boys had wings to decipher our
Nazca plateau devotion.

Clogs tossed at the back door for
sloshing to the burn barrel in months
of muddy footprints recording more rain than snow
this weirdly warm winter.

Wanda Morrow Clevenger lives in Hettick, IL. One hundred and thirty-six pieces of her work appear in online and print publications with poetry forthcoming in Kerouac’s Dog Magazine and The Lummox Journal. Her debut book This Same Small Town in Each of Us released on October 30, 2011. Some published and new writing may be viewed on her blog It’s All Just Telling Tales Out of School: http://wlc-wlcblog.blogspot.com/

Persimmons by Max Reif

Persimmons
by Max Reif

How did persimmons
get that reputation
for puckering your mouth?

When ripe,
they’re sweet
as mangoes.
Should any of us
be judged
before we’re ripe?

Max Reif was first surprised to pull his car over and give birth to a poem in 1968 at age 20, not even knowing he was pregnant! He continues to seek, (in the words of Meher Baba) “to penetrate into the essence of all being and significance, and to release the fragrance of that inner attainment for the guidance and benefit of others…” Some of his stories, poems, jokes, reviews etc are at http://www.REALnothings.com

Migration by Kay Robertson

Migration
by Kay Robertson

Old man’s pleasures: a warm stove,
hot tea, a pipe; despite my quilted robe,
I shiver. High overhead, migrating geese
mutter as they fly south over snowy fields

My grandsons run red-cheeked in biting cold,
pause to watch the feathered formation,
laugh as they flap arms in imitation.

When the boys come in, I tell them my dream:
I flew with the geese over the house, saw them playing below.
They giggle to think of Grandfather in flight.
Next winter, boys will look up at out-bound birds,
remember me.

A semi-retired bookkeeper, Kay Robertson was inspired to write poetry after attending a writers’ workshop on the spectacular Oregon coast. As a member of the on-line Writer’s Village University Poetry Workshop, she has received much appreciated critique and encouragement. Her work appears in Loch Raven Review, Pirene’s Fountain Japan Anthology, and Soundings Review. Ms. Robertson lives near Puget Sound in Washington State.

buyer must bring imagination by Sara Clancy

buyer must bring imagination by Sara Clancy
~ after Marc Chagall

clearly this house should be
upside down and balanced
on its gable, while goats
play green fiddles
and old men hunker down
in a sky of gypsy colors

there should be a supine
bride floating over the threshold
to meet the artisan who
nailed each warped clapboard
to canvas in a fable passed down
from elder to beast

they would meet
in an upstairs room
framed in orange scented
light, their bed draped
with the precarious balance
of fabrication

and their lips never touch
as they glide past each other
recasting each tired proportion
with an arabesque in the air

Sara Clancy graduated from the writer’s program at the University of Wisconsin long ago. Among other places, her poems have appeared in The Madison Review, Teemings, Houseboat and Owen Wister Review. She lives in the Desert Southwest with her husband, their dog and a 20 year old goldfish named Darryl.