Monthly Archives: November 2016

Daisies by G. Timothy Gordon

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. . . learn to listen as things speak for themselves.
                           -Bashō-

They’ve always known how to be alone, common,
Anonymous and ordinary in number as the cricket,
Except for silence, redundant as blackboard clunch,
But even more than this, though underfoot, beaming
Perennially face-up, starship voyagers eyeing the heavens,
Whatever weather, donning the same cloche and pillbox
Saffron hats season after season, never la nue, but never
Outré ou gauche either, as might be expected, never even
Rococo, downright out-of-the-loop, ever wishing  they were                                                                   Dressed to kill like toffs and swells, and almost never,
Confides the poet in Edo, in perfectly erudite Mandarin,
At fall twilight, echoing a solitary cicada’s cry,
Unless you listen, listen, “sinking/into stone.”
—

FROM FALLING will be published between March-April 2016; EVERYTHING SPEAKING CHINESE and OPEN HOUSE (fictions) were published in 2015. Gordon divides his personal and professional lives among Southeast Asia, Europe, and the Desert/Mountain Southwest.

Great Blue Heron by Roy Beckemeyer

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dead snag along the
edge of the creek
unfolds like a parasol opening,
squawks  effort, pulls
gangly
legs
that
trail
like
reeds
behind him, white lime of feces
streak  onto water like an afterthought,
wide wings mask the road of sky
between the trees, a deep whoosh
so thick with flapping
you have to suck
at your breath,
cramp
your
diaphragm,
catch and swallow
that air before
it curls away
into the eddies
of his leaving.
—

Roy Beckemeyer’s poems have appeared in The Midwest Quarterly, The North Dakota Review, Coal City Review, and I-70 Review.  He was a 2016 Pushcart nominee, and his collection of poems, “Music I Once Could Dance To” (Coal City Review and Press, 2014), was selected as a 2015 Kansas Notable Book.

 

 

 

 

Candlemas by Mary Dudly

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Larkspur lace greens the garden
daffodil snubs push up
through the light snow dust
fat leaf buds stud the lilacs,

but earth’s still in winter’s hold
half way between the shortest day
and the first of spring.
Still cold.

Remember Bridget in fields just plowed
hallowing the new growth
and Simeon in the temple’s crowd
celebrating the new hope

Assemble then the candles,
newly blessed,
along the table’s length.

Let their light
with the Full Snow Moon’s
illuminate the dark night,
all the winter
that remains.
—

Mary Dudley received a master’s degree in English from SUNY/Stony Brook before moving to Albuquerque, where she earned a Ph.D. in child development across cultures from UNM.  She has worked with young children and their families for many years.  Her poetry has appeared in numerous publications.

 

Deep Throat by Kym Cunningham

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I can trick you into swallowing
privilege.

Ours is too big to shove
in your mouths.

“Chubby bunny,”
the President laughs as

whiteness falls
from his tongue.

Clinton said that being president
is like an orgy:

you’ve got a lot of people under you
and nobody’s listening.

We wait
to be seduced.

Kym Cunningham will receive her MFA from San Jose State University with emphases in creative nonfiction and poetry.  She is the lead Nonfiction Editor of Reed Magazine, the oldest literary magazine West of the Mississippi.  She received the Ida Fay Sachs Ludwig Memorial Scholarship and the Academy of American Poets Prize for outstanding achievement in her writing. Her writing has been published in Drunk Monkeys and Reed.

 

Two Doors Down by Mike Jurkovic

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There is no corner house
for your latest desire but there is
a cozy duplex, just off Main,
behind the shoe repair
and water department. Two doors down
there’s a cute artisanal bakery
where cupcakes become dreams
and a toothless man rails for mince.

The Dutch Apple Chocolate
is sometimes dry. Other than that
it’s a quiet town, sunny and white,
where Kalashnikovs make wealth
and Lotto governs the poor.
The ringleader lights his flaming hoops
as lost girls play hopscotch w/religion
in their earbuds.

The way is cleared for the prophet.
The riser erected. The carpet tacked down.
The faithful stampede. Bring their kids to the show.
Tomorrow could be the be all and end all
but it’s still just a staircase, a footnote.

A cheap sleight of hand God sometimes uses
then overdubs strings. Then on Wednesday
the town board votes and on Thursday
another mass shooting.
—

Poems and music criticism have appeared globally but have yet to generate any reportable income. First full length collection, smitten by harpies (Lion Autumn Press, 2016) Second chapbook, Eve’s Venom (Post Traumatic Press, 2014), Purgatory Road (Pudding House Press, 2010) Anthologies include: WaterWrites & Riverine  (Codhill Press, 2009, 2007) Will Work For Peace (Zeropanik, 1999). VP, Calling All Poets in Beacon, NY. Producer of CAPSCASTS, recordings from Calling All Poets, available at www.callingallpoets.net.  Music features, interviews & CD reviews appear in Elmore Magazine & the Van Wyck Gazette.  www.mikejurkovic.com

He loves Emily most of all

Making Do by Bruce McRae

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Fighting injustice is one thing —
but I’m not sleeping with the enemy.
Not this time, cookie.

One argues for one’s rights,
and then a crisis comes along,
altering the landscape,
upsetting the natural balance,
and, generally, putting the boot in.

Oh, you can wring your hands
as if they were dirty rags
in a bin at a service station,
but this is bullroar, brother.

Just because something is broken
doesn’t mean we should fix it.

—

Pushcart nominee Bruce McRae is a Canadian musician with over a thousand poems published internationally, including Poetry.com, Rattle and The North American Review. A new book has just been released, An Unbecoming Fit Of Frenzy, and his first book, The So-Called Sonnets, and both are available on Amazon. To see and hear more poems go to ‘BruceMcRaePoetry’ on YouTube.