Author Archives: Lisa M. Hase-Jackson

About Lisa M. Hase-Jackson

Lisa M. Hase-Jackson, MA, MFA, is a Writing Coach and Teacher. She is the editor of Zingara Poetry Review and 200 New Mexico Poems. She has developed and facilitated poetry writing workshops and circles all over the world and her poetry has appeared in such literary magazines as Inscape, Susquehanna Review, The Midwest Quarterly, Subscribe, Blue Ships, Kansas City Voices, and Sugar Mule.

“Gleeful” by Christina M. Rau

The joy of cows
roadside sitting
standing together—
as if I’d never seen cows.
As if they are exotic.
I suppose to some, they are.
To others, sacred.
Once at the Atlanta Zoo
a keeper told me to think
of giraffes as giant cows,
head’s the same just a different height.

Giraffes are roadside somewhere
but not here. Down here there
are the cows, the green green grasses,
the flowers in blankets of maroon
white purple yellow
billowing blossoming blooming
for miles stretched ahead.

Christina M. Rau is the author of the sci-fi fem poetry collection, Liberating The Astronauts (Aqueduct Press, 2017), which won the SFPA 2018 Elgin Award, and the chapbooks WakeBreatheMove (Finishing Line Press, 2015) and For The Girls, I (Dancing Girl Press, 2014). She also writes for Book Riot about all things book-related. In her non-writing life, when she’s not teaching yoga, she’s watching the Game Show Network.  http://www.christinamrau.com

“Portrait of My Mother” by Kathy Nelson

My mother sits in profile on the photographer’s stool,
one arm draped over crossed knees, the other behind her.
White crinoline and ruffles. Classic pose. Scuffed shoes.

She is taking that single breath between girl and woman.
The ripening plum of her mouth. The start of softness
above the narrow velvet ribbon of her empire waist.

Nights, she listens from her bed to slamming doors,
the late thunder of tires on oyster shells in the drive.
Or her mother rouses her from sleep, commands her

to yell her father’s name from the car, embarrass him―
he and his tart carousing at the open-air bar. She’s
a conscript in her mother’s war. What she longs for―

her father’s love. He’s bound to his pocket flask.
Mornings, she sits at the piano, as her mother requires,
plays scales and études. Duty over desire. I want to break

the glass over the portrait, let her out. I want to tell her:
set the house on fire, let them wonder if you drowned
in the canal, run away to Kathmandu in your scuffed shoes,

Kathy Nelson (Fairview, North Carolina) is the author of two chapbooks―Cattails (Main Street Rag, 2013) and Whose Names Have Slipped Away (Finishing Line Press, 2016). Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Asheville Poetry Review, The Cortland Review, Tar River Poetry, Broad River Review, and Southern Poetry Review.

“Depression” by Doug Van Hooser

I fail like a slogan. A frozen can of soda

            that cracks the pop-top, thaws and whispers

                        it’s carbonation. Flat as cold,

I wander the sidewalks of suburbia,

            look through windows, see the unuttered invitation

                        of furniture. If only there was a message

in the envelope addressed to me.

            It arrives with no return address.

                        The wind doesn’t yell or even sigh.

No leaves to shake in the trees.

            A culvert runs under the road,

                        too small to fit through.

The teeter-tooter of chemical imbalance

            won’t shift its weight. Hibernation

                        a dreamless sleep,

I grant myself custody of my aloneness.

Doug Van Hooser’s poetry has appeared in Chariton Review, Split Rock Review, Sheila-Na-Gig, and Poetry Quarterly among other publications. His fiction can be found in Red Earth Review, Flash Fiction Magazine, and Bending Genres Journal. Doug is a playwright active at Three Cat Productions and Chicago Dramatists Theatre.

“First Mother’s Day without Mom” by Ginger Dehlinger

It’s a sunny day in May
and I’m pushing a wheeled cart
through the aisles of the supermarket.

Other Saturday shoppers are doing the same,
and though I’m not usually interested
I look in every basket I pass.
Blind to the bread, lettuce and eggs,
my eyes rest on balloons, cards,
flowers and small beribboned packages.

How paltry is my pantry;
how blue and bereft my basket
compared to theirs.

I watch a store employee
dip strawberries in melted chocolate
then roll them in candy sprinkles.

Mom loved those decadent treats,
so I nestle a colorful dozen
in my basket of gray merchandise.

Ahead of me in the long checkout line
a pink teddy bear sits atop a loaded cart.
Avoiding his shiny stare I look away.

To my right is a display of potted plants
(orchids, mini roses, African violets)
some large, others small and green.

A shopper is picking up plants,
looking at price labels, sniffing blossoms,
debating which one to buy.

“Take the roses,” I want to tell her.
“Take the roses.”

Ginger Dehlinger writes in multiple genres. Her poetry and short stories have appeared in several e-zines and anthologies. Most of her work is set in the West including two novels, Brute Heart (Oregon) and Never Done (Colorado). Ginger lives in Bend, OR with her husband and a cat, both spoiled.

Somebody Else’s Poetry by Ella Baum

We’re always sorry,

Our body’s architecture
Is Syntactically off.
We end poems on commas,
And find sleeping with masks on
Hard work.

Because sh(hh) is half the syllable of she,
The characters we play
Are somebody else’s poetry.

But text doesn’t have to be the driving force.
Our bodies are as important as our voices –
That’s what my ear told me.

Identity stripped
Of performance,
Mythology,
We are remodeled –
The shadow that completes the window.

Fences don’t protect from everything
And trauma hides behind the beautiful

It’s such a good line. I wish
It lingered more,

Ella Baum is currently a junior studying at Vassar college in Poughkeepsie, New York. She is an English major and photographer interested in the expressive potential of sister arts. Ella is a bilingual, dual citizen of America and Sweden and feels indebted to the New York City public school system which spurred her interest in poetry and the potential of language. 

“Protection” by F.I. Goldhaber

True Pacific
Northwesterners love
our rain. We
only dig
out umbrellas to shelter
us from summer’s sun.

F.I. Goldhaber’s words capture people, places, and events with a photographer’s eye and a poet’s soul. Paper, electronic, and audio magazines, books, newspapers, calendars, and street signs display their poetry, fiction, and essays. More than 100 of their poems appear in fifty plus publications including four volumes of poetry. http://www.goldhaber.net/

 

“Above Asphalt “by Carol Hamilton

Filigrees of rosy purple reach out
on slender arms of redbud
below the lettuce-and-grass-green heads
of newly-leafed trees.
Now my drive on pocked pavement,
huddled in with too many cars
and too much exhaust, is graced
with a quickly-passing revelation
of startling new life.
I never quite remember
to look and look, take heart
and watch the fleet hours
of jonquils, violets, lilies,
purple iris and daffodil.
It is the only time we can
breathe swift spring.

Carol Hamilton has published 17 books: children’s novels, legends and poetry, most recently, SUCH DEATHS from Virtual Arts Cooperative Press Purple Flag Series. She is a former Poet Laureate of Oklahoma and has been nominated seven times for a Pushcart Prize.