Friday, November 8, 2013

My Stuffed Best Friend by Anna Kondratyeva

My Stuffed Best Friend

The patchwork of mustard plants rippled
Beguiling in the first light of dawn
And in the peace the rang out clear
A splash, and he was gone

I remember
I felt the flowers clench in fright

I took a step, and then another
Migrating towards the place
Where his remains lay untarnished
Draped in mid morning lace

My movements were robotc as
My cheeks burned fiery red
For no matter how I regretted
He remained, of my doing, dead

I came upon the chartreuse moss
A pond in willow's shade
This was the magnet, the keeper
The place where we once played

He was the highlight of my life
Our days were filled with joy
His stuffed paws would walk and he'd roll on the grass 
As I told him softly, "Good boy."

He was my best friend, forever, for life!
But one time, he could not play
I threw him away from myself to the pond
As he simply could not obey 

Now this was just childish whimsy
As I really loved him so
It's hard to look back, to remember
How awful I was years ago

The flowers shook their heads at me
Reading my thoughts-
Had I really changed?

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Red Dress Blue Suit, by Skipper Winder

Red Dress Blue Suit

It was mine to take off
She asked me if I minded if she smoked a joint first
I went along
The Red Dress condensed down to hold in my hands
Later, during the Big O, she opened the window to scream and shout
Oh...Stanley...Oh my god...Oh...Stanley...Oh my god
God, repeating that still does things to me
I asked if she knew listening to my poetry would make me a better lover
She went along
We were good lovers in that way

Her in her Red Dress
And, me in my Blue Suit.

Resurrection, by Emily Bording


His knees and hands 
fall to the ground.
Stained with grass.

He wears his body 
of thirty-three years 
like a wooden coat.

Where he’s going
- there’s no knowing.

Lavender streams 
flood the riverbanks
of his eyes.

His breathe 
thin as a needle
thread with silk.
Sinking and resurfacing
like his surfboard
- stitching the seams 
between water and air.

Heat rises
from his golden crown
- a desert’s 
evening mist.

Tension dissolves 
with a single sigh 
- he’s gone,
completely gone.

 Heaving with fright
I grab for his feet
- the desperate clutch
of “First Love”.

My anxious ear
presses, pleads
to hear the pulse
of passion return.

Too young to believe
there will ever be 
another  “First” 
- of anything.

Where the rumble 
of tides
once swelled 
- only the echo
of my breath.

Every blade of grass 
has dulled.
His leaving 
the edge 
of every now.

Swift as a falling hammer 
the whump of life

He lifts his head
resurrects a smile
and from the shores
of his far-reaching gaze
- a fearless sun slowly rises.

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Summertime Faith, by Alicia Wright

Summertime Faith

Myriad of contented days filled with uphill climb, swinging into soulful blue beyond burgundy maple trees lining the perimeters of my imagination.
Suspended somewhere in time,
freshly mowed pastures and jumping off haystacks.
Learning to take one moment and live in it, and love it wholeheartedly.
Regardless of who is or isn't around,enjoying long summertime mornings,stretching into late evenings as sunset kisses moonlight sky goodnight.
Chasing fireflies by the Atlantic rocky beach in a small New England town while sleepy time beckons me to say my prayers before going to bed.
I have faith in my childhood.
Days of summer linger like promising stars, brightening my sky of hope.

Wild, by Carol Peters


the screaming hairy armadillo
digs the hole I fill daily
next to the garden wall

wild, the young hare
beds among zucchini
shiny black eye

wild fountains of sand
the ocultos architect
underground mazes

wild, the giant snail oozes
across asphalt
pink-rimmed pallium

wild, the parrot flocks
patrol fruiting vineyards
the sky screams

wild foxes, bald with mange
one by one, dead
for the black vultures feeding

wild, the turquoise-spotted toad
buried overnight
in the sprinkler box

wild, the whistling heron
yellow plumes fan
along the riverbed

wild slaty-breasted wood rail
the plumbeous rail
deep in the pond lilies

wild, the vines
bearing cayote squash
scraped & boiled for jam

wild cactus, the prickly pear
long spines spear
my hat’s crown

wild, the verdolaga
common purslane
succulent scourge for the weeder

wild, the dung-feeding beetles
noon mists of grasshopper
palm-sized bats at dusk

wild pink-spotted hawkmoth
wings battering bathroom tile
under the cat’s paws

wild, the tyrant flycatcher
morning’s choral voice