Posts from — May 2008

by Sally K Lehman

Then her words
Like a papier mache dragon’s head
came slithering from her throat to lie
Dormant and Untrusting
Between us. Not to be taken back.
The grotesque mask not willing to return
to its shallow and dim beginnings,
They hung, dangling off her chin for the world’s
Perusal and Contemplation

by Darla Himeles

Your friendships,
smooth silk filigrees,
intertwined for the sake of
ornamentation,
do nothing but knot you into yourself,
and you come to me to
breathe, to pretend I am the gem
in your center, when we both know
you’ve spun me silken into your art
and I am no longer anything for you
but another tangle.

by Erik Estabrook

The sky is churning, rumbling today
though I can’t understand what its trying to say

blue sky to my eye is now pale grey

the first dusting of snow
like delicate powdered sugar
drifts its way to land on fresh faces

the snow floats to my window
like little white pixies
climbing on the wind

I haven’t forgotten how surprises come,
so much after times where none came to appear

and I cherish every blessing far and near.

by Neal Whitman

Gypsy music in a dream
Attracts a lion to man and mandolin
Rousseau inspires the poet to capture
Contours of a ballad in crystalline color
It is a dark mysterious song
A distant murmur under the moon.

“Let me climb
On the mountain, mountain
Rumors of warm dawn
Come through the olive grove
And sing an anthem of absence.”

• Garcia Lorca

by Barbara Brooks

Fire’s ember tendered
by moss, exposed to air,
extinguished by tears.

In a Room,

I dance
with you
in light shafts,
before drifting
to shadow.
The
door
cracks,

a current sucks
me to dark.
Cold air
settles,
taking me
to the floor.
I am snagged
by a crevice
between boards.

by Kippy Stewart

Under moonlights magic
Cricket songs sound long
of summers passing too swiftly,
towards Octobers Fall.
When snowflakes pile in winter,
‘ll dream dreams of summertime
Within the rhythm of Crickets lullaby….

by D. A. Trueman

In my hat I smell last night-
events that cannot exist,
but
in my hat I smell last night
just inside the brim

by Scott Owens

They split the light
that filters in
through empty panes,
stretching shadows
longer than tails
across the page
I’m reading or the wall
I’m staring at
unable to fathom
its depth, or just
the empty air,
filled at last
with some shade of life.