Friday, 29 June 2007

The Faraway Place by Kirsten Anderson

In the soul there lies a faraway place
where unknown roads wind and weave
into the horizon above distant fields;
where dreams dismissed fall into lands
marked by monoliths of strange metal,
alive with animals gliding through jungles;
where a small child sits in a temple
piping melodies that burn the night sky.

Kirsten Anderson, California, USA

Thursday, 28 June 2007

Three by Alan Dunnett

a second day begins
a simple measurement
how many swords
are left
imperative to get back
to the castle no spell
will serve the winter sun
lights carrion
maiden at the high window
kneeling one lord
is master of all
in gold every time else
see children die her love
is outside
north-east possibly
dead some troubadour
takes his chance

too late the bell
a voice
too late
the frozen warrior the broken
helm the heart
beat held
silence then she
forgot the purpose
of prayer

Alan Dunnett, London, UK

Tuesday, 26 June 2007

Future Hope by Gary Beck

Someday of visions
we shall see
wondrous towers
of marvelous construction
rising from the rubble
of neglected cities,
sheltering our people
from casual destruction

Gary Beck, New York, USA

Sunday, 24 June 2007

Job Interview Tip #3 by Howard Good

for Graham

They’ll ask if you have a thief’s heart,

a knife hidden in your boot,

something else you’d rather do.

I myself am bad at riddles,

but before you answer,

consider just how you’ll feel

when the towers begin to rise

and the sky turns impossible colors

from all the ash in the air.

Howard Good, New Paltz

Friday, 22 June 2007

Public Education by Lisa Zaran

Look how lovely the children are
sitting in their classroom,
staring at the wall, the clock
on the wall, out the window
where the breeze has been
masturbating with the leaves
all morning.

See their little round and yellow
faces. This one with crooked
teeth trying not to fall asleep
and that one over there, his
wooden desk pulled front toward
the wall. Are those matches
he has in his hand? How sweet.

Notice as well their teacher.
Almost like a zombie isn't she?
Slack expression, tired hair,
voice droning with the flies.
I bet she does this on purpose.
Maybe her students like boredom,
she should win teacher of the year.

I wonder what they're learning,
their minds are open doors you know,
anyone can walk through.
Maybe how to be the next President
of the United States. Imagine that!
Maybe how to start the next world war.

Lisa Zaran, Arizona, USA

Tuesday, 19 June 2007

We Hear by Corey Cook

whoosh, whoosh of unborn
baby's heartbeat - only sound
we hear for days, weeks

Corey Cook, New Hampshire, USA

Friday, 15 June 2007

The Friday Cycle by Eugenia Andino

Dance with your eyes closed.
The smell, the music, the heat
Are all you need to see.

Baila con los ojos cerrados.
El olor, la música, el calor
son todo lo que necesitas ver.

I like your blond skin
I want your blond smile.
I’m looking for some blonde fun.

Me gusta tu rubia piel
Me atrae tu rubia sonrisa
quiero divertirme rubiamente

“How can we know the dancer from the dance?” (W. B. Yeats)
Do I dance better if you watch?

¿Cómo distinguir el baile de la bailarina?
¿Bailo mejor cuando me miras?

Dawn sets the sky on fire.
Day comes to stop all parties.
Survivors crawl out.

El amanecer quema el cielo.
Sobrevivimos a la noche.

Eugenia Andino, Seville, Spain

Thursday, 14 June 2007

Vagabond's Vision 30 by Felino Soriano

Prior to my wandering life,
I traveled through myriad of ornamental
gatherings, wearing cloaks of misery
involving fooling those wearing horizontal
X-shaped ties, socializing with reprobates
who behind facetious smiles,
faces resembled broken façades.
Today a bat wearing black and
peculiar moments of wanting
to converse grazed the shoulder
of a naked moment.
We braided thick and
specialized glances before
an on comer caused sudden disappearance,
death to our visual conversation.
As the black flashing bat vanished,
night cloaked me with long
strands of light weight webs,
but this night did not involve

Felino Soriano, California, USA

Tuesday, 12 June 2007

Ampersands & Pretzels by Rethabile Masilo

When it's over, when the lover's poems fail,
passion slips under and drowns.

—or is it helped down?

In a casket made by a missionary long ago
I sent all verse beneath the loch,
I banished it there,
saw it slip under and drown,
built a fig-leaf bonfire on my return,
piled chronicles on it, danced nude
beside the pyre.

I long for days of
long physical exertion, arms reaching out
to ampersand the legs, to bare yearning
down the middle.

I like it when you as pretzel master,
let me knot you to my mood, saying,
swivel me! I un-bun my hair
to eat you of course without silverware.

Rethabile Masilo, France

Sunday, 10 June 2007

The trap by Janet Butler

A tipsy god stumbles
and confusedly mumbles
after an evening in Paradise,
drunk on sweet wines
from perfect vines
that he drank, he admits, more than twice -
offered, it seems, by a certain Snake
who now shakes in quiet laughter
for Eve followed suit
and bit the bright fruit
while poor Adam wept
at the wily trap set
to drive them away
this day

Janet Butler, Pittsburgh, USA

Friday, 8 June 2007

Blinkbonny farm, night by Dan Shade

In this night garden, silence
Creeps through nettles,
Pauses screech
Owl lit through trees,
Scenting the hour with pine
Or navigating thistle
And willowherb
To scurry into the wells
Of darkness.

From where I stand
Stilled fireworks define the town;
The river, valleyed black
And subtle changing, hue
Reflecting the starlit skies,
Uncertain with distance

The stars apparent, perennial
In any sense applicable to man,
Pass unmoving above the racing hour
And tint with blossom
The brightening air.

Too soon, the dandelion sun
Brings glory and wishes:
The sleepers stir,
As dawn silhouettes
The hill gentle horizon,
Forgetful of these fragile hours.

Dan Shade

Thursday, 7 June 2007

Backyard Blues by Bryon D Howell

I used to feed two squirrels in the yard -
in six short months I trained them both too well.
To earn their trust took love but wasn't hard.
I called them, they would come - and all was swell.
I never missed one day in six months time.
They ate too well and even gained some weight.
Some warned me feeding them should be a crime -
that I should stop before it was too late.
There's something to be said for let it be.
I earned their trust in six months time, it's true.
They must have thought all men were just like me,
they thought it wise to trust some others, too.
I meant well, yes - I made a big mistake.
Some think of them as pests, not friends to make.

Bryon D Howell, Connecticut, USA