weave of the web by Anna Sykora

if a butterfly
had not shaken her wings
if the air had not wafted
a seed of wheat
if the grain had not grown
where soil lay moist
if a woman hadn’t bent
and seen the seedling
if she didn’t cultivate
more like them
and learn to grind
kernels into flour
if she died with her knowledge
in a drought or flood
or failed to teach her young ones
what she learned
you and I might still be
pent in the heart
of a distant star


Anna Sykora, Hanover, Germany 

the critic by Ed Higgins

a house fly mildly attentive 

in winged black spandex

lands on the bookcase

above my desk, preening

cleaning the red compound 

mirrors of its eyes

she leans toward

my computer screen

reading this poem about her

wondering what metaphors

a random curious fly

might possibly contain.
.
 .

Ed Higgins, Oregon, USA

Resignation #1 by Len Carber

When I was younger,
I dreamt of writing like Camus,
thinking like Sartre,
living like Hemingway,
and all in God's constant grace.

I thought I suffered India's hunger
And America's affluence,
but actually,
I was carefree-- and careless.

Now, though still a young man
(31 is an odd age, but safe)
I want less, much less:
fame, fortune, knowledge, passion,
even hope....

If the world is indeed doomed,
I will love it till its last day--
and if the world is blessed,
I will still love it till its last day.

If I cannot create like a giant,
then I will write with a smaller hand
and utter noises in a lower tone.


Len Carber