late
harvest
plucking
resentments
straight
from the vine
~Kelly
Moyer
dusk
shadows —
the
lingering taste
of
disappointments
~Amoolya
Kamalnath
Ode
to a Comet
No
fixed star in heaven glows so bright.
Ice
and dust, dirty snowball tracing elliptical
paths.
Slow moving herald of doom or
delight,
cloud tails flaring. Hard, crispy outside
and
cold, soft inside, like fried iced cream.
Unpredictable
as attraction. You hairy star,
you
fiery space beast causing meteor showers,
causing
trouble, leaving trails of
galactic
debris. Strange, lovely sight.
~Beth
Sherman
Sputter
The
onshore breeze picked up the ash
&
carried it to the mountains.
This
new normal
will
be the death of us who bleed & consume.
No
big thing
children
forget how to be silly
we
forget the rest.
~Les
Wicks
lingering
thoughts —
between
hair follicles
lice
and nits
~Amoolya
Kamalnath
early
morning
sees
a sleepy yawn
and
whoosh
walking
in
through
an open mouth
an
itchy mosquito
~Rupa
Anand
Freddy
Flea
Freddy
Flea flounced on fresh fruit
landing
face forward on a fork
Somehow
he learned to fly away
and
the frightened fruit was saved
~Madeleine
Vinluan
bad
poetry
i
return as
a
cave fish
~Terri
L. French
semantics
taking
her tisket
to
task
~Kelly
Moyer
a
violin
made of polystyrene,
a flute
made
of sugar.
~Richard
Magahiz
the
lamplight
serenades
a
covey of moths
within
its corona
~Rupa
Anand
total
eclipse of the moths
~Roberta
Beach Jacobson
core
values wrapped in rot
~Terri
L. French
morning
after . . .
the
last
of
the pork rinds
~Kelly
Moyer
After
the Storm
The
Ferris wheel landed in the ocean like a toy hurled by an angry
god.
Now carp glide through the spokes, its cars rocking blindly.
Gawkers
still peer at the ruins of mangled houses: splintered
frames,
a toilet on its side, someone’s sagging bed frame. Where the bay
ravished
the ocean, a carpet of sand. You think I’m exaggerating? Look at
the
pictures. I made a scrapbook: Before and after. What doesn’t kill
you etcetera
. . .
When
the next hurricane comes, I’ll name it after you. No sea wall will
be high
enough
to withstand the waves. Try re-building the boardwalk with fake wood.
Try
mending my heart with duct tape. At night, wild dune grass rustles
and
the
moon kisses the highest chair on our wheel.
~Beth
Sherman
recognizing
that the feet we're given are wrong for the task
~Richard
Magahiz