One Piece by Joanne Tolson

Treasures from the Earth

Come to us from the great universe
Where we reside.
Gold, minerals, and gems et cetera
Hide,
So we have to put things together
And figure this world out.
Piecing fragments together,
Digging out what's buried deep
Beneath the surface of the earth.

{Poem by Joanne Tolson}

One Poem by T. Anders Carson

An Oak's Last Fist

Elbow curved
in Autumn coloring bliss,
breezes blow the dawn.

{Poem by T. Anders Carson}

One Poem by Julie Paige

Taking Flight

Oh to have wings
I’d fly away
Leaving this life behind

I’d soar with the eagles
Dip for fish with pelicans
Sing with the warblers

My troubles would be over
When they came looking for me
I’d have taken to the sky

Following an ingrained migratory path
From here to there and back again
Procreating my main concern

Feeding my fledglings
Watching them leave the nest
Oh to have wings

{Poem by Julie Paige}

Two Poems by James Webb Wilson

Knee Deep in the Snow Drifts

Knee Deep in the snow drifts
Walking the fields and through wintry woods
Slowing the pace, checking fences
Lifting the boots high one at a time
Across the pre planned course
Direct, point to point, observing
The way the drifts were swerving.

Knee deep in the snow drifts
Watching blue jays fly at ease
While my boots grew heavy,
Walking through the woods
Leaving packages for squirrels and deer
Helping them through the storm
A little kindness to help warm humanity.


Barn Drifts

These were the barn drifts
White dunes rising slowly
Leaving empty channels in between
Long streaks of winter’s face
Tossed in the winds of frigid air.

These are the barn drafts
Shallow at the barn’s edges
Where the wind hits harder
And scatters snow and dreams
A like all over the farm.

These are the barn drifts
We had to shovel through,
To get the horses out,
To hitch them to the sleigh
For a ride across field drifts.

{Poetry by James Webb Wilson}

Three Breath Poems by Patrick T. Randolph

Silent Motion

Cold wet dew—
Moonlight on
A snake’s silk skin.


Motherhood

Robin’s beak—
Fat earthworm,
Euphoric chirps!


Reflection

Rain puddle,
A bird bathes
Inside the Sky.

{Poetry by Patrick T. Randolph}

One Poem by Joy Olree

Intended Fate

Away intended fate, last rites,
Last meals, the new beginnings,
And wipe the tears from my cheek,
Feed the hungry, free the slaves,
Give God what’s left,
Of all that he’s given,
Of rivers that are risen,
And mountains that are fallen,
And miseries born of joyous defeat,
The crimson blood that stains the streets,
Of vengeful Gods, and human pawns,
The fly who begged the spiders’ mercy,
The mother whose child refused to live,
And daddies who drank away the fear,
While ravens wallowed in the sand,
And oysters hide the jewels,
Of frogs who would be prince,
And girls who would be queen,
The ship has sailed the darkened sea,
The demons lair, the iceberg glare,
That sank the hopes of all who dared,
To dream the dream,
Of rainbows end and wishing stars

{Poem by Joy Olree}

One Poem by Simon Perchik

*

As a narrow breeze
peeled from some stone
every night a comet
wandering its rind and pits :an orchard
thinner and thinner
trailing itself, circling itself
sliced like the skin from an apple
soaking in water -each night

as if this stone in my hand
was made from your shadow
and your eyes like twins
coming from nowhere to open my hand
to get a better look
to lift the edge.

It's night
as kids will duck for fruit :the sun
swallowed with some sky
that tasted like water

and this stone no one sees anymore
holds down your shadow
and mine -nothing moves
except a stone
carried one shadow to another
scattering its dust
to rebuild the world, the hearts
Gemini once carried
and every night I call your name
twice, breathe into your name
as if a door would open
and a house appear, you

can't breathe out and the night
cuts everything in half, this breeze
never again two by two :each raindrop
alone, gusting under the ground
under my arms still carrying
this stone and doll-like evenings.

{Poem by Simon Perchik}

Evidence by Peter Lattu

Mary Oliver’s Evidence

Mary Oliver’s new book of poems, Evidence, continues to explore her familiar theme of how nature’s beauty can bring awe, amazement, inspiration and comfort. She begins with a quote from Kierkegaard: “We create ourselves by our choices.” She has certainly done that. Walking out into her natural surroundings in the early morning, she brings back to us poems about mockingbirds, wolves, yellow finches, swans, buzzards, deer, violets, bluebirds and pines. Even the grass does not escape notice and attention.

Her poems bring us more than just observations of nature explored during morning walks. In Evidence, she challenges us twice. First, in “To Begin With, the Sweet Grass”, she writes:

And, if you have not been enchanted by this adventure –
your life –
what would do for you?

Then again, in “Evidence”, she repeats:

… if you have not been enchanted by
this adventure – your life – what would do for
you?

This question is central to Mary Oliver’s life and poetry. She has clearly been enchanted by every day of her adventure. She shares this enchantment with us through her poetry.

Come, join her on her adventure as she carries her notebook out into spring, among the honey locusts, into the orchard, and to the pond. Walk along with her and look at the world through her eyes in Evidence. Share Mary Oliver’s joy in our common adventure, this life.

{Piece by Peter Lattu}

One Piece by Ron Koppelberger

A Cure for the Ghosts

The rattle of greater acts, in claim of welcome whim
And magic pampering legacy, indefinite in innocent invitation
To enchantress eager dance, bidden in quiet
Will and struggling fancy, a wild exhaustion in evening
Tide skills and dreaming gestures in rush,
A distinction in moldering demand and
Yawning ascent unto the indigo frayed horizon,
In pregnant beloved remembrance of beguiling existence
And quaky breach of ethereal bond,
A cure for the ghosts of mire and mayhem, an on again off
Promise to shades of eloquent depth and grinning
Masquerade in ash.

{Poem by Ron Koppelberger}

One Poem by Vandye Forrester

We Danced Until Dawn, You and I

We danced until dawn, you and I

The violins sang their midnight song
And to their cry we kissed and the new year surrounded
Us as we danced pressed to each other's breasts

The wine shimmering in the candlelight reflected your
Eyes. Never more lovely have been your form and face

We danced until dawn, you and I

Later as we lay side by side,
I tried

To imagine what life without you will be
I tried but the feel of you and your smell
And your taste

All came back haunting my memory

I reached out for you
One last touch. One last touch to remember

We danced until dawn you and I

I will remember the violins and their song

I will remember your kiss

I will remember your body and your touch and your mouth

I will remember the night we danced until dawn.

Happy New Year my smoothness

{Poem by Vandye Forrester}

A House Bathed in Blue Light

Suzanne Richardson Harvey’s book of poetry, A Tiara for the Twentieth Century (Fithian Press), is delicately written and lovingly given. She writes with the voice of a mother who has seen her children face pain and sorrow. While reading her poems, I feel connected to her. I appreciate her work, and I recognize that all good poetry tries to “sweep the floor of one’s soul clean,” while perhaps, bringing to light the things which have dirtied that floor.

Harvey creates new and interesting pictures with her poems. I accept these pictures as gifts. For instance, the clever woman in “The Perfect Matador,” “knew when to face the bull/At the instant when he’d paw.” In “Elegy,” “Memory is an importunate guest/ Arriving uninvited/ Laden with dubious baggage.” In “Marketing Fear,” we are enticed with, “How about a trip to hell this season?” The poet is aptly renamed “a giant eye.” The bulimic woman’s stomach is “a starved heart” that is “emptied daily with a finger tip.” The anorexic figure is “a sheet of cellophane.” And addressed to photographer Diane Arbus: “the camera (is a tool that) can abet the lie/ Or lay bare the wound of truth.”

Harvey writes for women, her sons, the aging, and the diseased. She tells that one son was “trying so hard, too hard/ To carve out his place” in the world. We have all committed this; relaxation and acceptance are habits of the wise. To her “Favorite Son,” “the magic of silence speaks.” With age, I think, silence becomes more attractive. “The Harp at Birth,” the book’s profound opening poem, celebrates the woman’s body. For from her womb comes life. “You (the woman) are the leaven/ Who will knead this loaf/ Into the bread of life.”

Much like a novel, the pages are purposefully arranged. One is meant to read them in the order that they are given. I thoroughly enjoyed my read, and I have learned that Harvey is my sister. Reading Harvey’s book, I feel proud to be a woman.

{Review by Melanie M. Eyth}

One Piece by Pearl Manne

Untitled

It happened in Paris one summer night
The rain showered down and there was little light
While I was walking down a narrow street
I bumped into the man I was sent to meet

His eyes were blue but opaque too
He was blind! He was blind! What shall I do?
"Sorry" he said, "to cause you such alarm.
"I never meant to do you any harm!"

"If I knew you and you knew me
Our thoughts might pleasantly agree".
His voice sounds deep and questioning and kind
Of one who has a keen and eager mind

"My heart is not a reflection of my sight
It's beat denotes the presence of some delight."
I could not speak--knew not his name
My face averted to hide my shame.

{Poem by Pearl Manne}