Greg Chandler

Fall From Grace

The glass ceiling got tougher
The leap to the top got longer
Nothing you can say can help you
Nothing you can do can save you

You decided to stick it out
Even while riding a cloud of doubt
You wouldn’t let them ruin the ride
You wouldn’t let them kill the ride

While relaxing in the king’s chair
You wanted to rule in a way that’s fair
You never thought it would be hard
Even though they said it would be hard

They protested against your soul
Before you started to dig your hole
You never realized the danger your in
Who knew the danger was within

Your rise to the top crowned you
Your fall from grace defeated you
Now there’s no where to go
Now no one cares where go

{Poem by Greg Chandler}

Daniel G. Snethen

Dichotomy

The scorpion stung
as the Dalai Lama prayed.
This was their nature.


No Wood to Burn

Lungs burning cold
with frozen breathlessness.
Bodies, of all ages,
frostbitten and worn,
huddle beneath tattered star quilts,
hugging one another
and their wormy mongrels.
Seeking warmth,
wearing a mask of icy death.

{Poetry by Daniel G. Snethen}

Peter Lattu

the beach

served up
on a tray:
two Adirondack chairs
painted green
looking out
at the ocean
tide rolling in
waves lapping the shore
sandpipers
scuttling along
the tide line
their tracks
washed away
by the waves
all under blue skies
with white clouds
sailing by
the beach
served up
on a tray
made in Italy
for you and me

{Poem by Peter Lattu}

Jim Brearton

Markets Will Crash

Markets will crash.
Children will still go to the beach.
A summer day will always be warm.
His words will mean the same thing.
If I saw you sleeping
I still would not know
what you were dreaming.
Young ladies still pretty
and boys fresh
without speaking.
Leaves will shake and
smoke will rise up a chimney.
Ice is where we once swam.
Someone's heart
will be torn
and hurt as badly.
You know you're a part
of all that will be.
Eyes on the past
trip us now
just like before.
We lunge to go further.
The same things we see
but cannot touch
are closer.
Always a new word to learn,
and something we've done
that needs to be
forgiven.
Catch me if you can.


Party Like It's $19.99

A long time ago
lost in the mists of history
was the twentieth century.

We have nothing to do now.
I'm down to writing the Official Guy Manual.
Here are the chapters:
1 mowing lawn
2 watching girls
3 shoveling snow
4 getting hair cut
5 watching TV
6 drinking
7 sports
8 cars
9 stupid love stories

The longest chapter is the last.
Most guys never heard of love
until it hits them like an 18 wheeler
and they are reduced to
the intelligence of an opossum
wondering what went wrong
and what to do next.
There are no screen passes for this--
no cover three zones
or easy questions like:
Move the infield in?
Bunt? Steal a base?
Guys don't know what to do.

{Poetry by Jim Brearton}

Vicki Collins

Simple Answer

Painting, John Cleaveland, 1988
Short Story, “Barn Burning” William Faulkner

Burning his enemies’ barns is a balm
for his vindictive soul. With no formal
schooling, money, or valuable possessions,
Abner Snopes works in tenebrosity, relying
on a dented oil can and wooden matchsticks
for the power and respect he seeks. Like the
Prince of Darkness, he plants small sparks
that grow toward total destruction. The long,
yellow stripe down his back mirrors the tall
peaks of flame lighting the sky as he scuttles
from his maleficent handiwork and latest victim.
Bound by years of sharecropping indentureship,
hiding in the woods, and moving his family
from one shanty to another, he yearns
for some semblance of control. He possesses
no internal fire. For a bitter, complex man,
it is a simple answer: barn burning is a decision
he makes without heat.

{Poem by Vicki Collins}

Natalie Jeanne Champagne

Man and Wife

The division between
The man and woman
Was so great

The divide so wide

That whenever he bent to kiss
Her lips
It was then he would miss

The woman
Once young
Flowered
Empowered
Now pushed him away
If he touched the wrong way

And the man growing angry
Would turn red in the face
Dangle his hands
Near her pretty white face

It was then that the woman
Once full of great pride
Walked away from the man
Who once made her bride


Artists

Artist’s are makers
And
Artist’s are takers
We are those
Who fear discourse;
Sitting at our desks
Placid pen in hand
Talking with keys
Often fallen on our knees

We walk in circles
Right left, right left
Stalking with our words
Letting go with each curve

We work for what we deserve
Naturally, unnerved
Artist’s we detest
The words that are left
Loose on lined paper

Is nothing left?

It’s always a disease
Always sweet reprieve
When we connect
When we reflect.

{Poetry by Natalie Jeanne Champagne}

Michelle M. Moat

A Battle of Epic Proportions

My hiatus
Taken in a green room
My heart won
In a cold war

He points the gun
At fear
No trigger is pulled
But meaning is found

A moment of ice
Turns

My face meets
His undying expression
As I melt in the sun
I call Inevitability

{Poem by Michelle M. Moat}

K.D. Iredale

Edmonds Downtown

The fall morning settles
With the smell of chimney smoke
8:30 am
And an elderly man walks his dog
The horn blows
Of decaying leaves about your feet
And crying from selfish seagulls
The waves move
On idle moon's whim
The fog is gloomy
And at the corner of the street
A lone child stands and observes

{Poem by K.D. Iredale}