Patrick T. Randolph

Fisherman

Eternal
Silhouette
Against the sky.


Tiny Musicians

Ants’ feet sing
Songs on soil—
Earth’s grin listens.


True Sage

Grandma’s grin,
She watches,
Listens with eyes.


Ground of Being

I am my
Ancestors’
Dreams—incarnate!

A breath poem is a strict, meditative syllabic poem that I have been working on for a couple years. You inhale the first three syllables, exhale the next three and inhale the first three of the last line and exhale the last syllable. The breath poem is a dance of the psychological with the physical elements of the human condition.

{Poetry by Patrick T. Randolph}

Ray Gallucci

Roman Rumination

I went to visit ancient Rome,
But found it never fell.
Its buildings may seem crumbled stone,
But it's alive and well.

Its mighty temples still exist
Though in an altered form.
Its rings of gold and amethyst
Still fingers rich adorn.

For in the City Vatican
The emperor still reigns,
Descended from Octavian,
Worldwide now his domains.

The trappings of pomposity
Are fully on display
To glorify antiquity
The Roman Catholic way.

Upon the Hill Capitoline
Sat Caesar on his throne
Until the rule of Constantine,
Who eastward looked to home.

Successor of St. Peter took
The reigns of Rome in West.
He found when its foundations shook
Himself sole ruler left.

The statues of the Roman gods
Were chiseled into saints,
And temples where the Vestals trod
No more would pagans taint.

Now priests still Roman togas wear
(But claim they're "sacred robes").
And Pope is carried in a chair
While incense burns in globes.

So what has changed from Rome
That Romulus and Remus deigned?
An emperor still sits upon a throne
And holds the chains.

But visitors like me are awed
By Rome's reputed ruins,
Until the Tiber's banks I cross
Where Rome Eternal looms.

{Poem by Ray Gallucci}

Roger Singer

Without

I am folded, pressed into corners,
neatly stacked in the suitcase of her
thoughts.
My words are like letters, spelling me out,
signing with care who I am;
exposed as if naked.
The painting of me crackles, my colors
once passionate red have drained to
the gray of time.
Her fear, the wall of her heart,
profited in alone, welcoming the without
others sharply feel as an end.
I see her walking in the city,
content in her without.

{Poem by Roger Singer}

Carly Anderson

1 December 2009
Cabrillo College, Aptos, CA
Author Darryl Babe Wilson Speaks

“Every time I come here, it’s a full moon. I don’t know how that works.” Darryl Babe Wilson, author of the book The Morning the Sun Went Down, among others, is seated calmly in front of a packed fluorescent-tinted classroom with many eyes peering at him, willing him to speak again. What comes next? His appearance is a study in experience; short wiry black hair, touched with grey like an aged Scottish terrier and silver above the ears. His eyebrows are a curious mix of silver and black, tapering into thin creases on the end of his eyes. His eyes are unavoidable, though they gaze mostly to the right side of the classroom where I am sitting slightly towards his gaze. From this vantage point, his cheekbones cut an angle sharp enough to almost pierce the leathered skin that protects them. Despite the constant inflation and deflation of dialysis, a strong octagonal-shaped chin remains. It is emphasized by the evenness of color: a perfect shade of lightly roasted coffee, in a glass, with the sun shining through it. “Good evening, everybody.” There is a murmured reply, to which he replies with humor, “Louder, please.” He begins to speak and takes his glasses off and the gaze lands upon me, as compelling as if a half-moon in eclipse could gaze; its surrounding sky a subtle, quiet white. His conversation is punctuated with singing phrases that recall the highly quotable lines of his writing. In regard to the Universe, Wilson says, “If we get to be friends with it, it’ll talk with us.” The simplicity of his words but their expansive meaning leaves me in wonder. He deals with the confusion of scientific progress and Native American religion as simply as he deals with the Universe: “I looked science in the eye. I looked science in the heart. I looked at science in a dream. And I realized science does not have all the answers to any thing, at any time.” Strange silence follows, but it is a meditative silence. Eventually somebody asks the question that seems always in the back of our society’s collective mind: what will we do about the destruction of our earth? Wilson takes his time to think, and says, “Ancient wisdom says the Universe loves the voice of children. The Universe loves the sound of children singing, talking, playing. The children have a song in their heart. Take the children to the mountaintop. Sing with those children a love song with the mother Earth. The Universe will hear the children. The bad, the ugly, the sickness will go away. The power of the Universe will cleanse the earth again.” The flat light of the classroom throws a shadow on his face where none of the flatness remains. Instead, the light throws sfumato arrows of shadow under his cheekbones that point upwards towards his eyes. He speaks with a confidence that surprises me; his voice is louder than expected. There is an inscrutable note, a warble, as if any moment he may cry, or laugh. He looks around at the pensive faces, and advises us to “have coffee, and cry” and laughs.

{Piece by Carly Anderson}

Cara Losier

Escape

Autumn is at her heels now,
rolling up the fraying remnants of
past summer days.
She clings to this time of transition.

Unwilling to relinquish her grip
on the sanity of happiness,
she lies awake in the elbow of night
to be aware of each second's death

Etched in smiles and tears are
midnight rides and clandestine kisses
beneath blue and red lights.

And still these moments slip
like wet sand through her fingers
and the witches castles that they leave
behind are sadly lacking in tenants.

{Poem by Cara Losier}

Michael Ceraolo

from New Political/Historical Definitions

capitalism

-a system that spreads the risk among the many
while reserving the rewards for the few


graduated income tax

-a system of taxation where,
if you earn more than a certain amount of money
you graduate from paying taxes


war crimes

-atrocities committed
by the losing side


paired definitions

1. graverobber- one who disturbs the burial sites of whites
archeologist- one who disturbs the burial sites of non-whites

2. madman- one who kills 5 or 10 people for little or no apparent reason
statesman- one who kills hundreds of thousands or even millions of
people for little or no apparent reason

3. class warfare- when someone points out the iniquities of the rich
reality- when someone points out the iniquities of the poor

4. authoritarian- a 'liberal' who has been mugged
civil libertarian- a 'conservative' who has been arrested

5. entitlement- what someone else gets that you don't
sound policy- what you get that someone else doesn't

6. battle- where more Indians are killed and whites act heroically
massacre- where more whites are killed and Indians act cowardly

{By Michael Ceraolo)

Peter Bokor

Incubate

I am tired of fighting
for my place to stand on.
Already the whole world has raced me by
already half my life has sunk down
on the other side.
My blood is tired,
my bones heavier than water.
Everywhere I hear your name.
No one can hear me speak.
It is not that I have a message
like an angel or a sage
it is simply that I hear the whispers,
I know the time
and the movement of the heavens.
If I could only say half the things,
half the things….

A dry season approaches,
sun-polished bones dusted in the desert,
a crackling wind and potholes
in the asphalt. Great cities
that know no desert
will know the dryness and the scorching,
the gulch and the underpass
the railway trestles and the subway track,
watering holes, reservoirs, stalactites and lampposts.
Parallel lives run together in a single line,
a jagged scar tears the abdomen of the earth.
What would have been born dries lifeless encased
In larval shells hidden under turf’s edge.
It is not death that terrifies
But the unbornness.

{Poem by Peter Bokor}

Jessica Parker

Smell of the Past

I could smell the past
Outside today—where the skies cried
As I knelt to my boot
There you were in my mind’s yesterday
Nibbling my lip, breathing in my ear
So I could hear you disappearing
In the sour-sweet of the leaves
Rustling
As I rose
To wipe my mind with the breeze

{Poem by Jessica Parker}

Two Poems by Joy Olree

Eden

My heart is sad,
For eyes that,
Have not seen the light,
Their brilliance,
Dulled by the dark,
We live to die,
The serpents muse,
A hungry soul,
Who dared to,
Eat forbidden fruit,
And suffer for,
The hidden knowledge,
In the wood


Pictures

What you say?
Those hands,
That sheer curtain,
Pictures so intriguing,
That camera, the woman,
What you say?
Beauty in simplicity,
Clutter free art,
Not sure I get it,
The meanings seem,
Clear yet so deep,
Each photo and its, quote,
So memorable so stirring,
Makes one stop and think,
Makes one desire,
To understand,
The soul behind,
The lenses

{Poems by Joy Olree}

One Poem by Ron Koppelberger

Evanescent Whispers

Savoring the vanilla perfumes of ambiance
And silhouette, a perfect sunshine tome in manifest desire
And persevering love, by gauzy lace veils and tender
Availing bones in nourished, resolute suggestions
Of fond bloom and sure pass, by the flame of loves’ alight
In misty twilight array and closer to the secret
Of evanescent whispers.

{Poem by Ron Koppelberger}

One Piece by Luke Armstrong

Dismissibly Diminutive

It’s a small thing
no one says

They all
Agee

It’s a many thing
No one agrees

They all say
It’s that way

It’s a papery thing
So it’s manifested

You don’t see
It’s not these things

But the instruments?
Not necessary at all

And the ink?
Only red tape

The director?
Least important and no

And the musicians?
Not it

Phenomenology?
Not a clue what that is.

Philosophy?
Hardly

But…
And those who ask

Do not understand
The music, temporary, for an instant
More than staffs and scores
More than high school band geeks
More than an underpaid director
More than the instruments imaginable
The music became what it had always been anyways.

{Poem by Luke Armstrong, www.twitter.com/lukespartacus}

One Poem by Brother Mario Andrew Parisi

Involvement

Throw Jonah overboard, he is the source of all our troubles.
Yet, Jesus holds him as the only sign for this lost generation,
this lost, hungry generation!
They longed to fill their bellies with the husks of the swine,
but then they came to their senses.
They swept the shivering world in a running father’s
consuming, embrace.
As for Jonah, he made it to shore, wet.

{Poem by Brother Mario Andrew Parisi, O.S.B.}

Two Poems by Ron Koppelberger

Frenzied Butterflies’

Crazy, advances in history, in conscious dreams of
Season and fashion, a boundary bonded by the close comfort of
Immovable passion and metamorphosis, the hurry in further forward,
In paths of precedented allay, the tide in flow and cascading
Universes of healing baptism, the turn in patient
Moths and frenzied butterflies‘, a prevailing
Wind blustering the landscape and wild
Terrain of distant dust in the
Footfalls of angels.


Drama and Whispers

The desire in terms of need and real hope, a
Conference bestowing the wishes of nature,
The dreams of forward momentum and sly assurance
In muse, in a fools paradise, in joys of faded sovereignty,
Afire in sure sums of ascension, the parable
Of the spectral celebrant, told by the pursuits of
Drama and whispers called in
Nascent existence.

{Poetry by Ron Koppelberger}

One Piece by Olivia Suriani

Lovers To Friends

Show me your emotions,
show me love, anger, or devotion.
But please baby, show me no apathy.
Your love shows me you care and will always be there.
Your anger shows that we were true lovers and are
never more, whilst your passion for me remains.
But say not apathy, give not such a lukewarm ending to such
a passionate and loving yet sordid love affair.
Yes, come at me with rage in your eyes and fire in your heart,
the way you would if I was so deep in you,
the way you are so deep inside me.
As if everything I do touches your very soul.
But don't, don't let me see indifference in your eyes and dull
recollection of things already dead and past in your heart.
For this is the only true tragic love story.
If love turns to hate it remains passionate,
but this emotion I see in you is no emotion at all.
And this is the thing I can not bare.
Let me hate you or let me love you,
For I need some place to pour out all these feelings I have for you.
Say lovers or say that we are enemies but please
never say the words just friends!

dedicated to Modesto

{Poem by Olivia Suriani}

One Piece by Lauren Whitlock

Cold Hit

Strangled:
Zero in on crime

Throat slashed
Night stalker slayings

DNA links
155 registered

Sex offenders
225 tons of fear

Lifeless legs
A piece of trash

We always mourn
the loss of a child

Thursday flowers
Public order

20 lashes, series
Of rampage

Murders buried
Beneath debris

Technical indecency
Prepare for the worst

Death always went
With the territory

{Poem by Lauren Whitlock}

One Piece by Nicole Jovanelly

Hey Mickey, you're so fine

I saw him the other day,
Gnawing on the rhine
Of a molding cantalope,
Crouched in the yellow
Stale piss, glass shards,
And cigarette buds,
Behind the old toys r us.
Slits were in his puffy
White gloves, red crack
Like an earthquake
In his eyes, trembling,
About to shatter.
Whiskers bent like loopy
String of a birthday,
Pocket knives as teeth.
He glanced at me,
The feeling of sewing
Needles crashing against
My spine, momentarily.
He limped toward me,
Begging for spare change
In a crackled tone, holding
His scampy hands out
With the trail of pixi sticks.
"Only five dollars."
Breathing heavily, my body
Twists, changing its course.
His lips drooped, tongue
Pursed, shooting obscenities,
he spit like a fire hydrant.
Accidentally dropping
Some powder on the floor
In his process, frantically
Pushing his fingernail
Into the cracked pavement,
Restoring his product.

{Poem by Nicole Jovanelly}

One Poem by Jessica Flores

Question Mark!

I have not come to like or to dislike
To hate I must first love
To love I must come to feel

I don't know the meaning of the word love or hate
If I do not understand then I cannot do
Because I don't do I do nothing
But doing nothing is doing something

So do I then know
But can I know if I don't know
Then I must come to understand

But I am left confused
Unknowing what I do know
Knowing that I have not come to like or to dislike
So I then now know

That I do not know what I know
Because I know of nothing of what I know

{Poem by Jessica Flores}

One Piece by Jasmine Rawani

Unwelcomed

I know she doesn't care about me.
If she did, she'd be holding me instead of that bottle of vodka.
I'd kill to get her to hug me, or even a pat on the back.
Instead, she shows her affection through bruises and scars
On my face and body, I know it's just the alcohol talking,
But I don't know how to stop it.
My tears of pain are tears of joy to her; she thinks I'm enjoying this.
She doesn't understand that without me, she's screwed.
I work fifty-six hours a week hoping and praying
That we can spend it like a normal family.
Hoping that she spends the money on food for us.
Praying that she, for once, uses the money on something
Other than her addiction, but it never happens.
No one can separate her from her baby.
She says it's the only one who understands her,
And I'm starting to believe it.
She's a crazy lunatic who doesn't give a damn about me.
Sweet dreams, Mother. Pretty soon your life
Will be as dark as the empty hole in your chest.

{Poem by Jasmine Rawani}

One Poem by Samantha Talbot

Gone

She sits and crys in the house alone.
No one to hear her.
No one to comfort her.
Hes gone for good.
Theres no comming back.

The clock on the wall ticks,
time passing by, still no one comes.
She clings to an old t-shirt,
holding the smell of it, of him.

A picture of them on their wedding day,
still sits next to the bed.
She can't bare to look at it,
to be remembered of what will
never be again.

{Poem by Samantha Talbot}

One Poem by Peter Lattu

winter

the fig trees are bare
to winter’s blast
no longer sheltering
our southern glass
leafless to the storm
and winter’s cold
all bare
letting in
the wan winter sun
bringing no warmth
at all
to chase the chill away
winter’s here to stay
the dark is closing in
to take
the warmth away
until
spring glows green

{Poem by Peter Lattu}

One Piece by Tisha Bamba

A New Life

As I start my journey to a new life.
Full of excitement. Full of fears.
Of the known and the unknown, with every bit of wonder.
I'll make it.
I'll take it.
And I'll use it to make me the woman that I know I can be.
I finally seek out to this world for my dreams.
Able to see everything I long to see.
Able to endure the challenges that arise.
I'm a fighter.
I learn to except the sacrifices that help me realize that
I am in the real world.
HE gave me the strength to choose my life.
And this I choose.
The perfect definition of living life.
The heartbreak that comes with it has me appreciate their souls.
So I listen to the amazing sound of these waves that I will miss.
Now everything rests into a memory, that lays in my heart forever.
As I set off to the journey of a new life.
HE will guide Me.

{Poem by Tisha Bamba}

One Poem by Kathleen Coffee

Metamorphosis, for Sir James Jeans

The solar orbit goes ovalesque around
in Gravity’s grooves.
The sun-disk unravels as it travels
or it would have been too hot
for us to handle.
The pressure of the seasons on
the planet’s epidermis
keeps dividing the world
into who’s out and who’s in,
and whose is that fiendish, smirky grin?
Mister Death, is that you?

Is it true by traveling inward
I break out of
my molecular cocoon
into a world of pure wave lengths
where I shed the alphabetic
chain links holding me back,
words dissolving like darkness
in the morning sun?

Such a trip is as difficult
as each becoming all
or all becoming each,
the all inherent in the small,
hard as base being alchemized to gold,
easy as there turned into here,
which happens suddenly
when the butterfly’s no longer a grub.

{Poem by Kathleen Coffee}

Two Poems by Ron Koppelberger

Crystal Flow

On the grounds of swift mayhem and desolate blood, by handfuls
Of dry dirt tinctured scarlet with lichens and moss, near fountains
Of cascading azure life, love and rescued alliance, the trial stained
Crimson and narrow, secret in shadow, in silhouettes
Of gazing thrush and cooing owls, by the destiny of
Eternal waters lead unto the thirst of Spanish
Leagues in native dramas’ in wild hungry desire, the precipice
Of youth, the crystal flow of what’s supposed
By the gods’ and pilgrims in tow.


Rose Water Dreams

The easy evidence of Champaign demeanor and cool
Gilded pearls of contemplation, of shades in ebony,
Echos of celebration, and earned belonging in the
Desires of glowing caste,
By late evening smiles and quiet airs of weekend belonging,
The everything in all and perfumed mists of
Satisfaction, a figurine in cat’s
Eye dialogues and rose water dreams.

{Poetry by Ron Koppelberger}

One Piece by Kasey Carroll

Redondo

You cradle caramel candy and baby spoons
with your calloused, protecting hands
as we sit, buoyant on the sand.
I call you koala bear, staring at me with your
thick maple syrup eyes,
swollen cheeks, balloon lips,
and wet, salty toes.
Big, you look pretty with the birds
as your audience,
You say,
They want to hear your jasmine voice.
Those little pigeons in the distance,
They love unguided sounds.
You move your hands to the beat of the waves, chewing your caramel candy, pocketing your baby spoons,
saving your favorites for later.
I sing loudly and my words weave a blanket around you.
Wool is my favorite feel;
your voice heats my body.
I give you life as you hold the sunset in your hands,
both hanging comfortably beyond the coral sky.
You smile,
Big, watch me, I’m floating.
I see the mystery in you, the cashmere in your laugh.
You play around with the wind; you touch everything in sight,
pouring love potion and passion fruit iced tea into the world.
My eyes circle you, my prey, my pink rose petal.
I tell you I feel like a star tonight, but you’re most valuable.
Big, you’re my golden prize,
and I’m you’re morning sunshine.
So please, keep singing.
This melody climbs an invisible staircase to your waist,
As you inhale,
the sweet air carries you gently to the ground where I sit.
I sway naturally,
intoxicated by the smell of sugar lingering on your neck.
You part your lips,
Big, you’re blushing!
You kiss me like a bruised plum.
I laugh softly,
burying myself in your precious arms.

{Poem by Kasey Carroll}