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}