Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper
Fugue And Fancy
of harmony float
and sweep the great hall,
brush around me,
hovering in whispers.
Flutes and oboes
against the wall,
larger pieces sit upright
in cabinets, waiting.
and rise as one,
a fluid atmosphere
hums and vibrates,
inspiring faraway melodies.
The Old Masters never vanish,
they are heard
in the dreaming hours,
to their genius.
poems by Sharon Rathenfluch Cooper)
Poems by Bob
when i was young i walked
as a slow moon
i walk still
to linger on
edges of the lake
lapping warm earth
like a silent animal
come to drink
in cool hours
and your air
( More Poems by Bob Marcacci )
Poem by Jeffrey Spahr-Summers
across the desert
for three years
she traveled across the earth
on camel back
shifting sand and
her face veiled
her want of wisdom
of what puzzles
and i am riddled still but how
could we deny temptation
what would become
of her kingdom
poems by Jeffrey Spahr-Summers )
by L. Ward Abel
Rainy Season, June
Light green the bottle
along wall boards
coat of beads,
and I drink
drink to this rainy
to this moment,
with only screen
and wine to douse
poems by L. Ward Abel)
( for Ezra Pound)
You departed from love mechanically
and all its resolute hanky-panky.
Wholly hard-knuckled as you were then,
that poem done, but undelivered.
It was this typography, two-toned,
where competition churned in earnest
To expurgate another's hand, scarred,
whose fingers were deft as yours. Editing
exhaustive drafts, Eliot's parable
a null set, that long Wasteland of winter.
Even abridging your eminent heart:
There- it's merely blush-colored paper.
poems by Andrew Demcak)
Lois Marie Harrod
In That Long Ovation of Rain
we came at last to center stage
to the delirious edge where wild roses splashed us
in the spotty light.
And hadn’t all our labor and all our love
been for this—the opera
which could endure cold quarters, dry bread,
cigarettes and slaves?
But we had not expected to be summoned so often,
to be forced to come and come again
into the rumbling light,
to bend and smile as if we were just beginning?
The rain would not stop.
Even when the curtains shut the last time
and we descended to our rooms
we could hear it thundering
in the galleries above.
poems by Lois Marie Harrod )
Poems by Dimitris P. Kraniotis
full of coffee,
to the fictitious line
where the eddy
to my silence.
a north wind that nods to us,
a thought that flows,
with hymns of history,
words on signs
with ideals of geometry.
by Dimitris P. Kraniotis )
Poem by Christina Pacosz
Can You Whitewash the Spirit?
Question posed on a church storefront near
Day lily sumac locust bur oak honeysuckle
cottonwood maple wild rose daisy Queen Anne’s lace
black-eyed Susan cedar purple phlox
bull thistle hollyhock sweet pea May apple
A floral litany blooming
in train track ditches across Missouri, Illinois, Michigan.
Thunder heads spiked by lightning.
The patter of rain sharp against glass.
Dark river dirt and eroded river valleys.
Corn plants just a few inches high.
Hay baled into loaves, ready for winter.
The engineer laying on the whistle
murmuring like a mother soothing her child.
Deer crow buzzard grouse hawk wild turkey
little white heron golden eagle
Gang graffiti, elaborate with secret meaning,
modern-day cave art spray painted on bridge abutments,
rail cars, tunnels.
A degraded, desecrated landscape
of abandoned factories and warehouses,
scrap yards, quarries, swaths of herbicide-sprayed
An ailanthus tree. Green, defiant.
In all the podunk towns seeking a date,
the cornerstones of old brick buildings with windows gaping -
1854, 1861, 1891, 1907, 1916 -
establishing this wreck, that ruin
as something they could have glanced at
- a going concern then -
along the route they traveled in 1917
out of Leadwood escaping
the burning crosses and gunfire night after night.
The animal fear
of any varmint hunted and not wanted
staining the armpits of their cheap shirts and serviceable
Antoni and Ewa Pacosz, nee Cholody
Their children: Mary, Frank, Stanley, Walter, Janina
And a baby girl, name forgotten, dead from Spanish flu.
of poem by
Christina Pacosz )
Watch the dust
First dance then settle
So incredibly meaningful
In its unimportance
In its beautiful
As is the moment
The only unbroken promise
The only true reason for
just breath be the moment
float in infinity live life to the max
Watch snowflakes fall
Perishable repetitive uniqueness
They melt in possessive hands
Like moments we dream to be eternal
There is no path
Just the way we make
As we blindly stumble
From place to place
If we open our eyes
We might be granted
The only valuable lesson
Sealed in amber
The rotting fly becomes
poems by Ulrike Gerbig )
Poem by Raj Ponnaluri
Upon One's Death
An anthology of life-filled events
Flashes as spring splendor scenery,
To sing greatness amid the greenery
Of sloped meadows and oakwood tents.
A senior that parched summer times
Past drought cakes and rare rain spell,
When trees begged since all leaves fell,
Struck Egmont Overture to skip hot climes.
A youth that worked hard and stood still
Rarely; reared a family with wife’s hand,
And castaway tribulations as leaves banned
From autumns that packed dusk’s breeze mill.
A child that jumped around yet obediently froze,
Played violin and ball, learned science & math,
With support of good parents that sought a path
Of wisdom and freedom, on whom to not impose
(More poems by
Raj Ponnaluri )
Hungry dogs keep barking
Moon sneaking away behind the horizon
In this city
A few corpses bury human beings alive
A few chairs catch the neck of people
Sit over them haughtily
budding flowers are being crushed
My soul is furious, enraged
And cries my fuming speech
Angered by not able to crush me
the hungry dogs
catch me with their big forceps
push me in a dog-vehicle
and leave me in a dreaded forest.
Ascend the Himalayas of
my spirit, where visions
arise; hear Shiva’s snow-clad
laughter rumble in avalanches…
See the Taj Mahal in my eyes,
gilded emotion dreaming in
marble; see the light of love
sprinkled in jewels…
Hear the tiger in my heart,
a restless spirit in the
wilderness; lightning streaks
flying out in a thousand birds…
Feel the Ganga in my hair,
At dawn and dusk, stroke
the prayers rustling the
colours of the sun…
Taste the Hindi in my
lips parting in pure lyric;
Feel the waves of music
rise and fall…
Smell the Arabian Sea
in my breath - the salt,
the foam, the amber sun;
Wave with emerald fronds
of exiled thought…
Sway to the Kathakali at
my feet - the rhythm of
the hands, the eyebrow
tilt; beat to red and green
echoing in song…
Fathom the Vedas in
my soul, the chant of
OM – the beginning
and the end; one word,
one world, an eternity…
poems by Usha Kishore)