like two weeks like five years like coupon clippings
From a thick Sunday pull out
Promising bargins in primary colors
And expire and expire
~ Allison Whittenberg
in search of one bearable position,
the moon, a dove, perches
on the mountaintop, then spreads
its ever-changing body,
light as wings, across the sky.
No longer certain of anything
except this moon
wounds with its clarity,
I rise and write a list--
things to remember,
and things I should forget.
When your name is on both of them,
a tiny bone snaps near my heart
But maybe even God had doubts.
Perhaps after six long days, he, too,
made lists to forget and hold onto.
Maybe he pondered his books,
Genesis to Exodus,
reconsidered Eve’s guilt,
golden juice of apple
dripping sweet from her mouth.
Maybe if he had it all to do over,
God would change his mind about Eden
with its serpents and sins,
dictate a new, shorter list to Moses.
One that commands nothing
except we hold on to love,
in whatever form it finds us.
~ Susan Clayton-Goldner
Venus in Transit
Now this a kind of elemental faith
knowing it’s happening yet
unable to see-
trusting the word of others
rather than frying one’s own eyes-
named for the goddess of love
this planet the most satanic
the most terrible-
were it to be swallowed by the sun
it would make but little difference-
now all of its horrible truths
its sulphuric acid atmosphere
its acne of live lava flow
have created in these few hours
a thing of sublime beauty
a black pearl of celestial geometry
a perfectly round sunspot
tiny and darker than night
traversing the lower half
of a huge golden orb
Were it possible
from our sweet green bower
of ferns and azalea we’d gaze
through filters obscurely at
the starkest of all cosmic truths-
beauty is hell and hell is beauty
~ Daniel Williams
The bear is old, older than my grandfather’s
grandfather & his teeth are long
& yellow. I know his stratagems.
Say I’m at the airport: the bald man
at the bar with the blazer & briefcase
could be the bear: he could tear
out my eyeballs & the last thing they’d see
is my blood on the business bear’s coat.
So I’m careful. I plan every egress;
I check beneath my car. I rarely sleep
& when I sleep I sleep with bear mace
under the pillow. So far the pillow
is not the bear. And you my dear--
I believe you’re not the bear.
Those lips I love are not ursine & you
never roar plucking salmon from a stream.
Thank you, for staying despite him.
Go on—sleep and I’ll keep vigil:
all night the willow will rasp
our window. Far below will be homes,
fields, all the wide earth rustling
with the gentle snuffling of the bear.
~ J.G. McClure
Damn YOU, FACEBOOK
yet here I am, it’s 2 a.m. and I’m doing it
but it’s just too, too addictive
I could be writing instead
or reading one of the greats
but now I’m out there-fair game
with all the others
but I had to answer, didn’t I?
become a friend of a friend and a friend
to someone else’s friend
and so on and so on…
even with someone I never met
or someone I never cared to meet
or someone I bumped into in the supermarket
and they hugged me because, after all
hadn’t I just become a friend ?
and even my son asked to be friends
and there I was, posted on events
caught by someone’s I-phone or lens
and damn, how I wanted my face
off this mega mainstream of mass media--
but what could I do?
and wouldn’t it be insulting
to say no even to the friends of the friends I would never know
but who wanted to know me
so I had to check the YES box because
wouldn’t I be considered unsocial if I did otherwise
and all the mystery if being who I am
would be lost just because
I couldn’t X the box that said NO?
~ Gloria g. Murray
Living Ice, Dying
Time, pressure, sliding
White-on- white turns crystal blue in the sunlight
Flowing water creaks, rumbles
Hear the heartbeat of a glacier
Hear the boom
~ Vincent J. Tomeo
Is it Myspace? Or your space?
My house? Or your place?
I must read
My news feed.
On my wall
Who are they all?
The world’s too small.
Did I offend?
Can friends mend?
A message I’ll send.
Need to tweet
To the beat.
It’s a disgrace.
I need some grace.
Where’s your face?
Wet tongue kisses
Two big brown eyes
Plead: Please arise!
Away from the screen,
The forest is green,
~ Yvona Fast
The Music of Waiting
In one story, madness.
In another, the calm table
for the many guests.
The morning arrives.
The day extends itself.
History is stitched
from fragments and remnants
into a carpet
that waits to be understood.
~ Ian Randall Wilson
The Good, The Bad and The Democracy
~ Reed Vernick
outfits pop whole from my closet
brilliant from the head of Hera;
other days, I try three sweaters,
end by switching pants I put on first.
Is it true you’re depressed when you
can’t decide what to wear and spend
too much time pairing clothes?
or am I just Lady Perfection
with too much time on her hands,
calling for the number one best match?
If I set them out the night before,
those neatly laid out clothes rebel,
insisting they will not do today;
if I choose a shirt that’s seldom worn,
it whispers there’s a reason for neglect:
I should just discard the miscreant.
I’m not depressed, just overwhelmed:
the stunning array of color in my closet
shames by endless possibility.
~ Janet M. Powers