Lake Songs

photo: patricia wellingham-jones

Lake Songs   

 by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

On our usual bench

by Lake Almanor, we listen

to ravens croak among pines

and grebes call in the middle of the lake.

With our own words winding down

small water sounds emerge:

tiny slap of wavelets against a stony shore,

the rise of wind pushing its blue path

and the faint splash as ducks dive

beneath the sparkling surface.

Loon-song haunts a distant cove,

carries us somewhere

we never knew.

~ first published in Brevities

A Trip to Seoul . . .

detail of photo courtesy norman j. olson

A Trip to Seoul September 23 to 25, 2011

by Norman J. Olson

I traveled

from the intricate

branches of an oak tree

etched

against a rainy blue/gray sky,

to an auditorium filled

with Picasso and his

millions of

children

I walked on old cobblestones

and rode on shiny steel rails

everyone was polite

enough not to laugh

at

a fat old American

with

artistic pretensions… I had no use

for the condom on the dresser,

but it did

remind me that love

is everywhere

and

can take many

forms

~ first published in Sketchbook

90-proof angels

photo: ralph murre

90-proof angels

by t. kilgore splake

     child’s tiny fingers letting go,

     bottles smashing against concrete sidewalk squares,

shiny glass shards flying,

     hard vacant stare, taut sun-bronzed skin,

rigid “don’t hurt” posture,

     angels falling to earth early this sunday

morning, wings shattering,

     absent for saving other, pious church-going

masses,

     smug narrow personas, already so damn sure.

~ previously published in winter river flowing (Presa Press)

Swan Lake

photoart - murre

Swan Lake

by Angie Trudell Vasquez

Girls in gossamer gowns

flit across the stage

little ballerinas in the making

before age and race add weight,

pink tights

light leather shoes strapped

on small feet,

before toe before

they are conscious

of limitations,

they all think they are

beautiful against the heat

of the mirror and balance bar

the instructor plays Swan Lake

and says imagine you are

nestled in white feathers

and draped tight in white silk

now see yourself soar

across the stage and jump

and leap and spin, see how

pretty and thin your shoulder blades,

now open your eyes and begin,

and all twenty girls run and leap

from one end to another

thinking, yes, yes

this must be how it is

to press against the sky and fly.

~ first published in Verse Wisconsin

Indian Summer, Denial

photo: jude genereaux

Indian Summer, Denial

by Jude Genereaux

What does it take

to bring Summer to an end?

In the month of shortened days

a moment of new light

casts shadows in wrong places;

I put the lawn chairs away

lower the deck umbrella

notice the first red leaf … turncoat maples!

A flyer advertising "School Supplies"

blows across the drive.

What does it take?

to redirect one’s heart to autumn …

I reach for my woolrich plaid

walk darkening roads,

shift the campfire to the woodstove.

~ first published in “Seeding the Snow”

(Chicago Journal )

EAGLE HEARTS AND SEABIRDS (II)

artwork: ralph murre

EAGLE HEARTS AND SEABIRDS (II)

by John Flynn

Nomad flocks flood pale skies like

stippled notes scored, scoured, and

spilt from some sequestered staff.

Roadside orchards dapple

with ten thousand shimmering

wings. Their eagle hearts,

un-bated breath, endure

like a seabird soars

from shore.

~ first published at blueskirtproductions.com

Varda, Train Station

photo: x bonnie woods

Varda, Train Station

by Donna Pucciani

No use crying for what used to be,

a station full of people

with someplace to go—

a grandmother in Croatia, a business lunch

in Budapest, the city of all longing.

Cracked windowpanes stare sightless

at the tracks’ blind sweep.

They tell a story in a lost language,

with tongues of dust and weeds,

abandoned farms, the cemetery

overgrown, the church splintered

by lightning, its belfry fallen through

the tinderbox roof.

We said our goodbyes long ago

amid the shorn hayfields,

the pens of spotted pigs,

the gnarled elms and tin-roofed sheds.

Goodbye, little village of unhappy accidents.

I saved a stone from the road out.

It shines like glass when held to the sun,

like crystal when cupped by the moon.

No station left, but a long-winded whistle,

the screech of brakes on steel. Together they call,

“We are the way out. Come.”

  

~ photo and poem previously appeared in Shutterverse2

Crossing Guard

photo: ralph murre

Crossing Guard

by Marilyn Annucci

I drive toward her—

crossing guard who scowls into traffic.

So butch she might have been

an inventor of steam shovels.

Stop me! I pray. She steps out

Stronger than Steel.

Kids in knit hats,

nylon jackets, straggle before my car.

I want to rev my engine.

Guardian.

I want to stall out.

She eyes me, turns away.  Oh

to be crossed! She lowers

the brim of her cap, waves us on—

us, not just me.  You’re no one

special, her strut says

Heartbreaker.

                       ~ previously published in Love & Lust: An Anthology
                          (Parallel Press)