Title Unknown, Bethanny Spielman

Woman in Blue

She looks at me with her nearly closed

right eye, her left eye nothing but a gray

flap.  She tries to speak but hasn’t enough

of a mouth.  Who are the man and woman

behind her?  Pale faces, bodies melting,

the woman bubbling like champagne.

Clouds of smoke hover.  Are we allowed

to smoke?  I wouldn’t mind a cigarette

right now.  A vodka martini wouldn’t be

bad either.  These free-floating colors

don’t make sense.  Some bear resemblance

to human bodies but as hard as I try,

I can’t hold them together.  A cat white

as ermine stretches atop something blue. 

I hate cats.  At least this one isn’t black. 

A star once lived in the center of my mind. 

I didn’t see the supernova, but I know

there’s a black hole in my brain sucking out

memories.  I feel the hollow each one

leaves behind.  If I could, I’d leave,

but where would I go?  I can’t run. 

My legs and feet are rubbish.  I thought

this was a party.  The only treats I see are

those things in front of the woman in blue.

They look like cupcakes, devil’s food on

the bottom and a slathering of blue on top.

I’m not going to eat one of those lopsided

things.  They shouldn’t be there anyway.

That’s an ironing board, for God’s sake!

Pat Martin

Title Unknown, Sharon Yoswig

A Truth Revealed
in a Dream

This elegy for oaks is early

But the way of the world

Is that Griffin Woods will be sold,

The ancient trees sawed down,

The land stripped for a strip mall.

Acorns will rot under asphalt

And whose fault is it?

Clearly, the trees.

They don’t pay taxes.

                    

Lola Lucas

The Conductors, Kate Woman-Becker

The Conductors

Two Views and a Haiku 

  

The end, when it came,
Rated barely a whimper.

The last humans boarded ships

And set sail toward the stars.

Household pets went feral

When laps and can openers

Both disappeared

Into the thinnest of air.

Brick, metal and plastic eroded

On the planet they left behind,

Decayed even in cities above the rising tides,                     

Yet cells still built upon themselves                            

Becoming fur and claws and gleaming eyes.

How does a cat conduct himself

At the end of the world?

With dignity, of course,

Always dignity.                                                                

The cat fancier looks and thinks:

“Oh no, her paws and tummy will be all wet.”

The science fiction author:

 “The leaves show that it’s October Country.”

A Katrina survivor:

 “Just like when the waters receded in the lower 9^th ward.”

The ex-con:

            “Me, I ain’t never gonna get behind no bars again.”

A preacher:

            “So might the gates of Hell be guarded by a black furred Beelzebub!”

Inevitably,

Rails of thought lead us to our

Own destinations.

  Lola Lucas                            

Title Unknown, Mary Selinski

Autumn colors

As the crocus colors early Springtime lilac, mauve, the alabaster of pure hope,

The pumpkin colors Autumn fiery orange (recollecting Summer's Sun),

In a palette with

Dried cornstalk, whose knifeblade leaves blow, brown and curled, across the highways,

November's gold chrysanthemum (Death's unlikely companion),

Red maple, and

The leaves of sweet gum trees, stars in every color of the rainbow

Except blue,

Which would remind you:

Winter will come soon,

Blanketing these colors' warmth

With cold, dead, bleached-bones white

Under a troubled mackerel sky

Of gray.

Thus, under the Corn Moon, Harvest, Hunter's Moon,

We carve pumpkins into lanterns,

To carve from growing darkness just enough light

For one exuberant dance

Before the Full Cold Moon's hibernal rest.

Thea Chesley

Solitary Traveler, Kate Worman-Becker

Coda

After the lifetime of dutiful 

growing, taking and transforming

sunlight, nurturing wood, giving

all to the swelling fruit, the lifetime 

as one of the crowd, all dressed

alike in workday green, all rustling

together with every movement 

of the air, at last to put on 

true colors, and be

unbound,

to go

alone, floating

from darkness

to light, 

between bare 

branches, dodging

trailing fingers, 

nothing

to make, to 

do, nothing

to control.  Only 

to ride

the air, the water, to 

kindle a spark, 

fire caught

in the light, in the middle,

dancing

into the dark.

Liz Huck

Untitled, Pat Robertson

Nothingness

My name is Nothingness.

I have been violated.

A large glob of matter

Crossed my border, broke

Down my wall and turned me

Into something I did not

Want to be, made me a

Cradle of what you call

The Universe, put wrinkles

All over me and called

It time. I hate time,

I hate the Universe, I hate

Being, I want to be nothing more

Than what I am, Nothingness.

Joseph J Kozma