April 2018 Vol. III No. IV
Not your ordinary poetry magazine!
If good coffee (or just the concept of coffee), great books, sharp wit, and great authors excite you, we are for you!
Formal & Rhyming Poetry with Vera Ignatowitsch
Undivided
A blur of Black Lab rockets off the dock
to hit the water ten feet out and cast
a cloud of crystals skyward in a shock
of broken rainbows whirling from the blast.
The dog desires no greater good in all
the world than this: to run and leap and swim
so wholly focused on a rubber ball
that bobs away on waves ahead of him.
He closes on it with a final surge
and arcs his course to home in on a boy
who’s waiting on the bank where he’ll emerge
as fifty pounds of single-minded joy.
In years of emptiness and artifice
the man the boy becomes will think of this.
​
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Richard Wakefield's first poetry collection, "East of Early Winters" (University of Evansville Press), won the Richard Wilbur Award. His second collection, "A Vertical Mile" (Able Muse Press), was short-listed for the Poets Prize.
Your Voice
Some pages have no signatures
yet I don’t doubt which writing’s yours—
it bears a voiceprint so, with ease,
I know you finger-stroked the keys
or made the helpless ballpoint jink
along your curves and drool its ink.
But living voice has pace and tone,
and tongue—I feel an urge to phone
you at your work, to hear that purr
across your vocal chords, that burr
of huskiness as lips sough vowels
from registers where ardour growls,
to hear your tongue-tip palate-dance
and castanet your consonants
as, from boleros in your mind,
your thoughts, in whirls of words, unwind.
Your voice is no mere human flute;
its concert organ finds the root
position in your innate score
and plays your music, lets it soar
through the cathedral of your chest
where, underneath your lifting breast,
your heartbeat’s muted tremolo
vibrates through breathing’s cello bow,
the whole ensemble playing Bach
and Bruckner, Brahms, and Bacharach
to universes, yet à deux.
You speak and blind men fall for you.
First published in the 2011 Winter edition of “Able Muse”.
​
John Beaton writes metrical poetry. His work has been widely published, won numerous awards, and he recites it in spoken word performance. Raised in the Scottish Highlands, he lives in Qualicum Beach on Vancouver Island.
Mother’s Smile
for my mother Christine Ena Burch
There never was a fonder smile
than mother’s smile, no softer touch
than mother’s touch. So sleep awhile
and know she loves you more than “much.”
So more than “much,” much more than “all.”
Though tender words, these do not speak
of love at all, nor how we fall
and mother’s there, nor how we reach
from nightmares in the ticking night
and she is there to hold us tight.
There never was a stronger back
than father’s back, that held our weight
and lifted us when we were small
and bore us till we reached the gate,
then held our hands that first bright mile
till we could run, and did, and flew.
But, O, a mother’s tender smile
will leap and follow after you!
​
Published by TALESetc, Penguin Books Valentine’s Day Contest Winner
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Michael R. Burch has been published more than 3,000 times. His poems have been translated into eleven languages and set to music by three composers. He also edits TheHyperTexts.
Veni Sancta Spiritus
—Ln. Come Holy Spirit
Fluttering over as a white-winged dove,
Spirit hovers from worlds above—
Hoping to alight in my dusky soul
And mend my core from rift to whole.
Come Holy Spirit, rippling light:
Lift my soul in feathery flight.
​
Peter C. Venable s poetry has been published by Windhover, Third Wednesday, Time of Singing, The Merton Seasonal, and others.
His fascination with rhyme and meter began in college, and he finds lyrics in anthems, especially hymns, edifying.
Acrobat Alight Inside a Dream
And in my dream his feet were all ablaze
his hands a motion through a surge of air
he raised his head up to the sun, a haze
of heaven hovered there, he danced a dare
like kind of dance as if the gods would deem
him worthy for a trip to paradise
while he ignored his hair a red-lit scream
ablaze atop his head, yet so precise
his steps as he displayed a ballet grace
across the floor, and we all watched with fear
the nearer death approached his poker face−
the paramedics closing in; a mutineer
with fever, dying for the sake of art
and I awoke with fire in my heart
​
Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas is an eight-time Pushcart nominee and a five-time Best of the Net nominee. She is a member of the Saratoga Authors’ Hall of fame .
On this page we publish monthly selections of metrical poetry from our contributors. Submit your blank verse, metrical rhyming poems, villanelles, sonnets, sestinas pantoums, and other formal poetry to betterthanstarbucks2@gmail. We love both traditional and experimental forms and subjects, and please do submit your limericks and lighthearted verse as well! Vera Ignatowitsch
"some of the best poetry on the web" Vera Ignatowitsch
D n
Dan upside-downed the letter-puzzle but
the “A”s were missing, so he just made “D N,”
and now his name is broken. “Welcome, D N!”
Josh couldn't even say it; he'd be “DIN”
or worse, one of those sounds you swallow when
you focus on the more important part;
“we found The Joshua, but where is D N?
There was a gap, and he fell through it –” No,
he couldn't let that happen, not to him,
the erstwhile DAN. But “A” was missing, so
D-N steeled himself and stuck a vowel in.
I am The Don now.” It was Dan's voice though;
Don isn't sure what voice belongs to him --
​
Kathryn Jacobs is a poet, professor, and editor of The Road Not Taken. Her fifth book, "Wedged Elephant", was published last year by Kelsay Press.
Coming and Going
As it happens somebody gets run over,
somebody falls off a roof, somebody drowns.
Somebody finds—without looking— a lover,
a soul-mate, an old friend in a new world
of wonder, just out there walking around.
Somebody sits there, perfectly still.
“Who’ll comfort me?” the grown-up asks the child.
“Who’ll hold me when I wake at night afraid
to close my eyes, afraid of the red beast
under the bed?” “Come on,” says the child, “the least
you can do is stop whining. Children aren’t made
to make grown-ups grow up. 911—you dial.”
As it happens somebody drops to his knees,
somebody flings her arms to the air, distraught.
Somebody holds somebody close as the leaves
glint gold in the woods and the fire road fills
with light. And the mind lets go of its thought.
Somebody sits there, perfectly still.
​
John Perrault’s most recent book is Jefferson’s Dream. His poems have appeared in Christian Science Monitor, Commonweal, Blue Unicorn, and elsewhere. He was Poet Laureate of Portsmouth, NH, 2003-2005. www.johnperrault.com
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Antonia Clark has published in numerous print and online journals, and she manages an online poetry forum, The Waters. Her poetry collections include Smoke and Mirrors and Chameleon Moon. Toni lives in Vermont and loves French picnics.
Upwardly Friendly
They’re everything I want to be,
ahead of all the trends.
I like them, but they don’t like me,
my aspirational friends.
I view their skills and triumphs through
a magnifying lens;
they see my failings that way, too,
my aspirational friends.
The paths to their approval are
a warren of dead ends.
They’re further than the nearest star,
my aspirational friends.
Noblesse rarely obliges; when
it does, it condescends.
They’re patronizing me again,
my aspirational friends.
Your friendly overtures I shun.
My own self-worth depends
on chasing only those who run:
my aspirational friends.
​
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Susan McLean teaches English at Southwest Minnesota State University. Her poetry books include The Best Disguise, The Whetstone Misses the Knife, Selected Epigrams (of Martial), and one chapbook, Holding Patterns.
Limericks & Lighthearted Verse
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Dressage
When feet are wet and drippy
it’s good to get them dry
before you finish dressing
or your plans may go awry
For when one fiercely forces
with grip and grasp and groan
a sock may pull to pieces
and its twin will walk alone
A similar conundrum
for fellows prone to tees
is getting them on backwards
and then thinking no one sees
A final consternation
for yoga pants you’ve bought
concerns the revelation
of lots more than you thought
​
Phil Huffy
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Admonition
Should lover look or act contrary
To usual and customary
Much longer than a shift in humor,
The reason seldom is a tumor.
More likely he or she has taken
Another lover, you forsaken,
So pay attention to such changes
And be the first who rearranges.
​
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Jane Blanchard lives and writes in Georgia. Her poetry has been published around the world as well as posted online. Her two collections—Unloosed and Tides & Currents—are available from Kelsay Books.
Archive of Formal & Rhyming Poetry pages by issue:
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