Illusion  . . .

On the eve of that day
When she kissed me with tweet
I was in love with wine
But still I recall that greet

Her warm breath in my ear
Mingled with moisten echo
My eyes smiled with tear
A silent, loud expression

Her shadow was in my eyes
Or in that glass of wine
Which was like blood, but thin
I gulped to make her mine
She was there or everywhere?
In clouds, in air like celebration 
I felt her strongly, without fear
Of death, time and illusion.
© Pappy

(Pratik Pandya)



I’d sleep if I could

but behind the raucous clouds

banging their thunderous pots and gongs

a torrent of burbling stars

floods the sky

blaring the ode to joy


I’d sleep if I could

but some aphorist keeps saying

‘necessity is the mother of invention’

and I think


things just are

they don’t need to be

and necessity

that hunger in the belly

is just as much enslaver as creator

But what would Dionysius say?

That he needed to invent wine

so that he could get good and drunk?


I’d sleep if I could

but Bacchus is snoring too loudly

after the bacchanal

the one I’d not been invited to

since I’m not on facebook

and don’t follow twitter 


I’d sleep if I could

but I think maybe I am asleep

and just don’t know it yet

or maybe I’ll not find out

except in a dream

the one where Bach and Bacchus

are dancing rumba together

singing Beethoven’s ode to joy

both a little drunk

out of necessity of course

Denny Stern

Get Your 2nd Annual ModPo Anthology Print Edition

These poems by this year's Modpo students collected in "chapbook" form. Price $6.95 first volume,  savings  on shipping when mutiple copies ordered at once copies. 

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(outside USA may add to shipping costs)

Profits to go to Kelly Writers House

Amerindian Tryst


Oh: could I be the saviour of culture

Through our love?


First I make my thrust

 And then am clasped

By the redwood case of your toned form

Above the apex of my oil-balmed tan

Yours burgeoning out

Mine seeping happily in


And so arouse me to our pushing each other

To our clinched erectness


Through our embrace we stifle the Great Dying

Through deep-breathed lips I am turned fluid –

The serum of total health

Spread in its sheerest droplets

To be the total cure


Our clasping traps and redirects

The energy surge of war and rapine


We are the life force

The Tsunami reversed and purified

Nurturing anew the soil

The forests, the herds


Our cities rise again

From the crumbling

Of the white man’s concrete

David Russell

Down The Shore


Wish I were here all year.

Cool breezes:

furl and unfurl

the flags on the boardwalk,

whip my hair

around my head,

sweep my sorrows

far, far out to sea.



screech, soar, swoop,

challenging each other.


White-capped waves:

move relentlessly to shore,

approach, crash, retreat,

approach, crash, retreat,

over and over and over,

setting a hypnotic rhythm.


People are kinder here.

They know the secret:

celebrate the here today,

no yesterdays,

no tomorrows,

no promises.

Just the magic

of a shore moment.

At one:

with the sea,

and the sand,

and the sky.    


Rosalyn Levine Blatt

Finding Route 95


Visit over,

I wend my way

through a maze

of one-way streets

back to the main drag,


nowhere I've been before.

I'm on an avenue, four lanes,

headed south at 6 PM,

the setting sun

slants through my window.


I  follow a bus

west, toward home.

Ahead, sun blazes gold

through gray clouds

as I pray,


"God, get me somewhere

I recognize."

Margaret Fieland