January 2018 Vol. III No. I
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!
SOMETHING WENT TERRIBLY WRONG
A silent requiem
for a funeral procession,
A silver hearse and a single car.
My tears puddled.
What happened in that life?
A sole survivor, a lineage ended?
Obstinate and alienated?
Family not informed?
No bride ever good enough
for Mama's approval?
Or caretaker for Daddy,
until no good men were left?
For our family requiems,
countless cars with police escort.
We gather, share our grief,
celebrate joys, mourn the dead.
We laugh more than we cry,
full of joyful memories.
We count our blessings,
too many to number,
family grown too large to count,
friends and kin
scattered all over the world.
Our dead are well-loved,
memorialized with care.
But what of this lonely person?
What in the world could have gone
so terribly wrong?
My silent requiem
for something terribly wrong.
​
Sherry Howard
CHOOSING NOW
In the summer of our lives
when eternity stretched
before us like a lazy cat
and fall stayed hidden
in the dark corners
of bureau drawers
Housewives were just
something our mothers became ...
Never those of us who played ball,
spent months perfecting our pitch,
felt the sting in the palm
of a well-worn glove
Choosing to remain ignorant
for as long as possible,
subtracting years ahead
from the now of it...
We spurned the future,
chewed the rind of a bitter lemon.
S.E.Ingraham©
11/10/17 November Journey—A Tankavillananka
Had a dream vision,
Visceral, not logical,
Make my decision,
Choose the biological,
Move to deal with collision.
Flickering lights in dead of night we ride through,
We got such a nice ride, go where we will,
The wind blows gently, a beautiful view.
Leaves changing color, we do what we do,
And all that we do, we do with much skill,
Flickering lights in dead of night we ride through.
We fly, we flew, everywhere much ado,
Midnight, street light, flying higher, slight chill,
The wind blows gently, a beautiful view.
North Star in the night, bright light burning blue,
Don't be tight with your money, don't get ill,
Flickering lights in dead of night we ride through.
No enemy mine, we share magic brew,
Live simple life with not even one frill,
The wind blows gently, a beautiful view.
To be home again, to be next to you,
Such a beautiful woman from Brazil,
Flickering lights in dead of night we ride through.
The wind blows gently, a beautiful view.
Grey brick house he goes,
Stops at the door, picks a rose,
Nervous, gonna meet,
This woman, this girl so sweet,
This is not a game, he knows.
​
Cristofer Lentsch
Abundance of things
There are ages of acquisition
and ages that want
disencumbering.
Things proliferate,
wire coat hangers
in a closet, multiply, entangle,
won’t go away in case
you need them some day
when you’d rather they,
like socks in a dryer
disappear one at a time,
without fuss
blessing all
with the freedom
of their quiet
absence
​Holly York writes most of her poems in Atlanta, Georgia, USA.
RUSSIAN DOLLS
Shopping in a store,
I work in a store,
But don’t buy there.
I live in a room,
Ten per floor,
The building a tenement,
Among tenements.
I pray much to the sky,
Myself blue.
​
Joshua M Séguin
