Ruined… by Jeffrey Williams

 

RUINED

its a game of winner takes all
only the clear winner is greed
the desire to want for little sacrifice
the need to have without earning
no its not the only way
it is the easiest way
its how the world forms each day
lifting one to the top
while crushing those below
not too concerned with the damage
collateral or otherwise
its hope without the eternal
its summer without the fall
the ruins have been ruined
with nothing to show at all

 

Jeffrey has been writing since 1996. He was stuck indoors one hot summer day with the heat index so high the mayor of his city requested everyone remain inside. He was bored, watched the Golden Girls and so it began.

Copyright © 2013 by Jeffrey Williams

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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William Wright Harris… At The Asylum

 

At The Asylum

shadows   in green
red        &        blue
arched            door
ways  emptying  in
to               nothing
foot               steps
tracing  a         hall
way       stretching
thru        madness
an  end      painted
in             vincent’s
favorite        yellow

 

I wake up for poetry. My poetry has appeared in twelve countries in such publications as The Cannon’s Mouth, Poetry Salzburg Review, Ascent Aspirations, generations and Write On!!! A graduate from the University of Tennessee- Knoxville, I have studied poetry in workshop settings. As a hobby, I collect places I have been published.

Copyright © 2013 by William Wright Harris

 
 
 
 
 
 

Encounter at Narcissus’ Pool… by Susan P. McNally

 

Encounter at Narcissus’ Pool

Have you ever met someone, and thought,
I’ve been waiting for you all my life?
“We fall in love with strangers,” says Marge Piercy.
Actually it’s a single, peculiarly significant stranger.
Eyes lock across a tightrope of longing,
Seeing you, seeing you seeing me, without eyes.
Falling into a pool, or a lagoon of sorts,
dark as night, reflecting moonlight as in a mirror.
Reaching into the pool the image shifts, shatters,
it cannot withstand touch,
reemerges, a phantom of light,
with the sharp intake of breath, of calm.
A meeting of strangers, known forever
at the crossroads of eternity.
There is a task, a mission…
Sometime after the encounter at the pool,
the ground shifted to a land long dreaded.
There’s a mission, an assignment
in the land of Has to Be.
You’ve always known,
all that was hidden
must be revealed.

 

Susan P. McNally is a psychotherapist in private practice in Yuba City, CA. She is a painter and sculptor, the author Of Sandplay: A Sourcebook for Play Therapists, and a poet. Along with Lily Noonan, she is a co-editor of Winged Poiesis News in conjunction with the Yuba-Sutter Regional Arts Council in Marysville, CA.

Copyright © 2012 by Susan P. McNally

 
 

 
 

 
 

New Tradition… by Kim Logue

 

New Tradition (see collage image below)

how (not) to get a MAN.
rediscovering birth
so sincerely its nearly
childlike
an
i n d e p e n d e n c e
MIX
shake the world today
GRAVITY
IS FOR
SISSIES
petal of honour
leo captivates
sex that’s healing

 

About KIM LOGUE

an Award winning poet and journalist, turned songwriter. A horse-trainer-trainer, that digs papermaking, collaging, dancing, singing, percussion toys, and

The WORDS

Copyright © 2012 by Kim Logue

 
 
 

 
 
 

Note To Self…by Thomas Zimmerman

 

Note To Self

It’s Mahler’s Sixth, with Szell conducting, on
the stereo:
                  the tragic in our art
and lives is what I’m thinking now, the part
we play within the cycle.
                                        Wife is gone,
and dogs are fed, asleep. I’m with my self
or selves, my many deaths and births.
                                                                The gold-
brown leaves shot through with sun, the crumbling shelf
of cloud beyond the neighbors’ house that’s old
but freshly painted and reroofed, the new
blue vein I see on my left shin. . .
                                                     and now,
from woodwinds, strings, the brass erupts.
                                                                    How do
we handle flux? Catholicism, Tao,
or Hamlet’s calm “Let be?”
                                            My wife comes back
tomorrow. Percy yelps; he wants a snack.

 

Thomas Zimmerman teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits two literary magazines at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, MI. Poems of his have appeared recently in Antiphon, Electric Windmill Press, and The Petrichor Review. You can link here to Tom’s website: www.thomaszimmermanonline.com

Copyright © 2012 by Thomas Zimmerman