View Issue vol. 9, no. 1
ISSN 2369-6516 (Print)
ISSN 2369-6524 (Online)
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from east to west
the sun shines
from north to south
the river flows
the medicine man
& watches his people
& guides his chief
where the eagle
with an eagle’s eye
is the Great Spirit
carrying his people
towards the beginning
from the end
back to the medicine man’s
land and wonder
for age is
& the river is a child
The Great spirit
where the medicine man
for all the hunters & all the mothers
who weave goodness
& take only what the river has to give
My lover’s lips caressed me and fanned
the embers in my furnace.
As the flames grew, they touched my
A raging fire erupted and consumed me.
Oh! I love you my darling.
I opened my eyes.
It is morning.
Would a stick of gum
Make this moment better
Looking down at my black suede boots
Stray crunchy leaves twirling with no hesitation
Carried by a wind with no brain
Wiser than me
Glancing at my phone
Which plagiarized his poems
Displays them as its own
Am I in love, or just feeling at home.
Each Thursday we’d meet at Murphy’s
On the water- As if we needed to? Had to?
Anyways it felt right, becoming the only
Certainty in my life. That would end too.
But it was Certainty for now. We knew Brian
Would order a Shandy like he always did.
He’d indicate to the bartender the lemonade
Head on his beer, the precise distance travelled
Between thumb and forefinger. I would order
A Speight’s Gold; I wasn’t used to pints
And inevitably drunk after two.
And Ant bragged about the dates he went on
His belief that his chrome-domed bald head
Was attractive to women. Always like that.
Each Thursday. Those same delicious motions.
Whaddaya get when you cross an Irishman
And a Scotchman? Ha! Ha! Until one day
Ant told us he’d been to the doctor
Like the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
On Lake Superior, Pancreatic cancer laddies
As the smile ran off his face, the Cook came
Out to say Fellas its too rough to feed ya’se
Then as the ship’s bell rang out three times,
Fellas been real nice to know ya’se, said Ant.
Water comin in! Aft ballast pump failing!
Funny thing Dmitri, said Brian in an email
From the Antipodes, Anthony’s last name
Was Brewer. Water like beer.
Here goes, a new year.
Here goes, a new start.
Here goes, a new beginning,
to a new year!
I’ll quit smoking
I’ll start my diet
I’ll save money
I’ll pay my bills
Clean my house
Do my laundry
I’ll stop drinking
Find a job
I’ll stand up
these thoughts simmer quietly
murky and controlled
but after the sun sinks you
let them surface
reminders that punch breath from your gut
and a heart that feels like it’s trembling
nothing to soothe it
but 2am conversations with strangers
who wear cigarette smoke like perfume
and sweet voices that melt
blur like ice cream
we’re staring out
to be reflective
we are of
are cold forged
it is clear
the snow fall
Snow pouffes dot my yard,
While white whimsies tumble, dance
Cold silence, thoughts slow.
Deep within the subconscious,
the ideal is attainable.
There I stayed.
There I witnessed a love that was one.
my own sweet,
in its most natural state.
Which was returned in full, warranty included.
Blood flowed through two of the same person.
There were no external forces,
no dark creatures that raided through the night,
with intent to torture then kill.
In fact there was no darkness at all,
no such thing as night.
Just love and I dancing in eternal light.
Once the sweat pouring out of our pores
we walked over to a lake,
where we washed away our pasts and began anew.
The birth of Tabula Rasa.
Perfection is such a thing.
Only a moment ago
I fed and dressed my children
Now they are helping me
Only a second ago
I pushed them on their bikes to go forward in life
Now they push me, so that I have a life
Only a blink ago
I took their hands and led them across the street
Now they take my hand so that I may not fall
Only a sigh ago
They came into my life and brought me joy
I am blessed because they are still doing that
Poem by Jayne Reilly
Winter is a time
It takes no prisoners
Water is frozen
and stands rigid
In its space.
Earth is chilled
and thoughtless to the beings above it
Its destiny to rest
Full of the knowledge
That its time will come again
The perfect amount
Is just right up to
Your eyes, if eight,
Or ankles if eighty.
Your celebratory choice
Of shovel, skis or toboggan
Or a window perch,
When the feathers fall
In a sweet swirling silence,
Gathering deep and pure.
Perhaps you smile,
Because your lips
Are warmed with cocoa
Or a lover’s embrace,
Or, are they tingling wet,
From the lick
Of melted first snow?
To make no resolution,
or want reason to cry
I come and go with passion,
just ever soaring high
This path to keep forever,
every hope for vibrant times
To see and be with better,
each step is ventured climb
How title of a story,
became within its end
Yet in the last line be,
a go at starting again
As film in the making,
from writing on the wall
Any day a room of words,
time and setting be my call
By not living time, it’s loss of one’s own life.
The knight whose golden armored in the stark,
Is no less lovely now while being dark.
And there’ve been buds that just don’t bloom at all.
Yet drench deep down, so pitiful, they fall.
The falling of the leaves seems to be fate.
An empty forest, now so desolate.
The gusts of wind which used to make me dance,
Now only soothe the bones of sorrowed stance.
A flower captive to the passing bee.
Forcing blossom, yet stinging only me.
I see the way he makes the others shine.
The bee which wanders; was it ever mine?
I guess the tides of time will wash away.
And I shall wait to shine another day.
Twenty Eighteen is
a beautiful amethyst,
and ours all year.
A few steps from the door, the falling snow
and I have neither purposes nor ends.
Appreciating snow makes me look slow,
but beauty-followers outface pretence –
white sidewalk, street, trees, the world,
all receding as the walk proceeds.
Another beauty’s memory-flag unfurls –
the autumn sighs of drifting poplar leaves.
Evanescence is innate in beauty:
creamy clouds, rainbow-under-lit,
that dissipate, how old snow gets dirty –
these come to mind, and you consider it.
Yet through this cold temporal loneliness,
you overhear soft beauty’s fragile Yes.