View September Issue vol. 9, no. 7
ISSN 2369-6516 (Print)
ISSN 2369-6524 (Online)
You can also read the poems by scrolling down or clicking the titles.
Click the author’s name to view a short biography (if supplied) and all poems by that author.
Ella Dodson – Mother’s Lost Heart
Harry Garrison – Band-Aid On Street!
Jim Hoyle – An old man’s tragedy
Scot Jamieson – Out at Cow Bay
Michael LeClair Sr. – I Still Remember – Pt. 1
Brian Lomax – i’m a lonesome man
David Mac Eachern – Nature Speaks
t.j MacFarlane – When she told me about my smile
Harry Wayne Mah – Life = ‘inside’ Joke
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Silver bubbles erupt out of darkness;
my fingertips tingle in the chill.
A blurry silence, muffled black
in silky tranquility.
A cradle of gentle rhythm;
enveloping blue softness.
Life is finally quiet.
On the surface,
transcending serenity –
rain rages, winds roar;
garish colours, piercing lights;
Voices screaming
for a whisper.
Chaos.
My world is a haze,
dancing ripples
across a silver sapphire,
distorting an alien world.
Bubbles meander to the surface
trickling towards the light
to break the silence.
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When she told me about my smile
Poem by t.j MacFarlane
She told me
“You have a beautiful smile”
With that rosy-shy hue
In her cheeks.
I told her:
“most people smile because they are nervous.
I’m smiling genuinely, with you.”
I was happy.
She blushed more, smiling,
and looked away from my eyes.
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avant le café
Poem by Scott Lynch
lost in his privileged world
a cock pheasant
resplendent
a rainbow in the morning dawn
Joseph in his coat of many colours
in the middle of the road
thinking perhaps he was wearing
a cloak of invisibility invincibility
possibly musing the story of Jacob
and his 12 sons
forcing me to brake my car
waking shocked at his own temerity
giving me the eye
suddenly bolting to the undergrowth
stage right
leaving me my coffee
and more than a little awe
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Addicted to weed, addicted to speed.
Addicted to crack, addicted to smack.
Addicted to the drink, addicted to the sink.
Addicted to blow, addicted to the low.
Addicted to the rush, addicted to the crunch.
Addicted to sex, addicted to my ex.
Addicted to the trust, addicted to lust.
Addicted to the bang, addicted to the slang.
Addicted to the deal, addicted to trying to heal.
Addicted to the money, addicted to being funny.
Addicted to the faith, addicted to the sin.
Addicted to the heroin, addicted
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Band-Aid On Street!
Rectangle Poem by Harry Garrison
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Alexandro
Poem by Valerie Broadnax
The Buzzing of Bees
To the End of the Seas
I reach out for your Touch
As your Songs call to me –
You have All of my Heart in your clutch
I will go on – Whether you’re here or there
My love longs for you –
Longing for the moments Where…
We will Unite!
Making up time –
Bodies entwining, into an everlasting night
Always Loving you…
I feel your Heartbeat Too…
Near or at the Ends of the World…
Will Always Be… Hearts connected –
For Our Love Birthed… As a precious Pearl
I will be with you always as you with I
No matter where you are in this world, sea or sky
We will always be one – And when you are afar…
I will be waiting for you, Always –
To come back to me, my Twilight Star
No time or distance – will Ever make a difference
For we are two halves of a Pumpkin
In Love… we are Drunken…
For Yes, Alexandro, Never fear –
Because Always take comfort…
For my Love,
I… will Always Be Near!
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Out at Cow Bay
Poem by Scot Jamieson
Knotted wrack and rockweed,
Seabeach sandwort,
Scotch lovage,
Dulse and kelp,
Barnacles, periwinkles,
mussels and oysters . . .
Sanderlings, willets,
Dowitchers, whimbrels,
Plovers and sandpipers,
Both semipalmated,
And an unsemipalmated
Immense cement moose.
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I Still Remember – Pt. 1
Poem by Michael LeClair Sr.
Let me drive I bleated
He shook his knowing head.
The edge of the seat I teetered
He gently steered the bend.
I’ll be careful Dad, I ventured
I know just what to do
He chuckled softly, mentioned
Someday you’ll see the view.
I slumped toward the old Ford’s seat
Let out a childhood breath
Dad looked at me, at my feet
He had a plan, a test.
If you can reach this hard, black pedal
I’ll let you push the gas
A massive chore for one so little
I’ll steer so we won’t crash.
With trembling feet and shaky hand
I slid quietly into position
I edged my foot, just like a man
I swear that day, transitioned.
In my head, no longer a boy
I was my Father’s son
My first foray beyond a toy
A brand new kind of fun.
Decades passed beyond that time
My Father took that chance
I still recall how sublime
I earned my big boy pants.
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The wind staggers like a drunk,
Shaking the clouds and lopping the sun,
A crow like a lost kite blows across the sky
It’s very hard to go, walking,
Like a boat buffeted by the sea –
Your heart jumping.
You hear a sound like the universe coming
But you keep quiet,
Having faith, it’s not the end of the world.
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i’m a lonesome man
Poem by Brian Lomax
i’m a lonesome man
i’m a lonesome man
had so many women
i couldn’t hold them
with both arms and hands
there’s no shame
no one to blame
i wake up i feel the same
if you got the time
lady you’re here to play
i like the smell of your clothes
and those earrings you got on
so you like my guitar
so strum it, hum it
you’re singing my song
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Mother’s Lost Heart
Sonnet by Ella Dodson
Cold fog slinks into my kitchen at five,
I clutch hot celadon mug with crepe hands,
Though java jolts me, still dull, not alive.
Dark ancient fears haunt me out of dreamlands.
Ghost of hard-hearted lost daughter taunts me.
Sleep starved, coddled in crocheted cashmere shawl,
Damp mist clings, wispy curls frizz, spring free
Goddess emerges, crowned by silvery caul.
Girls become mothers with kisses of love,
Their wisdom hard gained with feathers of dove
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Survivor Me
Poem by Laureli Morphy
I like to think about alternate universes
I like to imagine
what I’m like on those earths,
in those universes
Happy, smiling, living a normal life
Going to a good school
and fulfilling whatever dreams I have
Not so much like me
Sad, anxious, shy, but happily depressed
Alternative music lover me
Book lover me
Poetry lover me
Writer me
Saddened me
But
Most of all,
Survivor me
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Yard Sales
Poem by Rod Stewart
Soon is not soon enough,
To guzzle icy lemonade
Under sweltering sun,
While housewives and husbands
Laugh, gawk and haggle
Over yard sales
Of tools, trinkets and toys
Strewn across lawns and driveways.
As if our homes
Were children’s boxes
Emptied upside down
Of whatnots and keepsakes,
Offered for a pittance,
A smile or a handshake,
Only to reappear
Around the corner,
Next summer,
To be adopted anew
As a pleasure for a few seasons,
By another kind family
In our neighborhood,
Of chalk drawings,
Barking dogs, street hockey,
And backyard gardens.
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Why do I have to do this?
Why not my brother?
Why not my mom?
Why not my dad?
Why not my dog?
I’ll tell you why,
Because I’m a girl.
Not just any girl.
I’m an empowering female.
I will do it.
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Life = ‘inside’ Joke
Poem by Harry Wayne Mah
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Nature Speaks
Poem by David Mac Eachern
From trees the swallows sing a song
a lead for others to join along
Flowing tunes begin to fill the air
such calling of friends, unity to share
Upon a neighboring hedge lands another breed
may show diversity at first, but received
No borders to patrol, freedom to all
this daily routine convening as nature’s law
As each took flight leaving the perch
a given aura of life’s meaningful worth
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The humble dandelion, so lovely,
yet cursed, reviled as noxious weed,
guillotined en masse by lawn mowers.
Why do we destroy such beauty?
A harbinger of spring, popping up everywhere,
Its golden flower turning vacant lots into
fields of glory.
So many reasons to love the dandelion
. . . . . . . . . . . – dandelion wine
. . . . . . . . . . . – dandelion greens
. . . . . . . . . . . – yellow dye from flowers
Or use the entire plant to get magenta dye.
There are more. Every part of the dandelion
from flower to roots, can be used.
But the world doesn’t like mavericks.
Mavericks – dandelions or people –
disrupt the order of things,
make us think about things we’d rather ignore,
challenge us to question our values.
So mavericks have to go.
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An old man’s tragedy
Inspired by a real event
Poem by Jim Hoyle
I spilt some juice on the table top.
SHE LIked the pattern it made, and said:
“If you were younger, I’d say something
. . . . . . . .to you about that.”
“If I were younger and taller,
I’d definitely say something to you,”
. . . . . . . .I replied, with some unspoken
. . . . . . . .wishful meaning.
“Yes, it’s a pity, isn’t it ?” she offered,
. . . . . . . .with a wistful look.
But we went our different ways.
July and December are so far apart.
Open Heart Forgery 
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