View Issue vol. 10, no. 1
ISSN 2369-6516 (Print)
ISSN 2369-6524 (Online)
Click the author’s name to view a short biography (if supplied) and all poems by that author.
E.M. Campbell – One of the Endings
McKenzie Cline – A Monument Sketched on a Disposable Napkin
Tim Covell – The Pause That Refreshes
Scot Jamieson – Sunday Morning
Brian Lomax – Mary Jesse Thompson
David Mac Eachern – So Why Not
Harry Wayne Mah – Go Signs are Green
Chinenye ‘Zabrain’ Ndulue – This Capricious HEART
Scott Parkhill – Jack Frost’s Snare
Maria Thibault – Trick or Treating
Twenty-nineteen is
a wild pony in an
urban wilderness.
Dove pillows the sky
Look at the river under its body,
Run blue silk ribbon
City Wildlife
Poem by Jim Hoyle
I saw
a fidgety little animal, like a squirrel
……….with a long wavy bushy tail.
Or was it a chipmunk,
with its flashy, fashionable stripes?
It was pretty, sharp, aware,
……….nervous and twitching.
It peered around everywhere,
……….taking careful notice.
There was a noise (a voice ?)
like the Knell of Doom
………………..and it disappeared.
Jack Frost’s Snare
Haiku by Scott Parkhill
It is winter now.
Snow falls slowly to the ground.
Obscuring beneath
So Why Not
Poem by David Mac Eachern
There is a world, it’s succumbing
Whence to be, how life arises
Passion led fashion, deep love becoming
City, town and farm it comprises
Planting one’s emotion, growing into value
Existence so together, feeling every sunrise
Beyond frightful excursion, peace finding you
Fear losing hold, journey proven wise
Beauty over beast, managing to impress
Soundly conformed, so alive, ocean’s glory
A harbouring equation, morality we express
Comfort zone arrival, teamwork written story
Tolerance
Poem by Mike McFetridge
Tolerance is a key to the puzzle of peace;
To each child that is born, we should of tolerance teach;
And teach how love, respect and the wonder of life,
May one day lead to the end of world strife.
But where should one start? it is so hard to do;
It starts with all people, that is me and that’s you
Changing our attitudes towards others, and then
A slow change will happen…and happen…and happen…
Again…and again…and again.
Love Letter
Poem by Lorie Morris
Love letter, is to you~!
Love letter, is something, I
wanted you to have!
Love letter, is something, that
I never could give you!
Love letter, is coming from
the heart. This is your love
letter!
Sometimes
Poem by Brian Harding
Sometimes I wonder who am I?
Am I lost
Should I find myself
But then who would I look for.
Where would I start.
Then if I did find myself
How would I really know it was me?
Sometimes I just wonder….
This Capricious HEART
Poem by Chinenye ‘Zabrain’ Ndulue
Have you ever felt but can’t EXPRESS?
Have you hoped but had to SUPPRESS?
Have you ever craved but can’t CLAIM?
Have you ever wanted but can’t GAIN?
You try not to be selfish in THOUGHT
But your heart tell you it’s NOT.
Logically, it is not RIGHT.
Emotionally, it is ‘Yeah RIGHT’.
This heart. This HEART…
This capricious little HEART.
The feeling you give is bitter SWEET.
I could rip you off but I’d never LIVE.
Hiemal Afflatus
Poem by Scott Lynch
winter our perdition
buried
ice slicing humor and resolve
day upon dark day
white our fright
below zero
wind stings
multiplying degree
extinguishing hope
bundled we stumble
mumbling expletives
fearsome and foul
here where
polar air masses
Mary Jesse Thompson
Poem by Brian Lomax
your sides
those sides
of you
do you realize
my sides too
because all sides
and only
(the left eye)
holds the
surprise
Jesse
it’s that
left eye
that
showed me
that side
of you
A Monument Sketched on a Disposable Napkin
Poem by McKenzie Cline
He does not know that I am disinterested
he is only interested in
filling, making nauseous work like
a dog finishing every scrap
in the bowl long past
the pains of hunger.
He does not know that chasing words
coy smiles and hands gently pulling wrists
is not a filling meal
that I am a person,
not a prize to be won
but he is a subway car
and sometimes the hands trailing down
my stomach are only tender because
they know what to do when they reach the bottom.
He wipes his soiled mouth on a napkin and makes
sweet artistry of me with his eyes
because he knows that I am the model
the rough draft
the fine collector’s item.
So I wipe my mouth with the tablecloth
and make a bridge with my knuckles
a skyscraper with my thighs
flesh homes and a pumping gurgling heart
teeth like beautiful bricks
because I am the fucking architect.
Sunday Morning
Poem by Scot Jamieson
Norma’s up and making kitchen sounds.
A flute or piccolo is playing on the radio–
A tune I hear with pleasure comes around,
Not knowing (and I never will know)
Composer or performers, opus number
Or what station it is on, or even wonder.
Shoulders feel cool, as my arms threw
Off the covers, this journal to hold…
Whose shoulders they are I wish I knew–
Who is this person who lies in bed, so bold
As to be non-accomplishment-untroubled,
Making free with Time, a floaty bubble
Of peace in an ocean of crude necessity?
Well, he at least wrote a poem, didn’t he?
The Pause That Refreshes
Poem by Tim Covell
Tired, bored
Got to stay awake
At desk, I nod
Got to grab a cola
Or perhaps I’ll have a nap
no calories, no sweeteners
Mind and limbs lie leisurely
the healthy sweeter rest is mine.
Eyelashes, tongues and mittens
Catching starfish snowflakes,
Spinning, sailing past our Rudolph noses,
Wiped, sniffling and tingling
From the kiss of winter’s breath.
Fingers dripping with icicles,
The snowman’s, not mine
Thank goodness!
Mom gave me another pair
(Of mittens, not fingers, silly you!)
To warm his hands.
But first,
I wiped away
His frozen tears,
Kissed his carrot nose,
And gave him a big warm hug,
But not too warm,
Because he might melt
Mushy all over me,
Like Mom does,
Sometimes.
Trick or Treating
Poem by Maria Thibault
Soft yellow light glows through parchment paper panes
and beckons to the watcher come,
stay awhile.
But Darkness is with me, its layers of black satin all around,
I am Alone.
Suddenly sound seeps into the silence
and I slip out from under the black veil of night.
Silently, imperceptibly I go.
Then I turn the knob on my yellow door
and walk out of the night.
I find my place behind our yellow parchment paper panes,
embraced by the warmth
and know that I am home.
[ . G + O . ] signs are g r e e n
Poem by Harry Wayne Mah
present = = > future all.is..fueleD big.semi by diesel peDal wee.bike by hurry.peDal no rewind r e D button . . . . . . just r e D { s + t + o + p } sign. . . ‘c u z D + e + s + t + i + n + y by grim.motor . . .” width=”405″ height=”398″ />
One of the Endings
Poem by E.M. Campbell
getting changed in your room
I almost took
the foundation, the deodorant,
and the hair stuff
but you had given me the foundation
and the deodorant
to use there
and so I put them all back
but then walking home
I thought, I should have taken
just the hair stuff
my mother gave me that hair stuff
she gave me two
I kept one at my place and one at yours
I can keep regretting
that I didn’t take the hair stuff
like from the last one
those records I forgot
and then it was never worth it
and so I can point always
to that regret in the sky
that hair stuff shape of regret
and vacation there
just thinking about
the hair stuff lost
