View Issue vol. 11, no. 1
ISSN 2369-6516 (Print)
ISSN 2369-6524 (Online)
Select the author’s name to view a short biography (if supplied) and all poems by that author.
Rachel Cooke – Grapefruit Budlight
Scot Jamieson – Now That You Cannot Hear Me
Scott Lynch – violet primrose and ritual washing
Violet Rosengarten – A Winter Poem
Nathaniel S. Rounds – Graphite H(as) B(een)
Luke Stevens – Ode on a Belizean Urn
Jasmin Stoffer – Fear not the Woods or Ocean Near
Winter Rain
Poem by Rod Stewart
Sweatin’ up a pig stink,
In my blimp soaked parka,
Totin’ my gale broke brollie,
Drawin’ a bitter grin, maybe,
Trompin’ in grey,
They say, less to shovel,
Smooth skatin’, when
A chill comes ‘round again.
Summer’s long cried over,
Oh Lord, I’m cussin’
What brilliant mind,
Ordered this slushie,
I’m not wavin’ back,
That honkin’ swervin’ caddy
Splashin’ Jack Frost
Drenched on the Rocks,
Across my chops.
But, yeah, I’m smilin’
Cause my honey’s
Got warm cocoa, maybe,
A candle bath a waitin’,
And some poor soul
Up north coast,
Got three feet of winter
Not a shin* load of rain.
*-edited by the author
Blessings
Poem by Shallon MacKenzie
I am blessed and loved
By my beloved true
In a motion of desire
Leading all the way to you
I will be there for you
There’s a life of love
What I say is true
It comes from above
Count the stars in the sky
A blessing you’ll see
Let it take you high
And then come back to me
A Winter Poem
Poem by Violet Rosengarten
I love winter
From the inside looking out,
At snow catching on the upside
Of branches, stems and withered flowers,
Hedges and evergreens,
Creating contrast,
Delighting the eye
A little light shines,
Guides those passing away from the dark
But yields to the sun
Ode on a Belizean Urn
Poem by Luke Stevens
Although this urn I see before me
is devoid of any depicted people,
Images of a beautiful family
have etched themselves thereupon,
By my mind’s eye, derived from memories.
Two young girls, a baby too
Along with one little boy,
plus a robust young man,
Behind them,
an incredible woman and husband stand,
In front of their newly fashioned home.
The land with which they built upon,
Morphed from swamp to solid ground,
They threw trash into the wetland
until the earthy floor became strong.
And like the land they were dealt,
Trash underground,
Covered over with dirt,
Said family shines anew,
Having overcome the circumstances
that they were forced into.
Graphite H(as) B(een)
Poem by Nathaniel S. Rounds
We are the pencil erasers
Harshly rubbed on grade school Carpet
We delight when they burn Themselves
Censuring thumbprints
Through friction
Fear not the Woods or Ocean Near
Poem by Jasmin Stoffer
Here there is no silence
Except the silence from within
The trees gossip about your secrets
And you can hear the grasses whisperin’
The ocean waves are waltzing
As ocean waves tend to do
The plovers on the seaside aren’t bothered
They just keep passing through
And the rocks and crags groan under you
As you peer out to the sea
From the forest talkin’ nonsense
About you and about me
Perhaps you saw a mermaid
She was out there singing songs
Perhaps it was just a seal
Enjoying the white capped throngs
But the ocean and the forest
They are magic if you make ‘em
They’ll hold your troubles and your joys
Until you’re strong enough to take them
And the faeries in the wood
Fireflies and critters on a mission
They’ll counsel you and give advice
But only if you listen
So fear not the woods or ocean near
They only have one favour
When walking amongst their magic
Ensure you take care, and you savour
May Twenty-Twenty
be seen as positive,
and as sure as hindsight!
violet primrose and ritual washing
Poem by Scott Lynch
quiet at first
the city dusted in new snow
a calm
our fifth floor perch
three wonderful walls of glass
favouring us views of
city harbour sea
twelve white tables
beginning to populate
here at Pavia
coffee percolating conversation
as sound splashes from every cup
rousing our roost
to the glory
of February mid-mornings
in such a place
where chocolate
cures all things
large and small
as we contemplate
beauty
new life
modesty
faithfulness
and virtue
Ya know what
you don’t get to control me anymore
Ya know what
you don’t get to tell me who I am
Ya know what
I deserve better than you
Ya know what
I don’t have to listen to you
Ya know what
I’m better without you
Ya know what
I forgive you
Ya know what
because I release you.
Heard/Unheard
Poem by Barry Wood
A heard indiscretion as soft as a whispered walk
Triggered the lips of the gossip to talk
The rumour mushroomed into, “I know what I see,
but keep that between you and me.”
In the Moment
Poem by Anna Marenick
How many sunsets have you missed
Thinking about whether there is
Food for dinner
And whether the dress you want to wear tomorrow is clean
How many meetings have you missed
In your own head about
Not really belonging here
The dress doesn’t really fit
And worrying that everyone will finally know
You’re really not as smart as them
While you calculate when to leave to beat traffic
How many drives home have you missed
Not noticing the wind in the trees
Kids on bicycles while parents run behind
You’re late for dinner again and we’ve got soccer tonight
Oh God – not this song again
Check your email one more time at the red light
How many dinners have you missed
Wondering whether you spend enough quality time
together
Wolfing down food and giving one word answers
Before we go our separate ways again
How many quiet moments have you missed
While you raced out,
Desperate to catch the sunset.
Now That You Cannot Hear Me
Poem by Scot Jamieson
Do you care for me?
Why at the instant of
my hearing them did not
these words at once awaken
a protest from my drowsing heart?
But I could tell you
that at last they have me up
at least, though now’s the deep of
night, and you are here asleep.
Now that you cannot hear me,
I want to say, to have said,
“Was it not, will it not be, once
and forever, in me to love you?”
– within the sense
that it is always now.
“But for love to sleep –” I think,
as I listen to the silent house,
“ – is love like a body, that it needs
to sleep to live?” No, I want
to cry. Yet even my love of God
does this. Is this how love dies –
quietly in its sleep?
And it must take God, and
only God must wake up
in that deepest of nights.
And He tells me to write,
I love you, my dear one.
When I die
Poem by Charles Bull
When I die
every morning
on my cushion
(it is my practice)
in that quantum state
between existence and nonexistence
on the shore of the eternal now
where every moment of my life
is right here right now
my heart breaks
open to
You.
Repeat
Poem by LeeAnn Wallage Brown
You are my song, called harm and habit.
A lasting lifetime of repeated lyrics.
Skipping and scratching and missing beats.
Played over till the tears ruin the track.
Set on Repeat…
You are my lesson that books cannot teach.
Chapter after chapter of dog warred pages.
Flipping through as my fingers lick the pages.
Read over and over again till the binding is brittle.
Set on Repeat…
You are my memory.
Set on Repeat
getting rid of single use plastic
an overdue idea but quite fantastic
but what about single use days?
is not using monday again
just calendar malaise?
single use guns could be more fun
just touch the gun once and you’re done
freedom gone forever just when you thought
you were in charge and
oh so very clever
single use cattle are still a problem
as carnivores love bbq beef
with a glaze of molasses
but think of the cows out in the pasture
producing so many harmful gases
why not single use clothes?
standing in disposable paper
we might strike quite the pose
though it could get awkward if it rains
and our soggy clothes slide down the drains
and what about single use…..us?
instead of family mourning our final fate
why not just get plugged in
at the science lab and regenerate?
multi-use us without emotional fuss
That long anticipated time arrived.
I came into her room; it seemed alive.
She invited me to sit, so I took a chair.
We’d met before, but now she seemed aware,
alive, with hint of impropriety.
I felt a frisson of anxiety
in case our plans might fail to coalesce.
Then she approached, with flair and
swirling dress.
Her glossy lips parted as she came near.
With glass in hand, she said
with meaning clear:
“You’re tense, relax; at first a little treat.”
I sipped the drink. It was a trifle sweet,
just as was her breath. Then, leaning close –
Surprise !
She touched my cheek.
I looked into her eyes.
Again a shiver to my very core
as hip brushed thigh.
She murmured comfort words
with glowing lips;
such beck’ning words I heard:
“Let’s excorcise that nasty pain, that flaw.”
As soon as said, she grasped my open jaw
and suddenly with hardly any pain
she pulled the tooth and set me free again.
Grapefruit Budlight
Poem by Rachel Cooke
green lights lit up the dark like christmas;
your hands never left me, not once
and it was like listening to my favourite song
on repeat, the one that became ours
my legs swung over you, my hands on the back
of your neck.
all i’ll be able to smell is grapefruit and
happiness for a week
all i’ll be able to remember is your hands,
confident from apple whiskey and coke
finding mine to hold in the dark
and your eyes
large and wondering and drunk,
looking at me like a magic trick
searching for me all night.
Open Heart Forgery 