Announcements

The judge for the Summer issue was Betsy Hughes, who taught high school English for 30 years and in retirement has pursued her lifelong fascination with formal poetry.  She has written three books, one of which won the Stevens Poetry Manuscript Competition (NFSPS, 2014), and a recent poem in our pages, “Playing with an Orb,” was cited not once by twice, by judge, Bill Guest and then by judge Bob McAfee.  Her very comprehensive comments follow, which will account for most of the announcements:

Here are my selections.  There were so many fine poems in this winter issue that I had great difficulty in judging, and subjectivity is of course involved, but the process was indeed rewarding, as it heightened my appreciation of these poems.

Winner: “Adam”, by Gary Davis. Adam’s expulsion from Paradise, loss of innocence, disillusionment, aging, and wasting of the gift of time may be familiar themes, but they receive original treatment by this poet. Formal organization of the sonnet expertly supports these themes, beginning with one quatrain about youth, another about middle age, and a sestet about old age, while moving gracefully and inevitably to final realization. Although these stages are presented as separate, the last lines insist upon time as “…one long dance / entwined with different shades of happenstance.” And although “happenstance” denotes chance or accidental occurrences, the positive connotations of “dance” contradict a totally negative assessment of life and persuade the reader to consider a more nuanced ambiguity.

The iambic meter is forcefully interrupted in line 11 in order to place strong emphasis on the vivid verb “strewn,” followed by the effective simile “like beds of seaweed at the ebb.” Imagery is crucial: “and as his days ran through his hands like sand” (line 12) suggests a human hourglass. Other examples of fine technique involve rich sound qualities including assonance (especially in the second quatrain), slant rhyme (especially in the sestet), and the onomatopoeia of “groan.”

I am left with a sense of sadness at “the dreams inside his head were left unsaid.” This line reminds me of the speaker in Emerson’s “Days” who “…forgot my morning wishes.”

Honorable Mention: “Leaves at Night,” by Allen Guy Wilcox. This beautiful villanelle moves naturally, smoothly, and cumulatively from beginning to end. My attention was immediately captured by the initial imperative “Turn down the light to better hear the trees,” for it made this reader pause, decrease the visual and become more attuned to the auditory. I admire many attributes of this poem: several instances of effective, unobtrusive internal rhyme; a possible double entendre in “branch;” well chosen vocabulary (“bandy” for the back and forth tossing of the winds, “plumes” used not as a noun but as a vivid verb, the apt musical term “staved,” and “fast” as the adverb meaning firmly, fixedly.) My favorite tercet is the fourth, its first line intentionally breaking the iambic meter in order to place stress on the fragrance, and its varied sensory detail (olfactory, visual, and auditory) all condensed within just a couple of lines.
My only challenge to the poet: try to rewrite line 17 so as to avoid repetition of the end word “known.”

Close Contenders:

“Through a Glass Darkly,” by John A. McPherson
Its consistent, easy rhyming of lines 2 and 4 and alternating lines of tetrameter and trimeter create a rhythm that pleases the ear. Thematically, it expresses with clarity and conviction the importance of the darkened glass, the blur, the mystery; it offers praise for the ability to recognize “the shades of in-between” ambiguity.

“Against the Grain,” by E. P. Fisher
Its decreasing-to-increasing line length and clever rhyme scheme subtly and skillfully reinforce the pattern of concentric circles, the “swirling words like knots.”

Now, dear readers, the time has come, as the walrus said to speak of many things….” And one note we have to note is that, after 10 years or so, we need to raise prices a bit, which will happen as soon as we can figure out how to change the amounts on Paypal, so don’t hold your breath. However, if you are moved to renew or subscribe, it may be good to also know that once the amount of your subscription is set on Paypal, it remains the same into perpetuity because, you guessed it, we don’t know how to change it!

But, much more interesting, please be sure to read about Jonathan Kinsman’s coordination of the special theme for the Summer 2026 issue, a “Summer Garland for Emily” which you will find on the following page!
And then to the poems, where butterflies and bees fly off the pages to refresh our minds and spirits with faith in the breath of spring and the cyclical return of rebirth.

Two Spring Blooms

The daffodils lie patiently
beneath the snow and wait for me
to scurry by and softly sing
“Awake my dears, for now it’s spring.”

The tulips, an impatient breed,
will never any warnings heed
and through the snow their noses poke
the winter’s presence to revoke.

And which of these are you, my friend?
Can you the winter’s cold rescind
and poke your nose into the air
or do I need to sing you there?

Bob AcAfee

The Yellow House Finch

Sits the yellow House Finch chirping
Near the willow tree and barn,
And her echoes softly falling
On my ear and heart – the song
She sings throughout the morning –
Elegy and symphony,
Sends the plume-filled skyward blessing
Of her feathered filigree —
Flowing high her song of morning,
Flowing high her song of joy;
And it lights as if she’s praying,
Sending forth and letting go.

Annette Gagliardi

When My Daughter The Engineer Asks What’s The Use Of Writing Poems

I can only stutter and mutter
broken rhymes that get tangled
in my beard.

(Poems are nests of whispers and cloth
where Carolina wrens hold
forth in song.

To alert, to flirt, to agitate,
to invite invisible
friends for tea.

Nests built with care to keep their music
contained within a few threads
a few breadths.

To carve prisms from pleonasms,
cell phone towers from stresses, this
is the task.

A miracle of engineering—
from fluff and straw—a dewy
thing of awe.)

When my daughter asks again I balk,
Comb my beard and clear my throat,
Cry caw-caw!

She wants her work to be of use,
The math to be practical;

I want my words to be a noose,
The execution, magical.

Richard Collins

Credo For A Formalist

Some trust in mess.
Some must confess.
I count on stress.

Len Krisak

Passion Flower

Such things are slight, the tired say,
fleeting sweets that fade away
and turn to bitter dust. This lust
and bliss consume their gleam and rust
in time . . .

Oh, time. It scours the mirror
of pretty dreams, leaving fear or
worse instead: the wish unsaid,
the seed that dried and never bred.

Come with me, Passion Flower;
the sun will rise within the hour.
Let us kiss and kiss for now,
and if time’s cronies ask us how
we’ll face the dawn when it arrives,
we’ll tell them that this joy survives
everything that follows it.
Delight is its own infinite.

Timothy Sandefur

Blessing on Thee, Little Man

Autism is a gift wrapped in a mystery
—Keri Bowers

A meadow stirs in small reverences –
a late moth lifts into the pastel sky;
a pollen beetle climbs a dandelion;
butterflies and bees wait motionless
for the sun to warm their wings so they can feed
on nectar pooling in a thousand clovers.
As animated choristers stake claims
of territoriality, the bold
metallic trill of a red-winged blackbird fills
the air with an exultant song of praise.

Brady charts the field’s perimeter
where oak-tree shadows fold into the grass.
He kneels to touch the texture of a stone,
reading the secret in its ancient grain.
He senses keenly every gust of sound –
a power line’s shrill whine, a village bell,
the thrum and rumble of a distant train.
But now he registers the heat-bug’s buzz,
the hopper ticking on a thistle stalk,
the rustle of a wren’s wing in the brush.

And when the morning wind shifts, Brady turns
to hear the sacred music of the spheres.
Although he moves along unfurling hours
on different pathways parallel to mine,
through brilliant patterns hidden from my eyes,
I’m thankful for the mystery of his ways
and for the gentle lesson of his wonder;
how his silence gathers up and holds –
for all of us to see –the beauty in
the blessed light of God’s imperfect world.

Catherine Chandler

Awakening

When morning breezes stir the trees alive,
bold birds react with twittering and song.
Communing with their symphony, I thrive;
responding to such welcome, I belong.
Dawn lingers with its lovely pink, which seeps
into my quickened blood with sanguine cheer.
As sunshine lights the ground, my spirit leaps
with faith and fire, for spring at last is here.
My winter woe is over —long ago! –
and gray has given way to vivid green.
Now bushes burgeoning with blossoms grow
with promise of rebirth fulfilled, foreseen.
I dare reach forth to spring, all new and fair,
for hope is in my yard, is in this air!

Betsy Hughes

Contributors to the Spring 2026 Edition

David Bailey
Hilary Biehl
Jane Blanchard
John Blanchard
Paul Buchheit
Catherine Chandler
Richard Collins
Gary Davis
Doreen Kelly Forbes
Annette Gagliardi
Daniel Galef
David Greenwood
Lucia Kiersch Haase
Mark Hamilton
Jack Hart
David Horowitz
Betsy Hughes
Robert Jordan, Sr.
Jonathan Kinsman
Len Krisak
Patricia Lines
Bob McAfee
Conor McGinley
Patricia Monteleone
Esther Noelle
David Aaron Nydegger
Michael C. Paul
Steven Peterson
Zara Raab
Charles V. Reilly
Timothy Sandefur
Norman Solowey
Amy Jo Schoonover
Alison Stone
John Wagner
Frank Scott Weitz
`Alessio Zanelli
Robert Zisk