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Contributors to the Spring 2021 Edition

Anna Arredondo
Leticia Austria
Bruce Bailey
Catharine Brosman
John Brugaletta
Matthew Cory
Dave Crocco
Gary Davis
Gale Eaton
E. P. Fisher
Irwin Flescher
Daniel Haar
Rick Hall
Jack Hart
Robin Helweg-Larsen
Anthony Herles
Betsy M. Hughes
Jenni Wyn Hyatt
Vera Ignatowitsch
River Jackson
David Kiphen
Dorrith Leipziger
Jack Massa
Constance Rowell Mastores
David Melville
Michael Miller
Carol Louise Moon
Bob Moore
Louise Rittenhouse
David Rosier
Frank Salvidio
Timothy Sandefur
Carol Lavelle Snow
John Steele
Harvey Steinberg
B. R. Strahan
Harry Haines Stratford
Terrell Tebbetts
Kenneth Tennemura
James A Tweedie
Paul Willis
Joyce Wilson
Alessio Zanelli

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SAMPLE POEMS FROM SPRING 2021 ISSUE

RETURNING, by Kenneth Tennemura

I always tell myself one day
I’ll know the words for things

beyond the banality of bird or tree
to the details of cedar waxwings.

One day I’ll make time,
the whole world will come ack

as blue jays and goldeneye,
as wild plum and lilac.

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A WALK THROUGH GRIEF, by Leticia Austria

I seek a kind of peace beneath these trees,
Elusive peace I know I cannot find
While I sojourn in rooms that were not mine
And are not now.  What foreign songs are these
From birds unknown to me till now?  The birds
That blessed my hours in days not long ago
Sing only in my memory, below
The dust of grief and distant echoed words.

There are no mockingbirds, my troubadours
In far-off warmer climes; but many are
The robins that now cheer my solemn way.
Someday, perhaps, they’ll be as dear, or more,
To me, not in this moment, nor this hour—
No, not until the dust has flown away.

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THE PUPPET SHOW after Rupert Brooke, by Dave Crocco

In the dark, when people have gone away,
puppets think deeply, in their wooden way,
about what lies beyond the foot-lit floor,
when they are carried through the Exit Door.
The puppets say there’s a Great Puppet Hall
where there are no strings, no restraints at all!
They dance and sing without tugs from above,
since the Grand Puppeteer guides them with Love.
No one puts words in their wooden mouths;
no one compels them to amble or shout.
The Great Puppet Hall is blissfully sweet;
thus puppets describe the Heaven they’ll meet.
Though invented by heads that are hollow,

        it’s a creed as good as any to follow.

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LEAVE ME ALONE, by Anna J. Arredondo

I’m off again, so far from home,
     I’ve heard adventure calling.
Through countless perils, new and strange
     I roam uncharted lands;
O’er mountain peaks, ‘cross turbid streams,
     Through meadows, vast and sprawling;
Surviving by my nimble wit
     And even nimbler hands…

When my unbroken concentration
     Suddenly is broken,
And distantly a murmur grows,
     Of tiny voices pleading;
The spell’s dispelled by cries of “Mommm!”—
     More shouted out than spoken –
Oh why is it they cannot see
     That I’m not here?
            I’m READING!

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THE AFTERVOICE Wintering by Eggemoggin Reach, by Gale Eaton

Poor Echo borrows words to speak
(Over the water, against the stone)
And if she manages to tweak
Sound to her use, the time and tone

Betray her sense.  She misses voice.
Out from under the Deer Isle Bridge
She captures the children’s loud ahoys
And lobs a rhyme across the ridge

To cold Narcissus, who won’t hear:
“Oh boy, my boy.”  Her faltering chime
Can’t penetrate his frozen sphere
Of self-absorption. He’s stopped time.

But up on Caterpillar Hill
The seasons stammer against earth’s bone
And Echo ages, quiet, chill
(Over the water, against the stone).

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ECHO, by Dorrith Leipziger

Sometimes it seems not true           >rue

That you have gone                          >on

Sometimes I see you bright             >right

And then I am less lonely                 >only

But when I’m wide awake                >ache

I am again adrift                               >rift

Come back and touch my hand      >and

Tell me that you still see                  >me

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OUT MY WINDOW, by Harry Haines Stratford

Across the garden every morn,
Stretch shady fingers of the trees;
By noon they’ve pulled themselves away,
And cuddle close upon their knees.
The afternoon they wander out
Into the pasture, up the hill;
And then the sun puts them to rest.
Until the morning they are still.

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