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Contributors to the Spring 2018 Edition

Theresa Arceneaux
Marie Arnett
Diana Blackburn
John Brugaletta
John Byrne
Edmund Conti
Dave Crocco
Richard Cuyler
Ann B. Day
Frank De Canio
F. J. Doucet
Gulchin Ergun
E. P. Fisher
Anthony Herles
David Horowitz
James Hudson
Page Hudson
Phil Huffy
Mary Elder Jacobsen
M. T. Jamieson
Robin Helweg-Larsen
H. A. Luck
Constance Rowell Mastores
Dodie Messer Meeks
Thomas Donavan Murphy
Harold Pagliaro
John Perrault
Mark Rich
Mauricio Rosales
David Rosier
Amy Jo Schoonover
Carol Snow
Ann Staffeld
Craig Steele
Elizabeth Stoessl
Ann Struthers
Alan Sugar
Antoinette Treadway
Gail White
Lionel Willis

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SAMPLE POEMS FROM SPRING 2018 ISSUE

IF YOUR LOVER’S BEGINNING TO STRAY YOU MIGHT, by Dodie Messer Meeks

Entice him with riddles
And slovenly rhyme
In sequins and sensible shoes.
Show up with a fiddle
And hand him a line
Remembered but you don’t know whose.

Beguile him with belches
And curdles of curds
In gimbles too tight at the waist.
Feed him crosswords and bed words
And best left unsaid words
Smeared thickly with library paste.

Collage him concentric
In leftover parings
Of yesterday’s crackers and cheese
Do yodels eccentric
in lunatic blarings
In songs that wind up with a sneeze.

Doze off when he’s speaking
And wake with a start
But here’s the part hardest to do.
You must rearrange you,
Entirely change you,
Sweetheart, into someone brand new.

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DEVELOPER’S BLINDNESS, by David Rosier

A dawn in June, pastel and purple light –
and I am on the walking lane, white path-
way underfoot, wild oats and blue grass bathed
in dew; great arching poplar limbs unite
like holding hands, sky bound, from night to night;
asparagus along a fence line, lathed,
delicious tips; and redwing’s cry, so scathed;
for here I’ve trespassed, startling him to flight.
All else is quiet, all is crisp and chilled –
the birds, the brush, the very breath of air;
white cattle graze, and rabbits flee the place
the same as when I saw it first, the pace
the same last century—and I aware
the wrangling, waxing world awaits the kill.

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A SONG FOR SIN, by H. A. Luck

Our secret sins from yesterday
find egress from within our hearts
they’ve not the wit to stay away
but char the edges of our days.

We rue, regret and have not yet
learned to forgive and to forget.

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THE LOVE POEM WITH NO LOVER, by Mauricio Rosales

The love poem with no Lover
must a constrictor be

unhinge its jaws of hunger
around fidelity

begin the gag of grasping
what there is nothing of

and swallow all the empty
along its coils of love

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TODAY FINDS ME, by M.T. Jamieson

Today finds me in the crabby line.
Pout, grumble, grouse, sigh, wallow, and whine.

Don’t wanna do it.  Don’t wanna go.
Whatever it is, count me no show.

Didn’t bring my glove, ain’t gonna play.
I hope my face does freeze this way.

Corner of Main and Don’t Really Care,
Walk home uphill all the way there.

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FOR JANE, IN MEMORIAM, by Elizabeth Stoessl

Mistress of primness and propriety,
You railed against abuses of all kinds:
Misuse of grammar and apostrophe,
Those lines dubbed “poetry” but lacking rhyme,
The trashiness of piercings and tattoos,
Though your beloved Anna flaunted both –
Serpents besmirched her shoulder like a bruise
Peeking through chiffon as she pledged her troth.

That same granddaughter, bereft when you passed,
Honored you with a matchless epitaph—
She chose a visual tribute that would last,
Your silhouette inked dark on her tanned calf.

No homage greater than your own tattoo
And Jane, this poem rhymes since it’s for you.

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