Current Issue

Contributors to the Winter 2017 Edition

Therese Arceneaux
Marie Arnett
Franchot Ballinger
Russell Bourne
Margaret Brinton
John Brugaletta
Philip E. Burnham, Jr.
Selma Calnan
Barbara Lydecker Crane
Ann B. Day
Emily Dorffer
Charles H. Harper
Jack Hart
Joan Higuchi
Page Hudson
Vera Ignatowitch
Margo Irwin
River Jackson
Robert Jordan, Sr.
Cynthia Jobin
David Kiphen
Len Krisak
Michael Laudenbach
Barbara Loots
Stephen Malin
Constance Rowell Mastores
Lina Ostapovich
Todd Outcalt
Harold Pagliaro
Leonard Roller
Joyce Schmid
Amy Jo Schoonover
Craig W. Steele
Peter Szilagyi
John Steele
Katherine Barrett Swett
Marie Tobin
Gail White
Joanna White
Ann Love Woodhull
Ryan Wojtanowski

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SAMPLE POEMS FROM WINTER 2017 ISSUE

THE STORYTELLER, by Leonard Roller
(The Storyteller, Inuit, carved whalebone, mid 20th c., private collection)

From igloo to igloo he goes, a muse
Of ice and ivory, warming the arctic cold
With tales of heroes and spirits and gods,
A Homer of the polar wastes, Virgil of snows,
Boots planted on slick and shifting floes,
Eternal singer of songs, his lyre of frost,
In sealskin cloaked and myth enwrapped,
Unbowed by frozen nights.
Ironic in ivory, his being carved
From vesicular spine of whale;
past oceanic roar,
Washed up, like Odysseus, on lonely shore.

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CALLIGRAPHY IN WINTER TREES, by Barbara Lydecker Crane

Swaying, shifting
tents of A’s
slant from limbs
of angled ells
around the trunks,
each an I-
who-won’t-be-moved.
Twigs in tangled
skeins of V’s
circumscribe,
cavort with cryptic,
crooked ease.
In the whistling
icy wind,
leafless trees
contrive to spell
their own epistle
across gray sky –
ALIVE

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THUNDER, by River Jackson

Geese are patient when they mate, the sky
forgotten as they casually meander
to the water’s waddled edge.
                                               The gander
waits (as though preferring to keep dry
indefinitely) while his mate, the goose,
slips in.
               He listens to the nearing thunder
idly, with no sign of fear or wonder,
as she swims in circles to induce
his entry.    
                  Tree-bound birds repeat their songs
of courtship, sweetly sighing:  Hold me!  Hold me!
Fly to me and let your wings enfold me!
Soundlessly, the goose (who only longs
to have her patient circles plunged asunder)
signals to the gander: Hold me under!

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SIBLINGS, by Charles H. Harper

It breaks my heart –this photograph
of weeping siblings, a Syrian girl, age ten,
her brother, seven, desperately holding
hands, fearful of being separated in this
chaotic crowd of refugees and police milling
about the Macedonian/Greek border.

Two children, center-front
in Georgi Licoviski’s photo (Time
Magazine, September 14, 2015),
fear, terror and sorrow spilling
from every pore of their innocent
bodies and souls.  Collateral damage
of vast human failure and war.

Two small children,
their wrenching agony recorded
by a photographer who, had he been
in a thousand other places that day,
could have snapped ten thousand other
scenes of anguish.  What happens,
I wonder, to a heart that breaks
and breaks and breaks?

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ONE A.M., by John Brugaletta

The dog’s asleep,
the cat is out,
the cold is making crystals.
In some dark city,
trousered apes
are drawing blood with pistols.

I don’t deny
they’ve always been
a hominid relation.
I only think
they need a cell,
and not command the station.

Among the nightmares,
there’s a dream
of light and peace descending.
Tonight it seems
unlikely, but
it makes a lovely ending.

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DRY LIGHTNING ON BIG SUR, by Joyce Schmid

Among the crisp and ocean-salted trees,
a spark appears in kindling wood.
It grows and cackles at its feast
above the cliffs above the frantic seas.

The land is bare and broken.
Smoke has clogged the air.
Condors choke and splutter as they fly
and thunder wreaks its vengeance on the sky
to roar God’s rage, to roar God’s bitter pain
to see His forests writhing in the flames.

He holds His dear, His mutilated lands
inside His arms, and grieves,
and then He calms the thunder and the crazy seas,
and resurrects the forests with His hands.