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Contributors to the Fall 2018 Edition

Marie Arnett
Jack Belck
Michael Bourgo
Michael Burch
John Byrne
Selma Calnan
Duane Caylor
Catherine Chandler
Dave Crocco
Ann B. Day
Victoria Mary Fach
Roberta Goganian
Karen Greenbaum-Maya
Page Hudson
Robin Helweg-Larsen
David Kiphen
Mark Louis Lehman
Dorrith Leipziger
Barbara Loots
Constance Rowell Mastores
Mark McNamara
Bob Moore
Richard Moyer
Samuel E. Pittman II
Sandra Sowers Platt
M. B. Powell
David Rosier
Amy Jo Schoonover
Ron Searls
Carol Lavelle Snow
John w. Steele
B. R. Strahan
Alan Sugar
Katherine Swett
Evalyn Torrant
Paul Willis
Donald Wheelock

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SAMPLE POEMS FROM FALL 2018 ISSUE

A MOMENTARY STAY, by Barbara Loots

After R.F.

Morning pouts out her gold,

melting over the cold

her treasury of light

that spills into the night

and banishes the stars,

Venus, Jupiter, and Mars,

with uncorrupted day –

a momentary stay.

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MOCKINGBIRD WOOING, by Victoria Mary Fach

Officious finches in red waistcoats
arranged themselves in octaves
on the telephone wires and set about
determining the overture of day.

A coven of crows racketeered in conclave
expelling all the mockingbirds from our pines.

Sanctuaried, they rose in waves of praise;
if I would have their hymns I must have yours;
weighty, essential as air.
The pause between heartbeats –doubt –
the leap – to palm top where they pour
out note after note, waxing lyrical,
fluttering into treble lines,
gossamer lariats that float
translucent on rills of prayer,
rippling, sotto voce, still.

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TREE CLIMBERS, by Dave Crocco

On calm days, mostly when the sun was high
The pond made a glass of the woods and sky
So that the maple on the little hill
Was twice as tall and doubly still.

He climbed that tree a thousand times, a boy
No one heard, swaying and singing with joy
A song without words –a private affair
Just a boy, a tree, and the happy air.

He climbed that tree until the day he fell
From boy to man, like a broken spell.
He took his place at the carpet mill
And thought no more of the tree on the hill.

He followed the Colts in the Sunday Star,
He dreamed of a bigger and faster car,
He paid his taxes and bought his beer.
Some nights, lying in bed, he felt a fear.

Will God above ever bring a day
When men stop and watch the treetops sway
And remember a boy whose heart would fly
And who sang with sparrows that happened by?

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ADVANCE DIRECTIVE, by Dorrith Leipziger

God made a living will that said
I ask you “Don’t resuscitate
When I am dying – nearly dead
For I would never be as great
As I once was. Heroic measures
Will not restore me or my treasures:
That strength and will assigned to me
Whatever powers I possessed
To keep you safe and keep you free
I give to you as my bequest
I’ve taught you all you need to know
So when the time comes, let me go
I’ll leave you heaven, leave you hell
They’ll make good stories: use them well.”

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MEDITATION IN MID-OCTOBER, by Michael Bourgo

All of summer’s pure devotion,
its warm and lovely giving places,
now give way to restless motion
towards the autumn’s shrinking spaces.

The day is now less than the night
and though we know the cycle’s course –
its cruelest gift, the loss of light –
we still cannot resist remorse.

From early spring we knew this gift
was a grace we only borrow,
that summer’s pace would be too swift
which always leads us into sorrow;

and as the dusk drifts to its close,
the silence waits for coming snows.

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HERE, by Mark McNamara

Here is where the maybes tumble,
here is where the teardrops fall,
here while we yet fuss and fumble
to contain, conceal it all.
Here is love’s own soft surrender,
here’s where our forever dies,
here within our always nowhere
breathless whispered last goodbyes.

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LEAVE TAKING, by Michael Burch

Brilliant leaves abandon
battered limbs
to waltz upon ecstatic winds
until they die.

But the barren and embittered trees,
lament the frolic of the leaves
and curse the bleak
November sky.

Now, as I watch the leaves’
high flight
before the fading autumn light,
I think that, perhaps, at last I may

have learned what it means to say
goodbye.

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