November Snow
by Gerald Bosacker
I loved winter's first snow, when I was young
and I would run, mouth opened wide, to try
and catch elusive icy feathers on my tongue
to taste those first ice kisses from November sky.
I felt so cheated when the million flakes I missed
would vanish as soon as they touched the ground
but withered grass and forsaken leaves they kissed
were soon blanketed beneath a snowy mound
Come morning when all was white and snowfall done
they covered well, the dead and sleeping plants.
I would watch the sunbeams from the red faced sun
bounce off the crystal coverlet, in sparkling dance.
Now old, I dread winter's first inaugural snow,
while watching through insulated window pane,
shivering as I see the crystal icicles grow,
forming an impartial hour-glass of Winter's reign
Iced wind blusters through where widows weep
obscuring plots where refreshed sod lies browned.
Which friend lies hidden under a whitened heap
that hushed snow flakes bless with silent sound?
Copyright 2004 Gerald Bosacker(Bosacker@aol.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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The Innocence of Eve
by Cathleen Daly
Little twilight ponies
Are munching through her hay
The nuzzle nose her nothing-mind
And pink her while she plays
This girl is a beating eye
A bird whose bones know flight
Her broken apple words
Are swimming in the white
She breaks the apple open
A gleaming broken code
She'll show you with a smirk
And ride her ponies home
Copyright 2004 by Cathleen Daly (beandaly@yahoo.com).
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Pressure Cooker
by Deidre Da Silva
Pressure her to be your on call stewardess
Your perfect stay in between the lines Pollyanna
She will not.
She refuses to be what you wish to make of her.
She is not structure or straight lines she is not an
algorithm waiting for you to solve her.
Stand back and gaze upon-
peer into the abstract painting that mystifies you
time and time again. With colors of Raspberry
parfait, Caribbean sundance, sangria and bleeding
rust; Colors that you
tried to contain in a box with the label
"red".
Copyright 2004 by Deidre Da Silva (ddasilva03@yahoo.com).
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Single Mother's Christmas Preparations
by David Milligan
Anxiety drives her to the kitchen
A refuge, an isle of calm;
Paradoxically, even when the water's boiling and the oven needs watching,
The kitchen is a a safe haven.
The smell of coffee and bread
Calm the spinning in her head
Her heart heavy when it should be light
Lists of presents fill her with fright.
When people pay a visit
The kitchen's her favourite place
To gift, and gab, and laugh and pace.
A daughter tugs on her shirt
While "sonny boy" waits his turn
And she pours her friend's coffee
While basking in God's grace.
Copyright 2004 by David Milligan (wy770224@hotmail.com).
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life goes on and on
by Michael Estabrook
Home seems so
distant, my wife in her
garden, the dog barking, Laura's
sore throat, Todd
faxing me again about how he's
having such
trouble finding a
new job, Dave signing up for
summer courses
needing another 2,000 dollars another
2,000 dollars another . . .
the mailman's not coming today
because it's Sunday, Robin
has another baby-sitting
job that's nice, and my mother called
she's waiting to hear
from Kerry, and it's not raining
so that's nice too. Home seems so
distant to me, my wife
in her garden, the dog barking
or not barking.
Copyright 2004 by Michael Estabrook (mestabrook@comcast.net)
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Café Tables
by Raud Kennedy
Driving down Newbury Street, I'm terrified
Of the bored moment.
You know the one.
A man and a woman sit
As a couple at a small table,
Drinking, eating, but not conversing.
Their eyes are crushed snails.
Their facial expressions, day old pancakes.
I've been that man, and the fear
Of being him again
Makes me
Look away.
Copyright 2004 by Raud Kennedy (raudkennedy@new-england-dog.com).
Reproduction is prohibited without express permission of the author.
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Letter to the Editor: Cherie Staples (skyearth1@aol.com).