Trout, CaughtI say, “I’m
Sorry,”
To the watery eye
Of the trout I’ve just caught.
Holding its glitter of scales
In a tightened caress,
The knot of my hand
Gentle but sure this fish
Will not flap away, home;
No mirror of the wild flashing
Of the previous slippery
Splash and slap struggle
On leaving, hooked,
The stream of all
It could know.
I am sorry, and
Hiking back up
To camp’s warm
cook-fire glow,
I whisper,
“Thank
You.”
Teresa McNeil MacLean
The TowerLooking out over the silent sea
Knowing of another hidden country
She dreamt of unicorns and fiery dragons
(The island in the bay was Avalon)
And when the sailors laughed, cursed them to be blind.Older, more cautious, richer, more powerful,
She bought the island, poisoned all the rats
And built a tower like one that might have stood
To watch for pirates in the China seas
And spent some few nights there watching whales and slow-burning
Stars that spread eerie magic over the black waves.But when a dying dragon came to her in a dream
Dragging smeared scales over the revengeful rocks
She left the island and the tower fell slowly into ruin
Peopled by spiders and by mad-voiced seabirds
Haunted by silent, searching unicorns.Simon Banks
An exotic vacationNo one to referee that game,
Poor fledglings, with their heads thrown back
And mastered hips joined to their shame,
Are lonely partners on the rack.Who is that watchman of the night,
Stretched out, staring so vacantly
From his filled bed until the light
Of day permit activity?And who lies breathing at his side,
In sleep a kind of ruffed grouse?
Is it the girl that neatly glides
About the duties of her house?They married decent strangers; she
For images of his despair
Without her, for his good name; he
For guilt and the curling of her hair.Yearly to interpose delight
They go upon their honeymoon
Again, where things are never quite
The same although they should be soon.And a small cottage has sprung up
Near a favorite swimming cove;
Every summer they come up
To localize their straying love.On starry nights after their meal
Old rituals of hand in hand
Begin and what they think they feel
Makes them lie upon cool sand.So they tumble by that shore
Of the uncaring upland lake
As if it were not done before
And each moans for the other’s sake.
Henry Braun
Come and get me
Sometimes I wish
you would just come and get me
stop all this mucking about
just come and get me
give me a hug and let your love
flow through me
no need to say a word
just come and get meinstead of struggling upstream
I could flow with you, through you
noticing the little things drift by
we could spread our wings
soar above the clouds
walk upon a rainbow
let our tears fall softlymy soul could be at peace
laughing, dancing, singing
at the pure joy of being
looking down at earth
thinking; what mischief
it could get up to there
safe in the knowingplease
just come and get me
even if for just a little while
ease the burden of longing
the yearning deep inside
will you come and get mesoon?
Amanda Edwards
HouseIn the ruined land, the house upon the hill lays waiting
I enter, look around.
The corridor stretches far ahead
Every room brimming with secret delights
I search for booty through the boxes plied high, through drawers and cupboards
Magical items everywhere; too much to carry…The ancient ones in their faded glory watch
Tapestries fraying, gold on red
The gnawing fear, the sense of malice.Faster I search, down gloomy corridors, through dark rooms
The flexible sword, the magical talismansThe house knows me – my quests, my thefts.
Higher and higher I go,
up winding stairs,
through great halls,
pursued by the nameless,
searching for the unnamed.I feel the house settling, watching – I walk, I walk
Time runs short, the house moves.
Corridors twist and change…
Andy Turner
SeductionBeckoning cliff’s
wind-raked tip
edges against sky so blue it
sings. Stone jigsaw at the base.
A whistle of wind
shoots fog up the cliff
like smoke from sudden fire.
I want to dislodge heavy feet from earth,
break into tiny pieces, disperse
on wind with the fog, spread out
across sky, embrace it
with endless arms, going all those
places nature has been
tugging at my sleeves, whispering
in my face, gathering me up
in woody tendrils and
fat vaporous arms of clouds,
pushing, pulling,
insisting that I go.
Nature inhales me, and I sail off.
Teresa McNeil MacLean
She has a silver starShe has a silver star
sunken in her eyes
(I didn’t know it was about stars
I would write whose suns
cast a warmer light
from those tranquil places
which are her eyes than the ordinary
glass cold twinklers in the starry mass
sourrounding surrounding the usual sky.)
The rare glow
like her own motioning and highlit hair
kicks up spots of dynamite drama
(I remember those eyes
when she was a child. The star
was showing then, too, in the landscape
of undying invitations.)
One good contact stare into that soul struck
into by the silver star in her eyes
pours in something none of us knows about
Heavenly orbs. For age there is none.
There is a lingering attachment. There is a
fixed but dancing
artisty that laughs at death
and heats my solitary sky-whipped heart.
Marcia Goldberg
Love is a Diamondthat sparkles with a million facets
gifts tastes to delight our palatesand roses that bloom in perfection
scented with the perfume of heavenit’s the rainbow, promise of sunshine
and rain,for luxuriant growth sublimeit’s love we bestow on all of our children
our compassion and kindness to peoplethe passions we gift to one another
and selfless devotion of each motheron earth’s breast we’re all nurtured
to darkness and light all are turnedlove is the wonder of our universe
in our galaxies arms lovingly nursed
Gael Bage
Sea ChangeThe seas horizon stretches
and changes with the hour
clouds merge with its edges
a millpond or raging powerseen silvered by the moon
or wintry blue steel girder
the darkness of a monsoon
at times obscure and mistierfired by the setting sun
monochrome on a grey days
silhouetted when day is done
etherial as dawn light playsto capture it in sketches
lies far beyond my power
the oceans horizon stretches
in an endless rainbow shower
Gael Bage
the plot:how long will this apple tree sustain the wither
gnarled limb unattended
hung in sad fruit
once loved tender
not a member of any orchard
never was
standing by itself
loved all the same
now casting thinnest of shadow
over farmer and wife
father and mother
as if misplaced
field creeping inward
bramble and bush
withering ages unseen
how long i wonder
inhaling idle cigarette
walking to car
how long i wonder.
George Gekas
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