TABLE OF CONTENTS - POETRY, page 3

Arrival as Well - Peter Ingestad
Dueling Pens - Kay Lingren
Father's Fate - Mark Norman
Gifts - Gina Page
Legendary Laughter - Gina Page
Paul, You? - Mark Norman
Looking on the Bright Side So Called - Paul Nachbar
How Lonely - Thomas (Torg) Hadley
Testing... one, two, three* - Kathleen Cesaro
Sing Cheereader of a Cooprative Unit - Peter Ingestad - Peter Ingestad
Epitath - Kay Lindgren
Out On Me - Quinn Tyler Jackson
That's How I Write - Thomas (Torg) Hadley
"Nueve Nova" - Thomas (Torg) Hadley
When God Made the Zimmy - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Fuddy-Dud - Kay Lindgren
Hickory Dickery Tippy Canoe - Kay Lindgren
A Hideous, Deciduous, Synapse Short-out 1 - Wallace (Dusty) Rhodes
A Hideous, Deciduous, Synapse Short-out 2 - Wallace (Dusty) Rhodes
Skedata! - Kay Lindgren
As Dark as Night - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Lament of the Architect of Babel - Quinn Tyler Jackson
I Want My Rock to Read: - Quinn Taylor Jackson
Epitaph - Kay Lindgren
Trampled Senryu - Kay Lindgren
Skata-Delic: - Thomas (Torg) Hadley
The Raven - Ngoc Nguyen
The Sun Also Plays Craps - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Just as Logic is Without Reason - Monte Washburn
Dandilion Puff - Krysta Sutterfield
Stupor of Child - Maria C. Faverio
Ars Poetica - Maria C. Faverio
The Match Point - Maria C. Faverio
Braincheese - Jonathan Berman
The Gift - Quinn Tyler Jackson
You - Gina Page
Unknown - Kay Lindgren
Looking Up - Kay Lindgren
Paddling My Canoe - Kay Lindgren
On Meeting Pythagoras On Main Street, Holding out His Hat - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Iraq Senryu - Jon Marin
Paul and Monique [a summer’s tale] - Tine Wilde
Nube roja (haiku) - Jorge González
Soledad 3- Jorge González
Agua - Jorge González

Arrival as Well - Peter Ingestad

Whenever you, whoever, her, may take just one babe
step backyards towards a certain
lightning, rejoicing the silence of a wolf: Predator As
Moment, I can't rarely tell the difference of yore and all my Word, devoid
of mirrors, like

...the brooze of heavy traffic beneath my window on the 5th floor ...the dark of my rainy november evenings over'n up here ...and, everywhere - unconditional love of demons, never do they estimate the trouble I had, never do we now apply for mercy.

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Dueling Pens - Kay Lingren

All pens that spill
ink yellow-tinged
will be avenged
by a flaming quill.

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Father's Fate - Mark Norman

Teenage daughter, my beauty,
my love of life, my soul. Exposed
secrets, guilt, and disappointment.
I love lies and being deceived
so much better.
Excuse me, for now I must fret further.

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Gifts - Gina Page

I feel thankful
for the memories I have of you
small and beautiful gifts
that come to comfort me
as I sit at the open sill:
a bed up in the attic
and in the morning
a woodpecker out in the tree
as I dressed.
Your parents eyed us
over their morning coffee next day
not fooled one bit.
You showed me the tiny shed
out back, nicknamed Casteloma
ribboned in vines and ripening grapes
green and sour.

That green haunts me
hints at a lush and unremembered past
wild green worlds.

I think back to the berries I saw
en route to the Island
not knowing I’d see you there
having forgotten you’d ever existed.
Green berries
growing up a concrete curb
beside the ferry terminal
facing a sea brimful of light.
Those dull fruit glowed
like ancient reptile eyes
a certain menace in their hue.

I tried to remember
but couldn’t clearly
an old necklace they reminded me of
with just such dull green beads
given to me by a faceless aunt.
I’d forgotten that necklace
that shade of green
just as I’d forgotten you.
I’ve dredged you three up out of the mist.
What is it I haven’t remembered yet?

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Legendary Laughter - Gina Page

You’re muffled now.
You phone, and I strain to hear
Wild rhapsodies I used to love.
Our laughter was legendary,
Mute now or nearly so.
We speak to each other
Carefully
Like cats picking dry paths through a field.
I hear in your voice
A question.
I continue to conceal myself
With bland replies.
You see I’m allowed
To shut the gate occasionally.
My openness and vulnerability to you
Were a gift not an entitlement.
The garden I kept puzzled you.
The strange and wonderful twists
Of my life,
The incongruities
Are what I’ve cherished most.
We can’t change what we love.

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Paul, You? - Mark Norman

Looking on the ‘bright side’?
Twisting to see your wake
Success is, should be measured in depth
Of knowing, and not so bad
The beautiful dutiful lies.
The fine whine is always
What gets you through
Inebriated on living, though
Really not that far
As far is inconsequential.
It really doesn’t matter
Or perhaps a battle
Better fought with allies
Though war is mote
Anyways.
The maturity of the thinkers
Odd in adolescent birth
To those others, but
Sorrowful to the same
In age.
Torg’s aged thinkers meeting
Your eyes, in brotherhood.

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Looking on the Bright Side So Called - Paul Nachbar

Looking on the bright side so called this time
The ones with one-track minds beat you up less frequently
Than they used to do
They got tired of blaming your resistance and dwelling on the past
For their reactions when they did not know what else to do.
Since most were sort of doing what they were taught to do
And so of course, though maybe or perhaps here not as much..were you.

This is no celebrity, but a type of success (I guess?)
For rising boldly up an inch or two above the endless mess
And basically not upholding the general tradition
Of blaming the fmmilar culprits for this condition.
Amd trying to refrain from proposing some false hope
Though here of course, who ain't at times a dope?
Some apologize.Well you say, hmm, that was sort of okay:
We all have our bankruptcies and lies.

Somehow though at one point they said (and denied)
They would not in any case stick out their neck
For you, well you both acknowledge that you tried:
One perhaps insensitive, the other well too deep
An argument more interesting I guess than the usual sleep:
You have your arms, legs, face,(perhaps your mind..) most of your hair:
They want to read your books..you mostly care.

Here again, you can sort of complain
With some degree of insight about the human pain
As well as human pleasure too of course
That state between a marriage and divorce
We have with this our world.
Your whining if its thus is now less shrill
Some of it fine whine..
And folks are now less apt to propose a pill
Or some other bright and simplifed solution
To that which in other times provoked
Reaction, revolution..

Oh you are guilty (too) of course of Everything
It is implicit, though no less guilty than the rest.
You erred here well too often spoke your mind
And so in some key ways were left behind
Oh well, did they really get far?
It seemed that way of course but..not
You mope or crash a bit and play guitar
They say "that's excellent" or "yes I understand"
Or "would you prefer to be left alone?"

Somehow the same people who called you once a "fool"
Or far far worse of course (an infinite ouch)
Now mostly say, "you're pretty cool"
Although it falls within the realm of what is called 'responsibility'
A mix I guess of many things, not just a disability.
Well the light at the end of the tunnel was not that much
Though certainly to some degree not total disappointment
The word's the thing and not some magic ointment

Well yes I guess. amidst the flash and nothing and gestalt
There is occasionally some room for an adult.
Well..gulp.

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How Lonely - Thomas (Torg) Hadley

how lonely 'tis to limit Souls
to play guard at Heaven's gate
who is to say where Divine Essence
hides?
if not in eyes so eloquent
as that of me wee doggies
or my mystic Kats
or the inquisitive chatter
of my two Pirate Parrots?
they don't know, they cannot understand
these who practice exclusion of Souls
this pernicious predestination poffery of
Descartes' robotic bigotry....
i treasure each day when eye contact
is made 'tween my other-legged companions
and me...they teach us of unintellectualized
Love...only the beat of a heart, size not withstanding, the moment of a glance, with such
deep understanding, a moment of Time's suspension, exceeding comprehension, a glimpse of bliss, absence of tension, a breath of comfort,

a sense of gratification....comfort to you for your losses from one who has carried such grief, time shall heal it to a smaller scar from the wound you carry...Bless you, bless you, do try again, do carry on...others need your care and attention.

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Testing... one, two, three*- Kathleen Cesaro

Pass/Fail :: Holy Grail
In the coffin > one more nail
Joe's best :: never rest
Bacon-brain < one more test

Tick-tock :: vexing clock
Got an answer > such a shock
Tears rain :: liquid strain
Stall and jib < hoist the main

False hope :: naive dope
Click a button > plan to mope
I passed :: good news fast
Dimming bulb < glow won't last

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Sing Cheereader of a Cooprative Unit - Peter Ingestad

USA is never as strong as it dreams.
USA get clever this week while it gleams.

Friendly advice:
yankee be nice,

& get off that hook, try a different look,
MAKE PEACE TO ALL 3 PEOPLES OF THE BOOK.

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Epitath - Kay Lindgren

My sassy smirk has turned into a frown
Now that I have to take things lying down.

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Out On Me - Quinn Tyler Jackson

fuddy bluck my life is muck
nothing in the fridge to eat
cuddy blunt it's all want want
and wet shoes on my feet

chrizuz jeest while in the east
they flart and fip their wigs
and plan to blow us all to frick
with jigs and jags and nuclear zigs

the rucking foof is dripping drap
as january rain the blucket bucking fills
the mortgage due is half of it
the other half is twice the pain

angst angst angst worm sturm gloom
it's not depression don't you see
it's just that god got real poff issed
and took his piss-off out on me

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That's How I Write - Thomas (Torg) Hadley

that's how I write
growing like crocus
suddenly
just
there
been there all the time
just didn't know-tice me, I didn't,
not me-self, eh?
PUBlish it in a chapbook. Put it on a telephone pole. Send it to someone you'd know would like it. That's the Life of Poetry....if it sits still, it dies.
if there is no poetry between people, the light dims. shadows encroach, fear whispers, growls,
scratches at the door past midnight 'til dawn, slathering....poetry must be thrust upon the unsuspecting, with a smile, hopefully....
if we had no poetry
there would be
no
civilization
whatsoever.
Write!
"We must do the very best we can. It is our sacred Human responsibility." Prof. Dr. Albert Einstein
Hulk up your shoulders
grow as grass
as the grape vine tendrils snake
as the honeysuckle wends and winds
your thoughts dart
a hummingbird is not so quick, so deft!

Glow in your Joy!
Your Gift is at hand!
Write, my Brothers and Sisters, Write!

(can I breathe, now?)

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"Nueve Nova" - Thomas (Torg) Hadley

"nueve nova"
[for Hernan 'n' Kay]

Rhino's blind, a nose
only to sniff out sense, just
reacting/ charging

i am what i am
not yet what i shall become
but am becoming

sometimes i'm a weed
in someone's perfect Garden
a vacant lot's rose

injustice brings rage
i'll charge blindly to pierce
bloody-mindedness

pathos brings my tears
i crave the balm of Angels
thirst for some kindness

i, Ferdinand, Bull
snuffling a dewey daisy
snorting to Heaven

Alchemist, i mix
my metaphors to make gold
from my leaden thoughts

i am what i Will
but only by becoming
that which is Belief

in a world of beasts
only faith can make Magick
You help me Believe...
or
"echoed"
the sensation of migration
spied as a ruby-spark golden flash
heard in
hummingbird's wings
scented in delirious perfume of
white-starred flowering evergreen Clematis vine
the sense of 'caesura' is
the silent riot of crocus
rampant, purpling cocoa-brown moist earth
crazygreen grass hulking up
daffy-odils bustin' toward the sunglowheat
tulips demurely appearing in debutante Cotillion
awaiting their cue
weeping pussywillow, an umbrella of furry branches
shelters yet-sleeping tiger lilies in dark bark below
a single crimson rhododendron blossom nodding
now
knowing the sun has come home again...
these are such days we have awaited all winter-long
perhaps I shall depart as the arrowflights of geese
heading to nest southward next winter
I, heighing to the red rocks of Sedona...
The humpback, the gray whales, the hummingbird, the geese;
these and so many other creatures, unlike us,
know the ebb and flow,
following the sun,
riding and guiding on electromagnetic gravity-signals...
we can't feel them now
we have TV...
aye, there's the rub.

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When God Made the Zimmy - Quinn Tyler Jackson

When God made the Zimmy
He did a quick shimmy
Danced under the pole with a sigh,

"Servin' somebody ain't nigh
Half as bad, when the One gettin'
served is Me.

When God takes the Zim,
Admonishing him
For playing his folk all electric,

The Zimmy will say,
"But Man, could I play,
At the edge of the forest eclectic!"

And Anthony Quinn,
All strung out on gin,
Will Zorba the Greek till he barfs,

While that damned Eskimo,
(Half-sauced, don't you know....)
Just sits in the corner and larfs.

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Fuddy-Dud - Kay Lindgren

Fuddy-dud, I am a stud:
There are star sapphires in my blood.
You need dark glasses to behold
my mind of 18 karat gold.

La-di-da, I am a stah,
poetic genius by fah!
My odes to Lady Anna Lemma
say she's a rare and precious gemma.

I have no Weltschmertz existential.
My name is two times presidential.
A mouse and Manfred Mann say you
see nothing like the mighty ... Who?

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Hickory Dickery Tippy Canoe - Kay Lindgren

Fuddy-dud, I am a stud:
There are star sapphires in my blood.
You need dark glasses to behold
my mind of 18 karat gold.

La-di-da, I am a stah,
poetic genius by fah!
My odes to Lady Anna Lemma
say she's a rare and precious gemma.

I have no Weltschmertz existential.
My name is two times presidential.
A mouse and Manfred Mann say you
see nothing like the mighty ... Who?

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A Hideous, Deciduous, Synapse Short-out 1 - Wallace (Dusty) Rhodes

Aero, aero, there oh, where oh
Come ah high, come ah low, come ah
Sit ah round ah promadoodle
In come ah nip 'o jack
Set back ah pennywinkle
Sing ah song of kitchee, kitchee
Kimeo, Kimeo.

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A Hideous, Deciduous, Synapse Short-out 2 - Wallace (Dusty) Rhodes

There was a little girl who went out
In the garden to pick cabbage leaves
For an apple pie. When along came
A she-bear and stuck her head
In the door and Hollered, "What no soap?"
Thereupon she married the barber
And the hippintots and the hoppintots,
Even unto the great Panjam himself
Laughted alas until the sand ran
Out of the heels of his shoes.

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Poem Brief - Dr. Paul Grove

I say I love you...
and you say, but...

How big is your but?

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Skedata! - Kay Lindgren

Here's to my home computer,
that crafty cyber looter
that breaks into my data banks
and robs them without saying, "Thanks!"

There is no file that's not at risk;
my backup has a ruptured disk.
Down due to a systemic crash
from worms that ringed its skin with rash,

my desktop is inactive, lean
for all the files in quarantine.
Fire walls out Trojan horse non grata.
So, what is decimating data?

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As Dark as Night - Quinn Tyler Jackson

As dark as night can be, I shall not shrink,
And by not shrinking, will have faced the night.
As fine as thought can be, I shall not think,
And by not thinking, will have faced the light.

As long as life can be, I shall not fear,
And by not fearing, will have lived my life;
As short as time can be, I shall not wear
Away my counted hours in empty strife.

Keep to the race,
Do not stumble
On the rock strewn
Path you’ve taken.

You won’t lose face
If you mumble
When you’re torn,
Close to breaking.

As vast as space can be, I shall not shift
Left and right, looking for a timely tack;
For as the winds will blow, there shall I drift,
And ever onward forward, never back.

As red as wounds will bleed, I shall not cry,
Though by crying, I may claim some succor;
For no relief at all can come my way,
If I am the driven, not the driver.

Keep to the run,
Do not relent
Along the road
Your run started.

You shall not win
If your soul’s bent
And your life’s load
Is half-hearted.

As true as truth can be, I shall not guess
At what is true, and what is simply nice
To hear, and if to tickled ears regress
My soul’s motivations, then strike me thrice.

Once for abandoning my God, the next
For abandoning my inclination,
Another for abandoning my quest,
And thus my implicit proclamation.

Keep to the prize
With all your force
And when it’s won
It’s yours to claim.

But close your eyes,
And what was yours,
Stands as a stain
Upon your name.

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Lament of the Architect of Babel - Quinn Tyler Jackson

I wandered from the path He laid,
And placed my gait in youthful pride,
And though His gentle nudge was made
More than once, I took my own stride.

I spoke not His word, but my own,
And found it tickled my ears more,
I delighted at my proud tone,
Thinking I knew what was in store.

I built towers into the sky,
Mortared the stones with my orgueil,
And didn't stop to ask Him why,
Or where, or when, I seized the day.

And when my tower touched His trim,
And with His Host I readied trade,
I found that I had angered Him
With all this nonsense I had made.

When I came down to loud' declare,
"Look, see what I have done," my mouth
Moved fast, but to an empty stare,
As if none understood this truth.

If I had listened to my heart,
Instead of my ability,
And not have practiced empty art,
No nonsense would spring forth from me.

I could have touched His trim from here,
Not by climbing to His great height,
By bending to the ground in fear,
Lowly, broken, but full in light.

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I Want My Rock to Read: - Quinn Tyler Jackson

What I'd like to achieve, ere I am smote
Is to dance with the Muse in Charon's Boat,
And as Charon pulls at his Morbid Oars,
To hear her say, "Now there goes a poet."
Not to have written Life's Sweet Song Complete,
But to have penned just one line of the chorus.

It's a modification of an earlier quatrain pair -- short enough for "rock- space".

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Epitaph - Kay Lindgren


My sassy smirk has turned into a frown
Now that I have to take things lying down.

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Trampled Senryu - Kay Lindgren

Trampled on, doormat
bristles, abrades bare soles: Sic
semper tyrannis.

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Skata-Delic: - Thomas (Torg) Hadley

's katatonic delish...

my favorite dish;
go fish:
audiophiles dig earthsounds
archeologists of syllogisms,
shards of scintillating cerebretality,

agog in flowing, sere, anomalies...

jewels en-couche'
nested in evidence of
true beauty
glowing in a marble Being
graven by human hand
showing gravidity
and Union

Man and Woman
Yang/Yin
Harmony
Timeless
and
Right
NOW.

"skedata"::oblongata
amygdyla::symphonia
limbic::tryptic
pituitary::peristaltic

farther, sum, wholly engrossed

Amen.

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The Raven - Ngoc Nguyen

Weary, weary, on a midnight dreary,
alone, I read Edgar Poe's "The Raven,"
that bird rapping, rapping, tapping drily
at his morbid constitution, hemmed in
by that feathered, blackened angel of death
preying without mercy, always waiting
--ascertaining the ebb of waning health--
contemplating eating poor Poe dying.
My own raven, like Poe's, can't I ignore,
that bird rapping, rapping, tapping drily
at my morbid constitution the more,
cawing for me deadly, incessantly.
During moments like these, I must confess,
I take Prozac--a bullet's too much mess.

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The Sun Also Plays Craps - Quinn Tyler Jackson

I read a book the other day,
And when the last page I had turned,
I couldn't help myself but say,
I'd seen it all before.

I saw a flick just this past while,
And as the fast projector turned,
I found myself, with a dumb smile,
For I'd read it before.

Not more'n thirty minutes ago,
Another page in my life turned,
That could have been a book, you know,
That I had read before.

The sun, it also rises, dear,
The sun, it also sets, I've learned,
As we live life in mortal fear,
And count up our regrets.

The sun is bloody bright this year,
And every one of us it's burned,
Just like the folks of yesteryear,
With twice as many debts.

But I'll read books as if the first,
And gather lessons, half unlearned,
The Year's Best Best, The Year's Best Worst,
And hedge up all life's bets.

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JUST AS LOGIC IS WITHOUT REASON . . . Monte Washburn
12th

The eternal lonesome forces
of the Universe are somewhere
beyond the comprehension of the greatest
minds of all manner of men on
EARTH.

I find often that
even though many people try
to solve their problem, they lose
because it has been with them since
BIRTH.

I fear all things
for without this fear, I
am the most insane creature that
was ever created and then I'm without
WORTH.

I love all things
in hope that all things
will love me, but I know
that this is Impossible because of people's
MIRTH.

Why be sad when
all things go my way?
Everything I really want I get.
Bui is this happiness? I don't know
EMOTION!

I love, I hate, I get sad, I feel
happy and yet there's no true
emotion! Why is there inside me such
COMMOTION?

There are many books
of file. My life is
but one letter of a single
word, yet by this I get great
SATISFACTION.

All that I've said
is fact and inside there
is more than appears outside. Reading
is one thing but there could be
COMPREHENSION!

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Dandilion Puff - Krysta Sutterfield

Dandilion puff
On summer breeze floats by cat.
Paw swipes! Fluff is flat.

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Stupor of Child - Maria C. Faverio

Ancient smell of brine
intoxicates lazy air
with strains of life
exploding like fireworks
on New Year’s Eve,
pebbles are slapped
by vigour of waves,
hurled on smooth shreds
of virgin shore.

Soaked in silence,
sky spotted with hints of clouds
shakes off blend of sun and blue
over stupor of child
naked as hope.

Mother calls,
but child doesn’t hear.

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Ars Poetica - Maria C. Faverio

Artesian well
in parched landscape,
uncaged words flow
in strings of light
cautious as thief’s steps.

Insistent rush
of inspiration
chains the mind
to shaky screen
crowded with images
of undared beauty,
hand hesitates,
strikes,
withdraws.

Bruised by the heavy chains,
the mind raves and rages
like coyote in narrow cage,
tired by its own tirades
slowly succumbs
to the unusual charm
of images
peacefully walking
after bravados of light,
crushed clocks
on mossy ground,
like broken toys
in old playpen.

Hand
loosens the chains
and writes.

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The Match Point - Maria C. Faverio

The match point
rolls away like a marble,
inscrutable as tiger’s eye.
At the ebb of day,
stasis of life
outwits itself,
steeping into silence
like a prayer.
Are we even now?
Has the unuttered apology
forged itself
into furore of forgiveness,
Greek necessity?
The point has jarred to a stop,
magnificent in its grand finale,
but you keep running
after shadows of echo
like Zeno.

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Braincheese - Jonathan Berman

Braincheese bagels spread thick and thin;
blazing fires in mindseye grin.
O're fields of grass and praie alite;
bursts flame of and death in fights.
Quagmire's conundrum questions right;
o'recame with greater might.
Lost in fields of cows and geese;
the gander's fright not ebbed in the least.

O' the skies do fall from treacherous hights;
O' the pies taste good with whipped creame and apple sauce.

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The Gift - Quinn Tyler Jackson

Numbers are my nemesis,
All my digits, dead,
As if by some strange process
Junk jumps in my head.

If 't is a gift, oh man,
I want the receipt!
So a refund get I can
So summing's no feat!

No wrapping paper had it,
No ribbons, no card,
Subtracting is no habbit,
When it's so damned hard.

Perhaps to some, gift it be,
Some kind of queer boon,
Perhaps, perhaps, but for me,
Three is one and one.

Dyscalculia results
Close on this gift's tail,
As number crunching defaults
All to no avail.

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You - Gina Page

You keep stealing
back into me.
Small song
plain insistent chant.

Where is the entrance?
Perhaps
you never left.

Why do I keep burying you?
Hiding you?
Repeatedly I dismantle myself
trying to rebuild
around a different core
but always I find you again
at the center.

I am an old house
built fast into the clay-seamed hillside,
no tent furling and unfurling itself,
decamping from each new clutter.

Beyond the windows
green crescent leaves rattle silently
tree and house matching years.
The leaves toss then hang down for a moment
still, watching, listening
stopping their wild directionless writhing.

You keep stealing into me
thousands of fluttering shapes from the past.
I have vacuumed, swept and scrubbed
left open all the windows and doors for months
yet I never quite get rid of
you.

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Unknown - Kay Lindgren

Where is Katie,
roaming lady?
Drove her RV
to Eternity.

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Looking Up - Kay Lindgren

Looking up to geese
flying in V formation ...
suddenly blinded!

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Paddling My Canoe - Kay Lindgren

Paddling my canoe
through the swamp, I strike dead wood ...
Uh-oh! That's no log!

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On Meeting Pythagoras On Main Street, Holding out His Hat - Quinn Tyler Jackson

He tried to make an algebra,
A trigonometry,
That solved all the great la-di-da
For all eternity.

He tried to sum the Great Angle
With compasses and lines,
But managed to only mangle
With his sins and cosines.

Thus he went off on a tangent,
Hoping to make his mark,
All his fame resting contingent
On figuring Life's arc.

Though he managed fractals and curves,
And learned much about spheres,
He learned that the Truth greatly swerves
Where the pin-point appears.

When last I met this Figurer,
And glanced my strongest stares,
Asking what wormholes were,
He'd worked his way to squares.

I said, "There must be more to Truth,
"Than hyperbolic shape!"
He said, "You've wasted all your youth
"On th' product of the grape."

"It may be that I'm a drinker,"
I calmly then replied,
"But if this makes one a thinker,
"It's not been mis-imbibed."

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Iraq Senryu - Jon Marin

When Shia control
A new Iraqi nation,
Then woe the Sunni.

Oppression will be
Just an internal matter
The world can ignore.

They don't hate freedom
But dread its caricature:
Tyrannous revenge.

Better to fight now
Than resign themselves to be
Another Darfur.

In turning the corner
All those times, we were only
Going in circles.

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Paul and Monique [a summer’s tale] - Tine Wilde

Paul lavishly lets himself down.
Flashing eyes rapidly glance and peer behind small rimless glasses.
Many hasty gestures – o God, if only someone sees me -
Monique controls her body language nearly, spreading her fingers
Only slightly too short dressed pensively along her hair.
He feels already happy and awaits the evening with impatience.

Darkness falls and the terrace fills up slowly.
Bows, greets, nods, humbug and a lot of booze
To even barbed wire; buzzing riddles like a veering wind
Move through this part of city centre.
For years they act like this and all know,
But no one stands one’s say and everybody just pretends.

He would love to steal the show some Saturday, amidst the
Bustle of the market, and proudly fold his arms around her waist
But she knows that would be a waste –
Then raindrops glide no more aglow his leather jacket.

The city bends itself over this artist crew; a private world
With grand plans launched and solitary struggles carefully elbowed out.
‘We’ does not exist here and each of them
Knows where the other one is lying.
Monique gets on her feet and says she must be going.
Paul tails barely half-pint later.

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Nube roja (haiku) - Jorge González

La sed perfuma
el viento norte del sur,
la nube roja.

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Soledad 3 - Jorge González

El hueco del alma
se abanica con una pluma de hierro,
con un poroso y estirado
lamento de acero.

No hay redondo paseo
o espera inútil.
Los vehículos, casi patines de ruedas,
deambulan por las senectas sienes
de un ambivalente tatuaje
que apenas bebe licor.

Los bronces palidecen,
en suspiro que atenaza
la palpitación
de un punto gris.

No hay tono,
el teléfono suena
y nadie acude.
Nadie ve el sonido
traspasar el viento.

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Agua - Jorge González

El agua se lava la cara
con sol de las estrellas.
Su estilizado cuerpo
se abraza a una tela
de océano gaseoso,
aire que da vida.

La luna se estremece
ante la visión de la diosa.
No hay nardos
que esperen en la orilla:
hay voces y susurros,
palabras que cantan
unas a otras
la buena nueva.

El sol ha dormido con ella,
y las campanas suenan,
loando que nuevos diamantes
adornen su frágil cuello

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