Word Fountain

The Literary Magazine of the Osterhout Free Library


Winter 2017

Changming Yuan, Winter 2017

(“Haunted,” Image by Dylan Silver)

The Irony of a Snag
Changming Yuan

You have long since died
But you will never fall

Standing deadly among leafy growths Continue reading “Changming Yuan, Winter 2017”

Mary Buchinger, Winter 2017

Mary Buchinger

and after begins
the art of subtraction

the digging to find
what was before

cars follow plows
blinking yellow

along temporary-walled
salted paths

but the river practices
addition  lying still

folded into blankets
quiet and absorbing

in this world white Continue reading “Mary Buchinger, Winter 2017”

Marjorie Maddox, Winter 2017

Two Sets of Clerihews by Marjorie Maddox

Literary Clerihews
Marjorie Maddox

has an ear
for lovely sonnets.
He must know phonics!

* * *

Edgar Allan Poe
loves to scare us so
with thumping hearts beneath the floor
and ravens squawking, “Nevermore.”

* * *

Peter Pan
won’t ever be a man.
It’s too much fun to stay Continue reading “Marjorie Maddox, Winter 2017”

Harold Jenkins, Winter 2017

Ora Pro Nobis
Harold Jenkins

Between the worn wooden pews
parishioners in a double row
approach the priest to take Communion
rocking with each step

Fewer every year
thinner, fatter, grayer, balder
fewer baptisms, more funerals Continue reading “Harold Jenkins, Winter 2017”

Sandra Kolankiewicz, Winter 2017

On the 75th Anniversary of the Defeat of Poland
Sandra Kolankiewicz

For John Guzlowski, who invited me to be Polish.

Their defeat was lovely, noble except
for the horses, and afterwards if you
were someone, nothing changed. Historically
they went to live at the court of the place
which had just defeated them, dependent,
prisoners of another sort but still
first in line for the potatoes. Likewise
we rebel but underestimate
the problem. Those are shadows coming
across the plains, yet we wait, wanting an
obvious enemy. Seventy-five
years is nothing to a trilobite or
the boy in the bow of a canoe where
the glistening light tells him he will live
forever. I think of you as if you
were already in your bed, myself like
I willingly packed up my clothes for a Continue reading “Sandra Kolankiewicz, Winter 2017”

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