The Irony of a Snag
Changming Yuan
1.
You have long since died
But you will never fall
Standing deadly among leafy growths Continue reading “Changming Yuan, Winter 2017”
Changming Yuan, Winter 2017
Mary Buchinger, Winter 2017
Snowstorm
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
Shakespeare
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.” Continue reading “Marjorie Maddox, 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”
Steve Flannery, Winter 2017
Droning On
Steve Flannery
All the drones service the queen,
while the workers do all the work.
All the humans tax the honey
at a hundred percent its worth.
A dime is dropped through silver
to save you from yourself.
Ten cents can buy your silence,
but really nothing else.
In a world that walks all hunchbacked,
straight crippled from the sun,
I just might crawl through proudly,
on my belly, with no gun.
But while the workers keep on working,
the drones now take orders by remote,
to leave the proud queen sinking,
on her throne that just won’t float.
Steve Flannery (a.k.a. singer/song-writer Zayre Mountain) Having grown up in a family of eight children, Mr. Flannery finds peace and solace in the madness of a full house—aces over kings, preferably. He now lives peacefully in Forty-Fort, Pennsylvania with his wife, two children, two dogs, two cats, and one hamster. Stephen lives in the moment, not for philosophy’s sake, but because science dictates it so. Alas, time travel forsakes us all. For now.
Word Fountain 