The Ceiling Slathers
When you go to Central Park
lie down on some lawn or bench
awhile. Check out the ceiling, all
the cherubs of the Renaissance
surpassed, not two-dimentional
but four, Michelangelo
himself just a little bit
A Sandy Beach
It goes like wind and flows
time . . .
or lie on any over-trafficked strand
or vacant one
and note the patterned sand
shifting while staying
as unplanned as planned.
The Moon, Still
The moon, still, tries to lure the salt-spiked sea
for a quick unnoticed kiss if not a bath
but the ocean's heavy and the face is far
so gives up in awhile--but tries again
as I with you who, like the ocean, rise
each day to challenge an apparent lowness
and, failing, spread a wetness o'er the earth:
The side effect of such relentless love
is life--not everywhere, but just about.
And when we kissed, that one time, after tears,
we tasted in the moistness of soft lips
the soupcon of a saltiness, and shone.
James B. Nicola's poems have appeared in such publications as The Antioch, Southwest, and Atlanta Review and several KOAH anthologies. His collections are Manhattan Plaza (2014), Stage to Page (2016), Wind in the Cave (2017), and Out of Nothing: Poems of Art and Artists (2018). He has received a Dana Literary Award, two Willow Review awards, four Pushcart Prize nominations, and a People's Choice award from Storyteller Magazine. His nonfiction book, Playing the Audience, won a Choice Magazine award.
In green, there is peace
and stillness deeper than the seas.
The leaves filter the sun's fierceness
and damp the rains into
softly falling motes of life.
In green, there is love:
A man must kiss a maid
and the child will grow--a human acorn.
The birds and bees and trees and tigers mate
in splendid strength.
In green, there is wisdom
of peoples and of butterflies,
of the Voice that sings in all,
and of distinct songs that sum
into a chorus of the many.
In green, there is strength.
The futile wars will come and go
and none but tenured professors
remember the dates and names.
The trees outlive the cannons
and feed the birds and squirrels and wasps
after generations feed the worms.
In green, there is solitude,
a place to stand aside and feel
the roots of Earth give birth
to coal and cucumbers, to deserts and daffodils,
to martyrs and maggots, to cats and cretins.
In green, there is God
and His hand traces the veins of maple leaves
and shakes the foundations of mountains.
His breath blesses the baby robin
and births hurricanes to vex the cities.
Andrew M. Bowen works as an insurance salesman in Bloomington, IN. He has published 71 poems and recently submitted his first two novels for publication. He is also an actor who has appeared in eight independent films, seven stage productions, and two radio teleplays.
Never Before Seen
The newborn river leads a very monastic life out by the farm bunkhouse
that is a figment of its imagination and the trajectory of its hallelujah is so heartfelt
while storm clouds that rumble with midnight pan flutes coagulate about like caged animals circling warily.
I Dreamt Often Of
The frozen reefs remind me of peacock feathers.
The quick limed air seems misty with ant hills
while I listen to the forest's melodies on this foggy morning.
Gazing down into the roiling rainstorm that slowly creeps in from the sea.
Picked Like Ripe Avacados
Midnight's glow upon the meadow makes it look like a seafloor
and the ghosts who haunt its poetry are burnished blackbirds.
Yet this blue ice nightscape is a withered harvest of abstracted found and recycled objects
and its soundtrack is a mandolin long evaporated.
Yet till dawn arrives in a golden kimono shivering dilated and copper hot.
It will murmur low a long lonesome sonnet
more poignant than the brooding weathered strains of As Time Goes By.
Ken L. Jones has been a professionally published writer for nearly forty years. At the beginning of his career he became well-known as a cartoonist and had such work appear at Disney Studios and for the New Kids On The Block singing group. In the last ten years he has concentrated heavily on writing poetry in various genres. He has appeared in Kind Of A Hurricane Press' many anthologies and blogs. His poems have also appeared in Phil Yeh's Uncle Jam Magazine, Dual Coast Magazine, Red Ochre Press, Poetry Quarterly, Circle of Light, and Tulip Tree Review. His most recent achievement was a poetry chap book called Dreams of Somewhere Else published by Prolific Press.
Out of Nowhere
Into the skirt of the woods
we skip and shuffle and spin
lengthening the lit hours of evening
more breathtaking than a yellow flower
rising out of nowhere
Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, IL, USA, with his wife, Vickie, and daughter, Sage. He is a three-time Pushcart, Best of the Net and Best of the Web nominee whose work has appeared in more than a thousand publications.
A.J. Huffman has published thirteen full-length poetry
collections, fourteen solo poetry chapbooks and one joint poetry chapbook
through various small presses. Her most recent releases, The Pyre On Which Tomorrow Burns (Scars
Publications), Degeneration (Pink
Girl Ink), A Bizarre Burning of Bees
(Transcendent Zero Press), and Familiar
Illusions (Flutter Press) are now available from their respective
publishers. She is a five-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a two-time Best of
Net nominee, and has published over 2600 poems in various national and
international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review,
The Bookends Review, Bone Orchard, Corvus Review, EgoPHobia, and Kritya.She is the founding editor of Kind of a
Hurricane Press.You can find more of
her personal work here:https://ajhuffmanpoetryspot.blogspot.com/
Leaving to Promises
If mom left when spring was arriving
What does that say about life?
For while we were committing her to eternity
Violets were unfurling their purple capes
But how do we accept the thrust of blossoms
On bare branches
And the smiles of daffodils
At the same time
She was taking her place
On the top of a hill
Where the winds of heaven
Were meeting the promises mom could not break
Nor could we halt the jubilant feet of spring
Dancing into our collective sorrow
Susan Dale's poems and fiction are on WestWard Quarterly, Mad Swirl, Penman Review, The Voices Project, and Jerry Jazz Musician. In 2007, she won the grand prize for poetry from Oneswan. Two published chapbooks, The Spaces Among Spaces from languageandculture.org and Bending the Spaces of Time from Kind of a Hurricane Press's Barometric Pressure Chapbook series, have been on the internet.