A Poem by Duane Locke

TERRESTRIAL ILUMINATION, NO 269

What if one took a trip to North Carolina to see
In the Smoky Mountains a tree.
What would this one see. A common sense slave mentality
Educated efficiently by our expensive education system
In buying and selling would see lumber. How many boards
For building a casino or a bank could be sawed from that large trunk.
Perhaps, the lumber could be used to build a house on a lot
Where cabbage palms, both those with fronds and the old
Without along with all forms of life were bulldozed away.
The wife, through education and media advertising had transformed herself
From a human being into a shopping machine would look
At the changing autumn colors of this Smoky Mountain tree
And see a design for new dresses that she would buy
And hang in the closet but never wear. The signifier “tree” has many
signifieds.


Duane Locke lives in Tampa, Florida near anhinga,
gallinules, raccoons, alligators, etc.
He has published 6,680 poems, includes 29 books of poems. His latest
book publication, April 2012,
Is DUANE LOCKE, THE FIRST DECADE, 1968-1978, BITTER OLEANDER PRESS.
This book is a republication
Of his first eleven books, contains 333 pages. Order from
http://www.bitteroleander.com/releases.html,
Or Amazon.

A Poem by Sara Vinas

Shades of Summer

Sunlight slipped
Through
Oak trees
Weaving beam and branch
To paint gray
Picnic table planks
With shadow leaves
While the breeze
Tickled my neck
Whispering
Secrets
Only I could hear


Sara Vinas is a worshiper of the sun, sea and serendipity.  She is also an artist and the inspirations for art in paint and pen come from her delight in nature, especially of the salt water variety.  Her poetry has been published in "Whimsy," "Errant Parent," "Brevity Poetry Review," and the anthology "Prompted."  Her art and poetry can be found at saravinas.blogspot.com.

Three Poems by Anthony Ward

Perambulation

 

I love to take woodland walks

Amongst avenues of afternoons

When the virescent canopy

That was once a natural nave of trees

Lies asunder

A carpet of brisk leaves

Mulching cadaverous colours

All their the art drawn out

Their chromatic currency spent

Blanched the breeze

Rifling the sense

Leaving blankets of emotion

Both ensanguine and antique

When cool autumnal nights cause the

Tannin to turn leaves in assemblage to atrophy

And shadows gambol from elongated horizons

Within the glare of gardens

Ablaze with autumn berries

Beguiled of beauty

Blinding and blending

Connotations of combustible colour

Respiring ripe

And fruitful like the apples

Both succinct and succulent

Causing branches to droop

As we harvest thoughts

Thankful in our thinking.

 

 

October

 

When the year turns vintage

The atmosphere matures

The sun warm in the cool breeze

Swaying the bronzed chestnuts

Tanned after summer’s searing

Shedding their plumage

Leaves rustling along russet roads

Creating dusky umbered paths

Where tawny owls abide

Amongst cindered remnants

Upon grey cold pavements

Comforting melancholic embers

From caustic passions

Now past and inciting

From this season most inviting.

 

 

Spring

 

Snowdrops abundant

Around bare stumps

Drooping like icicles,

Thawing rivers of blossom

Flowing through forest floors

After the silence of night

Resounds with an exhalation

Of trees sighing with relief

After bearing their breath

Amidst the chthonian chill.

 

From the bludgeoning snow

Comes the burgeoning spring

Restoring life to what once lived,

The pipit having defied the cuckoo

Singing along with the skylark

To herald the new season.

 

The albumen nestling upon the yolk fleeced gorse

Gorging on verges of fields flocked with daffodils

Rising in verdurous clumps

Their perianth surrounding coronas

Like rays of sunlight rising from the hills

While pugnacious hares lay their eggs in meadows

And frogs spawn in the marsh.

 

While march meanders from the pewits pinch

Into the opening month

When the heavens shower the earth

Enticing the flourishing advance

Towards the assault of summer.

 

 

Anthony tends to fidget with his thoughts in the hope of laying them to rest. He has managed to lay them in a number of literary magazines including Enhance, Drunk Monkeys, Speech Therapy, Turbulence, Ginger Piglet, Torrid Literature Journal and The Rusty Nail, amongst others.

A Poem by Catfish McDaris

Listening For The Finches

 

While walking the railroad tracks almost

smothered in wild orange sunflowers,

I found a gristly ear, I thought of van Gogh

 

I planted it among my lady’s asparagus,

blackberries, & red currants, waiting

all summer & autumn for something

to reach for the sky with magic

 

Nothing happened, I saw an ugly dog

digging around until a finch dive bombed it,

one evening as the sun whispered goodnight

I looked out & I saw Vincent dancing

 

A flock of golden finches floating around

his face, singing & nibbling grain from his

out stretched hands of genius.

 

 

Catfish McDaris has been active in the small press world for 20 years. After 3 years as G.I. Joe, he hopped freights & hitchhiked across the U.S. & Mexico. He built adobe houses, tamed wild horses, made cattle troughs, worked in a zinc smelter, & painted flag poles. He lived in a cave & wintered in a Chevy in Denver. He ended at the post office in Milwaukee, a catfish farm is next, He hopes.

A Poem by Diane Webster

 

PLACE LAST SEEN

The walking stick measures each step
down the sidewalk counting squares,
lines, cracks crickets wiggle
into as stick and man approach
head down contemplating the tally
or watching for cement buckle
ready to trip unseeing eyes
but not him, not his walking stick
radaring the path ahead
like a pre-blind man learning
the feel of a seeing-eye stick
perhaps with eyes closed
to facilitate experience
counting days
until the real thing hits
like a light switch off
before jumping into bed
having faith the bed still
rests in the same place last seen.


Diane Webster lives and works in Colorado where she enjoys drives in the mountains and looking for wildlife to photograph. Also she tries to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life and wants to write about what she sees. Her work has appeared in "River Poets Journal," "Old Red Kimono," "The Rainbow Rose" and other literary magazines.

Three Poems by Dane Karnick

Land of Nod

 

Rosario strait

crumples my view

of quietude

anchored on

Orcas island

that has speckles

of granite and

brush strokes of fir

along its canvass

though negligible

to the business

of toes writing

zeros in waves

where the tide yields

to beach sand

with a curtsy

to the sun

granting lavender

for a kayaker

to paddle the rest

of water's lisp

and pull ashore

the close of day

while I wait

for Cygnus

the swan

to guide night

overhead as

ebony

undresses

color from sky

so inertia

can slip in bed

with everyone.

 

 

Vital Signs

 

A madrone leaf

in the shelter

of granite

is nursed

by a puddle

for the days left

behind the streak

of brown

unhitching

existence from

chlorophyll

as plant cells

dismantle

their membrane

in a farewell

to alliance.

 

 

Out of Place

 

A beached fir

lays on its side

exhibiting

at one end

lost treasure

full of stones

that spill out

their wealth

of smoothness

gliding under

my fingers

in contact with

tabula rasa

as I skim

the ocean

of amnesia.

 

 

Dane Karnick grew up by the Colorado “Rockies” and lives in Seattle. His poetry has recently appeared in Subliminal Interiors, Orion headless, The Rainbow Rose and Montucky Review. Visit him at www.danekarnick.com.

A Poem by J.J. Campbell

the first crack of thunder

the first drops of

rain since god

knows when

off in the distance

old wind chimes

try to make a

sound

a few seconds

of utopia in the

middle of nowhere

the kittens run for

cover at the first

crack of thunder

i laugh

it's not often we

get to see innocence

out here anymore

 

 

J.J. Campbell lives and writes on a farm in Brookville, Ohio. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Camel Saloon, Carcinogenic Poetry, ART:Mag, ZYX and Zygote in My Coffee. His first full length collection of poetry is due out in 2012 from Interior Noise Press. You can find J.J. most days on his blog, http://evildelights.blogspot.com.