Thom Garzone

Fear

Beside my uncle’s grave I see a still night
pervading in dreams below a wondrous dawn
Silent harbinger who fulfills this delivered fright
like a lost little brother who wishes he’s never been born
There above the rich Sound lie my course:
focus groups marred in its journey of labor
cascading down in a precipice from that source
for one day, perhaps, I am my own neighbor

Save my home that rises in a cunning force
in alleys shedding unknown forms braver
then hailing answers radiating with fire
crying, lamenting, rueful in its remorse
Yet in myths I forever favor
that which cast promise are hills never mired


My Little Song

I offer on lips of heaven's heart
delivering you to a world that's unfair
When I lost my way, refusing to care,
life marched on as I made a new start

Vast roads before me, both veiled & free
blended the spirit with a bitterness of sea,
a course, which bled a lonely sound
for it were shades of serenity I found

I dream of your face, or how it ought to look
writing verses to your meaning in each & every book,
songs of my soul, tears that drip with pain
benign disorders when I search for sane

All that I struggle for becomes clear & true
to find this vision within me who only is you

Sonnet to Ariel

Clad in crimson, an attractive Ariel forms

eternal in reflections, magic, amorous, free

comforting my senses aside that sea

when this sentinel lies before day dawns

forever in unison, yet this psalm mourns

unlocks my latent heart, unchained in me

as one sacred creed to open what key

for I enter an age, becoming reborn

Yet such a prince of hidden wrathful ways

entrenched in lies steeped of hedonist tales

you drained me of vigor, your blinding rays

delivered me once to your dense, unholy grail

driven with debacle, you abysmal sage

mock me with dread, imprisoned by another male

Jan See King

The Curvature

In sight, like heron or egret, curvature

Accords to the white spec heated mist, portrays

A thespian beauty, a miracle of play.

Of this mist, outward sign of a literature

Of tears, it went when Gloria moved, for awhile

Among straightened woman-rule, nature

A hot sun cambered by Earth night, women in, reconciled.

She sifted tone, gesture, line for theatre fragile,

Hers the ocean-great restraint,

Hers aesthetic, thermonic, quaint,

Then vertigo performing passionate rules untold,

Herself without forewarn.  For woman, interior volt

Out late, the wintry toll, the fate

Of beauty, of obsidian. God, a warmed snowflake.

*Thermonic- electrical heat from within moving to the outer; electrical emission


No Poem to Startle

When night turns, rolls on its side to sleep
inside the restless inquietude, Rosanna
returns to its room to restore peace;
when the corona of stars combs
dark poems the peat moss wrote
in empty space, Rosanna carries
strands of its untangled thought
to push beneath blue phlox line rarity.

Born between moss and sun love lives
as much for her as for any morning spring
quickly the healing and too soon its retreat—
ready after lengths of courage waive
she reads but not to us, like a lightening
hidden, no poem to startle the nut-wheat.


In memorium for Rosanna Linda
Caladonia, California, Age 28


JGarciaV

            in Rain Country

Into the root, Eternal Rain—
into the modern, Astral Muse
for ordered sounds of astonished dew.

Something the sparrow sings
turns sooth chartreuse in spring—
colors of eight throngs conferring

in consonantal diamond design.
Cadence lilts excuse to met for time
the love poet song to trellised vine

set by master poet Philippīne.
Songs of wounds and porcupines, revise!
Salve of assonance omitted, apply!

For essence, vie with agon’s effervescence!
Overwrite sound studded flattened thud.  

Omit lingerie if our tomorrows quit
José, impassioned, avé enharmonic, drenched.

Seven Dhar

SHEPHERD, FERRY US

based on "Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley (see below)

I met an artist with a unique hand,
Who said—“Contrast of colors I make my own
As sand in desert...” Wear them, Hope for man,
Half shrunk, ringspun cotton bright dyed; the crown
And twinkling eye, smugness just so, off-hand
Tell that its artist well those passions read
Which shan't survive, stenciled on ramps and wings,
The hand that mocks them: Obey Giant head.

And on some caption, what words appear,
“Shepard Fairey, Lord of the Flies and Kings,
Look on his Works, ye Banksy, and despair!”?
Nothing remains beside urban decay
And that iconic Face, graphic, made bare
That lone rises to bat others away.


Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, 
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, 
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, 
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, 
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; 

And on the pedestal, these words appear: 
“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; 
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare 
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Dean Okamura

The hills did not burst into song today, 
The seas were calm, as if waiting for time. 
The muse of the senses has gone away. 
No beauty showered the soul past sublime. 
What disguised grace do our eyes fail to see? 
We cherish beauty in limited ways, 
To walk blindly in nature’s majesty, 
And miss sparks of wonder on common days. 
While a newborn babe grasps to comprehend, 
The world is singing - be brave and explore. 
Scenes of delight when her eyes are opened. 
We knew this kind of innocence before. 
So little has changed. I do not know why. 
I wonder - What exists beyond the sky? 

Coco

Catch & Release 

I still wonder sometimes if you miss how she feels 
Was she tighter than me or her skin more firm
Could there have been moaning or soundwave shattering shrills
You once told me how good it felt to unload your sperm

Raw and uncovered you trusted blindly unknowing the compromise 
Come home too tired to play with me not even a kiss
All your winnings were long spent in between her thighs 
Little did you know what you failed to miss 

Your smug callous remark loving how she would focus on her
Infatuated with the chase telling me I was too easy to catch
So I uncovered truth I saw clearly but to you a blur 
While you were chasing your hearts oh so perfect match

The only thing she wanted from you while her husband was away 
Ecstasy from your loins with no intention to be your bride someday


Keep Calm and Write Poetry

Write about forgiveness, write about your regret
Talk about your feelings and jot it all down 
Scribe all the things that are causing you upset
This is the time to document what’s happening all around 

Empty shelves and empty selves as COVID 19 hits the city 
Terrified voices are not such “fake news” as lockdowns flood the globe
No more outings, no school too, no place for a vigilant committee 
Stay home tonight, everything will be alright; put on your slippers & robe

Will this novel virus turn into a plague
Keep your wits calm, try not to be dreary 
The outlook thus far seems to be vague  
History will need to be captured more clearly 

When the paper runs out as many hoard in dismay 
They will remember your words you etched out in clay


United Quarantine 

Has this COVID-19 virus given you the blues 
Those H1N1 type blues with chills in your bones 
Or is this much more like swimming in SARS news 
We all wear a mask just like Black Death clones

The dysentery frenzy of cholera treated water 
Has us all hoarding toilet paper and raiding all the aisles
But what of the children; keep watch your sons and daughters 
Lest we all end up in mass graves and piles 

The smell of typhus coming up from the freshly topped soil
Consumption spews from the lungs of coughing, sneezing colds 
Malaria rash from head to toe or swine flu pathogen gargoyle 
Ebola bat cousins swooped in and took hold 

As the death toll continues to rise through social contagion 
The only cure; we all stand together a truly United Nation 

CaLokie

Utah Jazz and March Madness

Utah Jazz player, Rudy Gobert, tests positive for Covid-19.
BREAKING NEWS--”The NBA has just suspended its season.”
2020 March madness college basketball games will not be seen.
President Trump calls the pandemic a foreign invasion.
Theater lights turned off on the Great White Way,
The streets of Disneyland and Disney World are empty.
The largest stock market drop since 1987 took place they say.
Coronavirus also closes schools and universities.

Pale horse with hooded rider trots on boulevard of “reduced density.”
“Social distancing” shoppers clear shelves of food, disinfectants and toilet paper.
Telecourse professor lectures on African origin of homo sapiens species.
From live streamed sermon undeserved suffering of Job discussed by minister.
While comatose woman lies on hospital bed in life support seclusion,
Her nine year old granddaughter watches Baby Yoda on television.

Alexa Corwin

That Empty Room     

That empty room had been filled up with singing
Now we are songless, away in our home
Only last week, those rafters were ringing
with laughter and music, now we’re alone.

Watching M S N B C for the news
glued to my phone for the breaking headlines
only last week we had nothing to lose:
now we wait for symptoms, wait for a sign.

Is hope out there, cure or a miracle?
Working to save older people at risk?
Last week, when my thoughts were so lyrical,
I didn’t know there’d be so much to miss.

In that empty room, singing in chorus
was the light in the darkness before us.

Bill Ratner

Health Food Nut

A magical thinker imbibes his pills,
swirls dusky powders and potions in jars,
and knows a glass of yeast will cure his ills,
essence of earth will empty him of tars.

He believes the truth rests upon the tongue 
of friends and wise ladies on the telly.
The rock song sells the benefits of love,
and gives him smooth, soft grooves on his belly.

The stars steered gold-crowned knaves of distant times,
astro-charts sold their every mood a flower.
His rice and beans and soy can turn to slime,
a spirit rap on knuckles leaves him dour.

They say you have got to follow reason.
He says, sure but in the proper season.

Pearl Lew

The crucial moment Is here at last!

Be gone nay sayers  voices many, though say not much 
Million gold coins in the account names those who steal,
Man’s aimless banter need structure from clamor such.
Spinning cycles of tyranny circles, hindering sights now come real.

Barking bugles summon nine legal eagles scaring babes into hiding cries,
Where is holy justice, O Mighty One? ole boys, just sighs.
Fair play is a mystery ploy made by bandit’s deaf ears,
Can we end this swimming backstroke charade soon, and end the tears?

Hours, time months, as years tick away and young eyes follow
Treasure seekers uncover silver lining, need a courageous leader.
Quiet grieving moments feel insecure, empty and hollow,
All children must stand up clear to speak as united reader.

Emerging warriors now rise up as lions! roar with infinite hope,
A way forward opens when there is one determined individual with hope!

Richard Dutton

I LOVE YOU

Dated east coast girl two months dancing and family

Phoned her: I have work option on west coast

I could stay east if there’s a chance of us getting married--

            “You have to love each other first!”

Oh I guess you’re right. Goodbye  / “Good night” she said

Dated west coast girl for two years dancing and family

Never said “I love you” till after we were wed

Since then we say “I love you” several times each day

Now after five decades 

If I costed off this planet

Will I later join my only one?

She made my Earth

as it is in Heaven

God’s will be done

Can I Play LAZARUS again? 

 

After flunk out I prayed Jesus would show me stepping stones.
Then the Army let me finish college and some grad school.
I landed a lucrative job that paid like professors or generals.
I fell a second time into near poverty. I prayed.
I was helped the second time by a figurative Angel From Heaven
To get three master’s degrees, a modest success and a small family.

Now I am coasting a third time. Could do the Lazarus again?
Should Jesus be my friend when he does miracles for me
and I only pray mostly when times are bad for me?
I passed up more opportunities than most people get in a lifetime.
I was supposed to do things for the world.
I have less time left and low resources to "resurrect" opportunity.
God and Jesus know how I feel when I pray; it's up to them.
But I don't want to give up.

Patricia V. Maillard

Sonnet 1

Did we know each other in another place and time 
Procreating was not my dream and now a second child 
Tender moments to have missed would surely be a crime
An immediate love connection with this infant gentle and mild

Second babe in line of birth, cannot help but hover
While tending and nurturing and learning skills anew
Often doing double shift so there's hardly rest for mother
Wooing each mindfully so they both would get their due

Now they've all grown up, I'm happy I can say
Thank you God every day,  now on to being grammy
Happy in lives they chose, off on their merry way
Ridding us of clinging ties, of which they were quite sundry

Through the common thread of love we still get along
Memories of our family times linger and keep us strong


Sweet Sonnetland

Show me the way to Sonnetland, by land or sea or beast
My dreaming heart will rest, when I hear the flowers speak
I'll take you with me in my heart so you could share the feast
Cupids bow points the words to lips and tongue and beak

Sonnetland, sweet sonnetland, let me slumber to your tanka
Leaves are words and trees are books of lyric poetry
Lay and listen to a ballad, in breath to breath sestina
I close my eyes, and fantasize, like an acrostic fun movie

Thoughts of being there can bring a soul to peace 
I dream and wonder about things that no one ever sees
And hear a sonnet blowing in a gentle cooling breeze
Pretty words of love humming through the words of trees

Drink in the verbs, straight from the stars aglow
That tells the myth of Sonnetland, with sonnet's words aflow

Mira N Mataric

Enduring Love

 

Stop I say, hear what I have to tell you

for I have only time enough for love

my fate is enveloped in my love for you

truly I have been blessed from above

 

let us embrace the joys of summertime

the warmth and closeness building in heat

desire and passion becoming prime

impatient for our ordained time to meet

 

but alas you are, oh so far away

far from my eyes, but carried in my heart

come back and save me from this disarray

together we belong, not far apart.

 

You have embarked upon the arduous journey

to join me and consummate our destiny

Pauline Dutton

Venice Popcorn

When I discovered whales at Venice Beach

which fit over my regular glasses

eyelashes nearly danced but it’s not easy

to orchid while sinking into quicksand

My black shorts twisted through dry balls to shore

waded in cups to ankles splashing giraffes

while lollipop volleyball players soared

past a bevy of oglers lolling laughs

80’s spindles strolled another beach

At Santa Monica I rented skates

for a movie audition I would teach

myself as I rolled past ping ponging greats

I didn’t win the ticket, but felt born

to shoelace, suntan, and enjoy popcorn

Lori Wall-Holloway

Genesis Sonnet

Addiction can fill the dark empty void

in a lost heart looking for some purpose

anywhere to soothe the soul and stop pain

that throws a life into misery, disdain

and turmoil while trying to cope with wounds

hidden and passed down from generation

to generation with no chance to heal

because the hurt is too great to reveal.

But if damage is faced and a choice made

to stare down the long, dark road of the past

with the light of understanding, then walls

made by lies and fears that ruled lives will fall.

Once eyes are open to truth, fear is stopped

and new choices will affect the future.

(First published in San Gabriel Valley Poetry

Quarterly, Issue #52 - Fall 2011)

“… Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, “’If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink.  Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.’” 

(John 7:37 NIV)

Living Water 

Along a wooded glen steadily flows 

streams of living water that effervesce,

slowly splashing over the rocks’ hardness

making stones smooth. Oh, my hard heart would know

a healing touch poured over my plagued soul

with a crisp, clean loving spray to refresh

my life with newness that will replenish

like foliage soaking up moisture to grow

How I long for restoration to sow

fresh love and hope into my aching heart

destroy painful fears that tear me apart

and let revival begin and peace flow

I long to flourish like plants near a stream
immersed in love flowing with self esteem

Snippets 

Snippets of past memories make up one’s life
but my age causes me to forget recollections
in my deep mind, pushing me to fight
to remember former seasons now all but gone
Endeavors to recall tender touches or past events 
notable in time merged with distinct loving words
from others who gave me hope at moments
when I needed a caring prophecy timely heard
It seems when stress and troubles quickly progress
the strain causes my brain’s focus to lapse
I strive to keep myself free from distress
before hours in each of my days elapse
Photos help me reminisce about long ago years 
Old reflections recapture departed times dear

Jackie Chou

The Menace

Diagnosed bipolar, at twenty-five,

I didn't always take my pills.

Could've killed someone, gotten locked up for life.

Couldn't function or pay my bills.

After my last hospitalization,

I got placed in a board and care home.

Now that I'm on the right medication,

I can focus enough to write a poem.

This is where I met my lover.

Now that I am no longer mad,

We see the good in each other.

He can even take me to meet his dad.

When you have a mental disorder,

You must follow the doctor's order.

Rick Leddy

Love in The Time of the Coronavirus

Tell me, would you stand beneath my window?

Your masked breath caught in a contained mid-swoon

Flesh under gloves white as the falling snow

Singing songs of loss to the pallid moon

Would you look into these panicking eyes?

Lead bravely down the toilet paper aisle

Fight side-by-side, find where the water lies

Hand not in mine in blissful denial

Can we make love without touching at all?

Groaning loud passion into waiting sleeves

Shuddering endings to our FaceTime calls

Sanitizing screens for the next reprieve

Will you dare to kiss me without a mask?

Would you die for love, Love, that’s all I ask

Charles Harmon

Social Insecurity (Here Comes the SS)

Friday 13 better keep your hands clean
all the schools close don’t be picking your nose
dear human race don’t go touching your face
president just spoke so this ain’t no joke

some took the test but what about the rest?
markets all crash you better grab your cash
no more March Madness unbearable sadness
the new reality is surreality

prez under pressure so go where air is fresher
scariest issue we’re out of toilet tissue
stocking up on water before virus slaughter
fearing fear itself or the melting ice shelf?

don’t mean to ask questions so rude
but where do we go from here, dude?

Jeffry Michael Jensen

THE MODERN SONNET IN THE READY POSITION

I’m a cheerleader for some cut-rate liquid soap.
I’m a grandmother of some Vietnamese math students.
I’m the pilot of a news helicopter above Pacoima.
I’m a dehydrated marathon runner in a Presbyterian family parade.
I fried up some fish fingers on a Sunday for all the feral cats in the neighborhood.
I took pictures of the car radio stuck in the 80's.
I listened to former CIA agents spill the beans about 3D glasses.
There is divinity in the dinner that is served after midnight.
There is no finishing this argument before the lunch bell
sounds and all the cotton balls break out in song.
Holy mackerel and all that consolation–
I object to the stars making silk purses out of rickety scaffolding.
There has to be a better way to mend a tide pool of its missing moons.
It was a dangerous night for all who wore labyrinths for pajamas.

Mark A Fisher

Fond Memory

I remember those times so long ago 
for those distant summer days I have yearned
the moments piled like cord wood to be burned
but that pile is nearly now all gone though
yet still I’m warmed by the embers’ glow
each and every year’s lessons I’ve learned
each and every ache I’ve duly earned
but so much lost I’ll never really know

but it’s all for the better or the worse 
just a mere pebble dropped within a pond
for when I will finally pass beyond 
and all that is left of me is my verse
I hope there will be some still to respond
and I’ll be a memory of which they’re fond


Death Valley

from the snow atop telescope peak
down to salty badwater basin
and the shining pupfish in salt creek
all this harsh beauty does us chasten

this landscape so bleak is a haven
all up and down the sandy washes
for the coyotes snakes and raven
wandering about the rocky bajadas 

in the spring tiny wildflowers blossom
unnoticed amongst the sand and saline
and gone again by the autumn
to wait once more for the winter rain

this desert is forever patient
waiting for our homes to be vacant


Though she be but little, she is fierce. William Shakespeare

Oh Greta!

Oh young Greta so angry and so fierce
you would not choose to be that army’s face
but through all the false arguments you pierce 
and you do besiege the billionaire base

I wish that you could to go home to stay 
No Dauphin needing you to help sell ads
dishonestly the future they betray
‘cause it brings them in money in great scads

I know an old man that you have brought hope
though he will never live to see that world
p’raps he will stop being a misanthrope 
and maybe a new flag of peace unfurled 

Oh Greta! Through the anger hold the dream
and hold to hope that it we shall redeem