Daily Archives: February 26, 2013

“Winter Morning” by Robert O. Adair

The frosty air,
chilling as death!
Ice hard as stone!
Plaintive wind howling.
Lone farm house,
light from the kitchen window
spilling out over the snow.
Farm wife bustling about,
coffee perking on the stove,
warm aroma of
scrambled eggs, flapjacks
and sweet maple syrup
floating through the kitchen!
A warm oasis of life
amid the empty
wintry desolation!

“Death’s Feather” by Dawnell Harrison

You dangle death's feather
On my spine.

It sinews to the deep
Heart of the marrow

Of my bones as chilly
As a snowy winter's night.

Snow weighs down the
Earth with its wet, heavy

Slosh dropping soundly
On the earth's maiden floor.

I do not wish for love –
Silence harkens the innards
Of my faltering soul.

“Of My Thoughts” by Dawnell Harrison

I wring the shapes
Of my thoughts

As they filter slowly
Through my mind.

A gaggle of word's
Contusions fill my

Brain with pages
Of unknown sentences.

My hand does not know
The words that it makes

When love is found
In the quarry of my

Peace-driven heart.
I doodle your name.
I am yours.

“The Sky Ablaze” by Dawnell Harrison

My hands were on fire
As I set the sky ablaze

In the sewn seconds
Teased in an unknown

Light of the talcum night.
The ocean's waves broke

Hard against the shoreline,
Against the rock wall,

Against the whole god damned
World as the red sun faded

Into the twilight and the
Hills stood as quiet as a mirror.

“A Pleading Soul” by P.C. Ferrin

Under the blood moon she shined, of feline design.

My sun, bound in endless night.

Forever she whispered, Her voice a carressing gale.

Forever, I bloomed in the darkness of light,

And shuddered under her sight.

How they never see, Her beauty.

How they never see, Her heart take flight.

Bury me in her night,

Blind me my foresight,

Bind me, if need be,

or free me completely.

“Reading Room Zippers (for nuisances at public libraries)” by Frank DeCanio

A zipper here! A zipper there!
Convinced I can't take anymore,
I run tense fingers through my hair

suggesting that she's so unfair
for grating on my mental door
by zipping here and zipping there

assorted luggage, as it were.
She still repeats her harsh encore
as I run fingers through my hair

before her bag is worse for wear
and snagging fingers start to sore
by zipping here and zipping there

metallic teeth that scrape and tear
with rasping strains I can't ignore.
As I run fingers through my hair,

I start to moan a fervent prayer
that some steel-snipping omnivore
gnaws zipper here and zipper there,
then bores through roots beneath her hair.

“Cuckoo Clock” by Frank De Canio

If life begins its run at one o'clock
and youth gets settled in a quarter after,
adulthood takes in stride its bold tick-tock
a happy half-turn from birth's gurgling laughter.
Nor need we care or otherwise take stock
of any here or there, or hereinafter,
or fear the cuckoo down the line will shock
us with its coming hour's burgling laughter.
But when the small hand noses toward the two,
we cease to weave the yarn that time has spun
and starkly mark the ticking left to do
before the ticker tells us that it's done.
And we can hear the chirping cuckoo mock
us when we end our course around the clock.

“Ship in a Bottle” by Robert O. Adair

to lands unknown
far from our boring,
familiar world
over the shining waves
to ports afar,
to magic cargoes
of jewels, gold and spices,
of ivory, apes and peacocks,
where romantic adventure calls
in exotic lands of mystery!
Ever onward,
sails puffed out,
racing before the wind,
cresting the rising swells,
free as free can be!

“Starry-Eyed” by Robert O. Adair

Wide eyed with wonder,
there is a lovely young woman
in a charming portrait,
she is dreaming dreams
and seeing visions,
not unlike Alice,
Through the Looking Glass!
Seeking the magic
of the Fairy Queen,
the lost lane end,
the happy turning,
the dreaming spires of
an exotic, alien planet
of mysterious adventure
beyond the farthest star
or at the hidden ends of the earth
or in its hollow core or ocean depths
far from the weary workaday world,
where dreams come true
and happiness is complete!

“Democracy’s Stern Mistress” by Frank De Canio

"I'm not free," she told him, brushing aside
brash importuning, like loose strands of hair.
"Neither will they win me with misty-eyed
murmurings of need, or wrath's steely glare.
I'm not easily intimidated,
and whining doesn't mean you care. I heed
only suitors who have demonstrated
wholehearted commitment in word and deed.
Nor am I seduced by the sly, shark-skin
smoothness of moneyed men in business suits,
or roughnecks who hide behind masculine
posturing. Let them bed with prostitutes
and sleep in borrowed dreams of ecstasy
until their time is through. But not with me!"

“DREAM(E)SCAPE” by Ray Gallucci

At the top of the staircase, trapped, I cower.
Something approaches. I search for sanctuary.
Stairs creak as it climbs. I must hide!

Behind a chair. Can it spy me there?
It's a ghost! I must invoke a power.

I'm shrinking, sinking to submicroscopic size.
It can't see me! I've escaped! I'm safe!

“One for the Ages” by Ray Gallucci

I'm one who rhymes of cabbages,
Not one to flatter kings.
Some praise men "noble savages;"
Of mice I'd rather sing.

I'm never one who manages,
But who produces things.
See not the good in carnages
When dead come reckoning.

I relish winter's ravages
Not spring's awakening.
Prefer internal lavages
To nasal structuring.

For Justice's miscarriages
I would in tumbril bring
To guillotine's mixed marriages
Condemned as offering.

If seek ye here of messages
Profound and heartening,
Traverse no more these passages
So disillusioning.

“Compulsing” by Ray Gallucci

Rapid fire will inspire me to higher things.
Going crazy, shunning lazy, thoughts so racy bring.
If I stumble, all will crumble down to bumbledom,
Then momentum that I pensioned will to dead end come.

Must complete all, dare to not stall, lest my world collapse.
Cannot loosen 'cause this noose entwining doesn't snap.
Energetic or pathetic? None but medic knows,
For my dervish may seem feverish till my switches blow.

“Bridge to Nowhere” by Stephen E. Cisneros

I continue on my voyage
into the starry sea
to where the phantoms have beaconed me.
As Earth tones twinkle
dark clouds drift and sprinkle
all around up and down
the purple harbor.
The harbor in the stars,
a port for silver bars--
a harbor for aliens in the sky,
across the galaxies where all the angels fly.
A harbor where kings,
spaceships, gods, and demons meet,
Oh, you sweep me off my feet
my darling sweet
but it's wisdom I seek before I sleep.
Filled with enlightenment
a glowing orb swoops down from above,
fill’d with both Heaven and love.
It takes the form of God, Jesus, Buddha--
Noah's raven,
and then a dove.

“Sultry Island Dusk” by Stephen E. Cisneros

"Come at dusk, I must,"
is what he said to me.
"Come at dusk, I must,
he will speak to you and me."
I went home the other night--
to the place
where the peach blossoms blume
in spring's eternal shade of blue.
A place where musical skies
shine in your bright eyes...
Silver days fade my way,
calm autumns and winter reminders,
sunsets and dream finders.
Orange blossoms on the way to Bonham--
an aberration of home.
I see my grandma's street,
out of focus cars driving in the twilight heat...
Sultry island dusk
to which end we laugh,
oh we must... oh how we must.
I grasp the hand of the boatman of the stars,
messenger to the God of Mars--
we're lifting off in flying cars.
I grab his hand, he grabs my hand
as we both blast off--
into the promise land.

“Thirteen” by Stephen E. Cisneros

I can see
the entire cosmos,
a million galaxies--
with a billion stars
and ancient gods in silver cars.
I can see your face
flying all over outer-space.
from across starry ocean's grand,
blue Martian,
can I hold your hand?
Galaxies of billions,
colorful chameleons--
purple starlight fades
into mysterious Sundays.

“Helmet” by Robin Wyatt Dunn

When I lift my head into its warm embrace,
And feel the awe that comes with power,
And thrill to see the shadows spill into my brain,
I whisper to myself:
'I am a mirror'

The mask is dedication,
It's an abstraction,
It is a richly figured drug,
And I work its work by throwing off all suppositions,
Notions I had had,
To steep my eyes in sentience not of Earth.

I cull the world you know!
I wield a serpent's tail!
I will the whir that burrs beneath your bones.

My headpiece will outlive me,
And I only do but what it says,
But its ochre grey rust that thicks onto my cheek,
Is worth any lifetime's suffering,
Only to feel it curve across my bones.