Rina Rose

conversation with the full moon

 

i see curving roads

on her surfaces

and I mentally follow where they lead

beneath a starless sky

 

often in the luna’s light i have

dreamt that each billowing cloud

through which birds pass 

becomes a sailing ship

– i’m on it –

traveling far from ordinary delusion

 

rainbow-hued leaves descend from branches

according to the moon’s seasons

they create splatters of unsalted raindrops

in my eyes they unnoticeably cover my cheeks

and i taste velvet burgundy

rose petals caressing my face

 

i nurture single words

blooming into poetic expressions

they flow from my flowering intellect

whether in sadness or joy

 

the full moon is an equal partner

in conversations

she understands for many ages

what i have yet to learn 

Kathryn Rueby

GARDEN PARTY: Evening Edition

Memorial Day 2013

 

the summer social season

  begins today

officially launched

  with barbecue grill

    potato salad

a few friends

 conversation

  laughter

 

the cliches of modern angst

sparkle and tumble

in the gentle dusk

like the ice cubes

  in our glasses

 

full summer essence

politely waits

in the small tight fists

  of tomato blossoms

yet to hang fully ripened

  on vines of longing

creeping beneath

  our lawn chairs

 

garden fairies

  tiptoe past

one finger to the lips

Karineh Mahdessian

as you squeezed

you
into

me,

you left

thumbprints on my soul,
reminder that it had happened

even if yellowed by memory.

you were here.

inside.

witnessing the madness of me.

and when it became too much,
you simply turned your head,
closed your eyes,

and
commanded your feet to walk away,

leaving thumbprints

for the next lover
to follow.

Lynne Bronstein

SCENARIO

 

I’m not going to work today.

Instead I’m going to write the script

For a revolution movie.

 

In the opening scene

The Russian Revolution

Will happen again

And this time it will work

Or I’ll keep writing it

Until it does work.

 

Next

The lovely murder suspect

Will turn out to be

The associate producer

While eight bikini women

Are cinematographers

And thirteen male grips

Play guitar wearing g strings only.

 

Oh yes the whole thing

Is in black and white.

It’s a black and white dream.

And the opening credits

Come during the last half hour

Inserted in the upper right hand

Corner of the screen

As a series of Burma shave signs

On a highway during the ice cream truck and moped chase sequence

Which ends with the whole cast

Having tickets written for them

By a cop wearing no pants.

CaLokie

ON LILAC LANE LAWN

 

Past midnight

on front yard of Arizona home atop mesa

we sit around campfire bullshitting, drinking beer 

and smoking pot like our Neolithic ancestors at dawn 

of Holocene Era no doubt did

 

Below

glittering lights of Las Vegas 

appear a short trip away

instead of the 80 mile drive 

down a desert highway to get there

 

Above 

clusters of stars burst across night sky

fired from some cosmic cannon

and though I don’t witness a universe 

as massed with galaxies as I would

through the Hubble Space Telescope

the stars I do see like the ones in Abraham’s sky

are more than I could possibly count

 

Like the time 65 years ago 

on a blanket spread on front lawn 

when Depression kids--firstborn sister, Dolores, 

last born brother, David 

and in between me--sit 

with Grandma, Mom, stepdad Jimmy, 

and discover again

from our Midwest City home on Lilac Lane 

the UNIVERSE

 

When I was born 

there was only a little over 2 billion people

living in our global village

Today over 7 billion inhabit planet metropolis

and it’s still growing

But when you consider 

there’s over 100 billion stars in our galaxy 

and 100 billion galaxies in our universe,

we don’t really seem shit in the scheme of things,

do we?

 

But then again 

we are the ones who are aware 

of whatever or whoever’s behind the whole shebang

and even if it or they ain’t aware 

of those aware of them

this should count for something,

shouldn’t it?

  

Now 

from Arizona home on mesa, I can see all 

the Big Dipper stars along with milk spill 

as I did then

on Lilac Lane lawn

 

There's no one left on blanket

but me 

and soon I got to leave my space

No matter 

It’s been a hell of a ride!

Joe Gardner

1972 C10

 

Looking at a picture of you

Tomorrow so far away

Long memories lead my mind astray

Plans of a future together on the road

Chasing the wind

The radio singing those old travelling songs

Solid 70s gold

Keeping tune with the singing of the tires

Eating the miles up one after another

Right arm across the bench seat

Around my girl

Left arm crooked out the window

Holding the wheel

A cigarette smoldering in my lip

Speedometer holding a steady seventy

On the 91 highway on a Saturday

Heading back to the beach

Following the route

My father used to commute

To pull oil from the wells

Down in Signal Hill

And Venice Beach

Back when this old pick up

Rolled off the assembly line new

Richard Dutton

WEB

 

On this plant we have sheepy bugs

Who eat green

Also bully jumping jacks

Who need lots of bugs to eat

 

Bullies pretend to be shepherds

So sheep elect to follow

If dictators eat all their morsels

Then they themselves will die off

 

If there were no controlling wars

Then larger population could

Eat the whole plant --- then starve

Sir, you're eating my leaf

 

Luckily the plant is large enough to

Inhibit centralized decision making

And allow individual thinking

But no bug is an island

 

They claim all bugs are equal

But they are not all the same size

And could act peaceful

Or as jumping jackals

 

Drawing-board robot bugs

May evolve faster

And eat jobs

Will there be space for me?

 

Are blogs my bible?

Or am I bugged facing

Some other web spiders

In the battle ground?