Rachel Cunniffe – 1 poem

Not the poets’ manual

 

 

Take a word

use it the way a nurse uses terms of endearment

sweetheart, darling

serve it with tea described only by the adjective nice.

 

Take a word

use it the way a student uses like

for example I was like `yeah right’

and punctuate it with whatever.

 

Take a word

use it in the way a social worker uses appropriate

make sure the phrase the real issue here

follows within two sentences.

 

Take a word

see how many others exist inside one original

use a spell check peach is not contained in speech

remember always, repetition is very vulgar.

 

 

🍃

 

 

Rachel Cunniffe is based in the North East of  England and has  written a  wide range of  poetry  since being a teenager, has an MA in Writing Studies gained in 1995 from Edgehill University College. Real jobs stifled her creativity for 16 years  and she has  recently  been able to partially retire and spend more time writing again. She has been a member  of several creative  writing groups  one of which  has  been in existence since 1991. She read regularly at the now sadly no more Callender Poetry Festival in September during that time for about 9 years.

She lives with a large black dog and two cats.

 

Glenn Hubbard – 1 poem

Granite

 

Feldspar and silica.

Felsic for short. Quartz.

Coarse, the grain.

Hence the name.

Under the crust,

cooling magma. Mica.

 

After many hours

of wandering

through the big

town, she’s tired

and cold, needs

a sit down.

The heat has

drained from

the sunny

autumn day.

Grey stone

slab like a

warm slice.

Oh! That’s nice!

 

Bearer of last messages

behind village churches.

Demanding. Hard to carve.

Chisels clink in a satchel.

That maddening chink.

 

Finely dressed. Best ashlar.

Many a town hall.

In Aberdeen, east-facing

facades that last.

 

And many a proud railway station

that gleams in the Sierra sunshine

there where they hold the line

against the red brick invasion.

 

Up and down the thriving island

new homeowners rip them out.

Tiles and floors in perfect kitchens

making way for tiles and floors.

Those were theirs; these are yours.

 

They lowered the stone in on a crane.

All the way from El Berrueco.

We’d sit, watching the fish.

It was hard

not to hope for hernias

when thieves stole a slab.

 

🍃

Glenn Hubbard 

Donna Dallas – 1 poem

2019 is like this

 

 

I need a savior lord

knows                     I need a slick

gin and tonic to slide smoothly

down my throat          vape cigarettes through a blue filtered pen  

could trade places with sweet-at-home wives instead I

grind over and over but

all I really want is a cat

on my lap as I listen to the night

owl as I listen to the sharp cracks

in the fire when the logs pop and watch

the sparks fly out like shooting

stars                    I am a mother / a workhorse / the under-dog

I, the ample giver

caretaker

a getter

not a lover (……..well maybe sometimes)

I fold the sheets sloppily and I think

fuck it

 

🍃

 

 

Donna Dallas

Tobi Park – 1 poem

AI

 

I try to catch dreams with the green of a butterfly net,

They always seem to evade me,

Falling through fibers

Like stars

I suppose I lose dreams as fast as I find them.

I lose my nets,

I find them creased into dreams

Dreamed into creases,

They unfurl in my hands

And I see my mind in binary code

Like cracked circuits

I spark,

And as I don a skirt of electric fires

I dance to the broken time of a broken beat of a broken wire of a broken net

Like a broken butterfly

I slip through the green until

All I taste is chlorophyll.

Overhead, stars.

 

 

🍃

 

 

Tobi Park is a sophomore at Orange County School of the Arts. She was the youngest speaker for the 2016 TedxValenciaHighSchool. She is a member of NHS, Project Director in World Religion and Philosophy Club, and She runs an intracurricular club, WAV, that helps other students to write creatively. She has been published in Adonis Designs Press, Basil O’Flaherty (2 pieces), Phosphene Literature Journal, Chautauqua Journal, Panoplyzine, Rattle and SOLA. She is a National Medalist in the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, having recieved one Honorable Mention, one Silver Key, and three Gold Keys. She also won 3rd place with her team in the slam poetry competition, OC RYSE. Tobi writes for many reasons; one of them is to inspire change. She wants to change the world, and in her opinion, change doesn’t have to be big. Maybe she can bring a new perspective to light. Maybe her words can bring joy. To her, any small shift can be change.

Edwin Segal – 2 poems

A State of. . . .?

 

 

The time has come: emergency
but not urgent; danger, but golf
first to ease the tensionless strain.
Who needs to read reports?  Facts are
always replaced by our nonsense.

 

I have already promised you:
someone will pay, but we won’t.
Hard choices, some one must, but not us.
Great strain, with turncoats all about.
The world is safe without our might.

 

Ask those we left behind; they have
new partners, and no one asks us.
We are free; no more mooching; our
treasure is ours, for our comfort,
and we will be great, but alone.

 

🍃

 

 

Na’amah:
Noah’s Wife
(Genesis 4-8)

 

 

They said he was righteous in his
generation, but that was all.
He stuffed me into that boat (he
heard a voice he said), animals
as well, and so we endured that
journey, sweaty, dusty, dirty,
smelly. We endured – no options.

 

Then it ended; I kissed the ground;
he planted a vine; I planted
crops, cooked animals and fed us.
A year later he made wine for
the voice in his head, and drank it,
and it took control of his body,
exposing his mind’s disarray.

 

Two of our sons tried to protect
him, while the third ran to tell me,
and then I realized I was alone.
No one speaks to me or of me.
I am Na’amah, daughter of
Lamech and Zillah, bringer of
sweet songs of praise to all voices.

 

My mother was a shadow, but
I am not; others hear me sing.
I speak my mind and the heavens
stay in place.  And so I left the boat
searching for the queen of demons,
Lilith, who has much to teach us.

 

🍃

 

 

Edwin Segal has been writing poetry since college (late 50s). Fortunately, he says, everything before 1974 has been lost. Some of his published poetry has appeared in Poetica Magazine , Bindweed Magazine and Verse-Virtual; a lot is out of print or has never been published.  He is Professor Emeritus of Anthropology at the University of Louisville and has conducted field research in Senegal, Cameroon, Kenya, Tanzania, Malawi, South Africa, Kyrgyzstan and Oman. Apprentice House published his chapbook, Heritage, in 2017.