Deportee’s Lament

Robert Motherwell

I was working
picking your apples
from high up your ladder
in your vast orchard
of endless trees

If not picking
I drove your sprayer
wearing your protective
suit & your gas`mask
down endless rows

If not spraying
I pruned your trees
cutting off water`shoots
on your heavy limbs
in endless supply

Where were you
when they found me
neck`deep in your labors
then hauled me away
to endless obscurity?

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Love Eclipsed


Just sitting here
awaiting the eclipse
as America considers
raising its eyes to the sun
to see the moon pass
in front of the light
to reveal the dark

Isn’t it ironic how
blind we already are
to the shadows cast on
our hearts Biases learned
in childhood reinforced
by the tribal attitudes
of our social peers

Our fear of others
who look act believe
different from our norms
fear that finds expression in
the barriers that separate
us into our isolations
of sheer arrogance

What but our pride
keeps the light of Love
from illuminating our lives
Greatness come from making
others larger than they are
more than what we are
dogs gnawing bones

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On Water

Yvonne Jacquette

In August
even the weeds
are dying in the yard
Our Island is surrounded
by the sea yet water
to nurture earth
is still scarce

Like islands
the garden boxes
shine emerald green
in a sea of brown stubble
the thick stems bent
with the weight
of their fruit

A little water
will go a long way
when carefully metered
By such means the Negev
has become an orchard
High deserts acres
of lush alfalfa

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Kevin Umaña

Lying bare`chested
on my back on a gurney
in a small room in Imagery
a technician squeezes gel
onto my warm belly

I stare at the ceiling
covered with snap`shots
of Hawaiian beach scenes
surf`boards & outriggers
old turtles & pelicans

My grandfather died
when Mama was a child
from a ruptured aneurysm
leaving a family to Oma
to raise on her own

I feel the steel ball
glide sternum to navel
then rib`cage to rib`cage
now holding my breath
then letting it release

The technician says
nothing of what he sees
‘I think we’ve got enough!’
And I’d have to concur
A new day is enough

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The Old Watch

Andrew Weatherly

we told the time
by hands on the clock
big hand & little hand
in the tiny circle

The days
on our calendars
full of appointments
in hourly increments
business lunches

The watch
would wind itself
so long as we moved
hour followed hours
and so the years
the months

The wrist
now stands free
its gold`watch boxed
in a forgotten drawer
We tell time again
by shadows

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Paul Klee – Woman with Tomato

The spring garden
has all gone to seed
the garden boxes where
row`on`row of potatoes
greened and blossomed
where peas climbed
up the tall trellises

And the cauliflower
sheltered their heads
with elephant`ear leaves
beside the bolted spinach
beside the wilted lettuce
given up to the heat
of the summer sun

The empty boxes
sit soil`spent now
schoolyard sandboxes
children gone to holiday
the forgotten sweaters 
of pale leaf & vine
left behind to say

It’s tomato`time!

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Old Friends

Wax Art by Jody B

He has his truth
and I have mine

Here we’ve come
to our conclusions

We no longer talk
of right or wrong

Agreeing that talk
is not productive

Simply up`sets us
wounds the peace

Started with religion
moved on to politics

Sex is still fair`game
we’re both impotent

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        Karen Holly

A solitary
monarch butterfly
landed on the tip of my rod
a frequent perch
in summer
for the lacy
blue dragonflies
frequenting the coulee`basin
where the river
stacks up
on a dam
the deep water
churning in giant whirlpools
bending the keel
of the boat
into a slow
lazy circular spin
and so we drift away the day
a golden butterfly
my boat & I

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This Umber`World

Torey Thornton

The world
some say
goes grayer
by the day
I must say
more umber

The brown
of hills
once green
now so dry
once trees
now stumps

Where once
a horizon
drew a fine
line between
earth & sky
all’s now one

In heaven
it is said
all the colors
are so bright
as to pierce
a human soul

Such glory’s
too much
for the world
so acclimated
to the umber
here down`under

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Kiki Slaughter

Like primitives
we pray for rains
not for the greening
of the crops but for
cleansing the skies
of acrid smoke

The lungs ache
from the weight
of scorched forests
even as hearts ache
for the creatures
being cremated

Driven by fear
they flee flames
flying as fast as feet
tree`top to tree`top
searching refuge
in Devil winds

Like primitives
we pray for rains
circle`dancing fires
with axes & spades
breaking against
the apocalypse

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Fishing in Fire

Angeline Beres

The sun
hangs a red ball
in the early August sky
filtered through
wood ash

It’s just
one shade paler
than the bloody moon
filled the sky
last night

A breath’s
hard to catch
out on stagnant water
tastes of ashy

Still salmon
rise for the bait
gasping in the foul air
appetite being
what it is

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Gone Fishing

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