P O E T I C A

A man once made a million dollars with a pair of scissors and a few sheets of paper. He was a travelling salesman whose disgust with common drinking glasses in public places led him to invent the paper cup. While poetry may not provide much money, it can provide an alternative to the lipstick-rimmed, calcium-spotted, germ-infested, soap-scummed banalities we're all annoyed with.

- Lee Anne

Returns

I am
here for
the nickel
return, five
cents on the<
bottle, to reinvest
in another six. Clench-
ing bags to chest, bottles
clink like restless kids. Clears,
greens and browns piled high on
the counting table. A wall of card-
board and glass, temples of six-packs,
aluminum obelisks: a monument
to my thirst and financial savoir fare.
Six dollars and forty-five cents, I have
earned the happy way. Kneading the
bruised receipt I study refrigerated
units and see that the new IPA looks
good, labeled blue for truth and con-
sistency. Six cool lanterns to hold up
a frozen sky I will redeem tomorrow.

- I.W. Morton

Winter Sonnet

Opal snow flakes go lightly flying past

and their descent leave me at a loss for words.

I spend much more time now than I can afford

shut in by snow thatís blown by windís bombast.

Yuletide festivities came and went too fast.

On highways of wind, I admire hoary hoards

as dead dandelion fluff blowing towards

wind rows of hay hanging on Boraís blast.

Before fireplace, I relax in my bedroom.

I smoke a pipe and imbibe white grape wine

conjuring pleasant pictures of vineyards in bloom.

Comforts such as these are positively good

for warding off any suggestion of gloom

on solemn snowbound nights in Catskill woods.

- Roger Whiton

the bloodsuckers are screaming
(while they ooze a pointless expensiveness)

watch out for the bloodsuckers

with the death of all

with the death of being

with a rodeo & a crocodile

a submachinegunned whale & a

babysitter sprawled across the couch

on a day of the rose bowl

the death of being

the sum of all

with an avantgarde jazz vampire

swooping down suddenly out of midnight

with a lobotomy of the soul

& a weeping boxerófive shots

to the jaw & mecca

with the mouthpiece like a hockey puck

straight across the flooró

óinto a smiling bouquet of promises

with the end of being

with the end of all

with the machinery of the middle class

exploding like a bankrupted nirvanaó

the faeries & mosquitoes masquerading

as the petals on the laurels

of the survivors

death of all

sum of being

the elephant eloquent goes honk honk

what do you think, Rodent?

there are joyous screams from the heart

of the scrap ironó

the majestic dance amongst the mushrooms

the bloodsuckers are screaming

all the while (in a deluge that oozes

a pointless expensiveness)

they send you the bill

- normal

The Happiness of a Stingy Man

The feel of a found coin

secreted in a sweaty palm,

the savoring of dinner guests

who cancel.

- Shulamit

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