If you put the front lights of cars together
you would get the sun
—Joshua Fisher (4 years)
Beginning
You served me my first cup of coffee
in a quilted Ball jar
two stories above Main Street
on a gray Thursday morning
before a storm in December
after finals were over
and from above it sounded like
we were the only people left in town.
I can’t remember how
that first cup tasted
or if I even liked it
but I do remember
the creak of your kitchen floor
as you carried it across the room,
sleeves falling down to your fingertips.
I remember how the clouds
formed behind the glass
and feeling warm when they were gone,
although I think that was you.
—David Lukas
Flight with the Billions Waiting
As the shadowlands seize the heart,
as hemlock, as antimony, as blade
swift, clean and silent.
To gather back harbingers
dark as bird-cloud,
all directions scattered.
The jostling of sounds,
escapes into strange
forests, moon like a gash,
a gash of pearl hung there.
Cancer-root among oak trees.
The living and dying, dancing.
—Steve Clark
Catskills
Rise and fall
together.
Lie flat as
sand dunes.
Justify age
in teeth, bias,
clove.
Haven
without gates
or fences.
Burned by snow
and sun
and footfall.
Waterfalls
flatten into seas.
Forest froth retreats
in autumn runoff.
Passive active breath.
Sky disappears
in cliffs.
—Ryan Tracy
A New Year
If only this dawn of
A New Year
Might mean the dawn of
A New Beginning:
Might mean a melting
Of frozen hearts—
A New Compassion;
Might mean a broadening
Of narrow minds—
A New Enlightenment;
Might mean an embrace
Of different ways—
A New Tolerance;
Might mean a loosening
Of old strictures,
Old scriptures—
A New Faith.
Someone once pled
“Father, forgive them,”
And was crucified;
Someone once said
“I Have a Dream,”
And was crucified;
Someone once begged
“Imagine,”
And was crucified.
Haven’t we done enough harm?
We’ve no time left to crucify.
It is time, at long last, to sanctify:
To sing a psalm in unison,
In an all-encompassing embrace,
In this holy chapel of Earth—
In consecration not of the One,
But of all: our full congregation;
To gather close in welcome
Of our glorious differences,
Knowing that differences
Serve only to deepen us,
Merely to diversify us,
To weave of us all
A coat of many colors,
Stitched together as one:
Myriad beautiful tones,
All harmonizing, all blending,
All dazzling, all holy.
And all of one lining.
—Tom Cherwin
I Stand, Quietly
I stand, quietly, witness
you crossing the footbridge
in the old park where almost no one
dares walk alone anymore.
Life on the outskirts is dark,
we fear walking on our own—
defenseless, unsure of purpose.
To love, lust, or just to be?
I stand, softly, whisper words
only swaying trees share,
birds pass over—squirrels trample
my simple outlook now.
In this moment, standing quietly,
detecting how the world’s breath
labors to return to full blown,
I pray I can keep my balance.
I no longer question if I’ve found my focus.
I just choose not to follow you further.
A different world—the park seems smaller now.
I stand quietly, and quietly, I stand out.
—Perry Nicholas
Finding My Way
Now I’m older,
entering a room,
forgetting my purpose,
I ask myself,
What am I doing here
which is what
I should have been asking
right along.
—Clifford Henderson
A Poem for Sale
I had a poem for sale,
I asked a store owner
to place it in the window
He insisted on commission
I agreed
We put a price tag on it
It stayed on display for a month
The store owner said
“No one is interested
you’ll have to take it back”
I asked if there were any potential customers
“No”, he said,
“But people stopped by to read it”
That encouraged me and I asked
if I could replace it with another one
For the same price.
—Ze’ev Willy Neumann
Socially Distanced Cocktails
The night is warm, her flowers in bloom
A chance to dispatch our covid’d gloom;
Old friends together, our drinks well known
A social gathering instead of alone.
Each chair is placed at the distance proscribed
And each wears a mask as our hostess advised,
Here, the covid has no chance to spread,
Though no one can hear a word that is said.
—Chas Weeden
How it used to be tomorrow
Running the guy what he’s unwilling to walk
Chasing death with the water of life
—J Sweet
Burnt Hand
My burnt hand
Is scorched permanently black
From four separate
Hot steel guns…untraceable each
My ears suffer tinnitus
From shots fired at a close distance
in barren
Much less fortunate neighborhoods
In East and West Baltimore
On suffocating nights tightening around me
Choking
The sounds whirled into my ear canals
Swirling like dishwater down the drain
Of the kitchen sink
Only much faster
Only I was much quicker
My eyes bleed in anger
Seeing bodies drop
On the grimy sidewalks
Littered beyond imagination
Some more trash for the pile
Call me a litterbug
I dare you
I use my burnt hand to eat
To shake your hand
To caress my woman’s body
To write
To wipe my ass
To paint
To shoot up
To wave at a passing car
To hold my baby son and daughter
To hammer a nail
To hold up to my eyes as I stare wildly at the sun
I look at my burnt hand
Carbon Black
And say
“Oh baybee…you’re a killer alright.”
—Theo Steve
A Few Things
That’s all
A decent window
With something
Beyond it
Another poem to fill
This room with silent
Music
Her hope to last all
Morning
No menu,
just a coffee
A few things
That’s all
—Ryan Brennan
Talkative Neighbor
came here from Sweden
at age seven
seventy years ago
strolling the sidewalk
to the corner and back
dozens of times every day
often stopping to chat
in by-the-book English
but today
an ambulance parked
in front of her home
she struggles with the medics
as they try to stretcher her
howling her fears
in desperate Swedish
—Tony Howarth
My Love Is Like a Rose Bud
My love is like a fresh rose bud
She is warmed by the sun
Watered by gentle rain
Nourished by healthy soil and
Glories in the fresh air
And opens to me
When she is ready
—Mel Sadownick
OMG
My god I lost
My dog
My dog I lost
My god
My god
My dog is dead
My dog
My god is gone
My head is in a poignant fog
My god I lost
My dog
My god
—David Capellaro
This article appears in February 2022.
