COLD ENOUGH TO SNOW
That's me, the one staring straight ahead as if maybe I stared long
enough the things passing in front of me would change,
the panhandler with the unfortunate stains on his pants finds a twenty
or the dead flowers in the trash come back to life, but it's cold
on the corner and getting colder every morning, and I'm waiting, tired
of waiting, still waiting for the yellow school bus of the sun to pick
us up.
--Howie Good
Brief Moments By The East River
Sailboats underway with engines
sails flop loosely, famished for wind.
Gulls soar, probing the murky waters
nearby traffic roars and snarls.
Joggers sweat, huff and puff.
Industry throbs, clanks, thumps.
A yellow butterfly flutters
sucking off undernourished weeds
tries to cross the highway
doesn't make it.
The helicopter spotting traffic
doesn't notice.
--Gary C. Beck
Grand Canyon: A Haiku Series
| Striated canyons Burning sun and arid air Somewhere, a river |
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| No sound violates still space between rocky cliffs Then, a pebble falls |
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| Grey squirrel mocks me Scampering along the path he has no backpack. |
Climbing narrow path Steps cut into canyon wall Rim looms, taunting me |
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| Gently high-stepping black, hairy tarantula-- Don’t cross my path, please |
Beneath starry skies I wait for first light of dawn To climb a steep trail |
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| Green river beckons Feet plunge in icy water Ripples crack mirror |
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| --Anne Rettenberg |
SUMMER RAIN
weathervane began spinning
no direction, round and round
Sun stepped behind the only
cloud, sky took on shades
of flannel grey (like
daddy’s old housecoat)
gusts of wind blew smells,
fresh blueberry muffins
into my nose, sweet, warm,
left on the old buffet to cool
a crack of thunder ricocheted,
rang out loud,
like a gunshot in the woods
our old collie made it quick
under the porch. Rain started
tapping Morse Code
on the old tin roof
white sheets began whipping
serpentine on the clothesline, sagging
low, wet with heavy sheets
that nearly touched the ground
Momma yelled out from the house,
“get them chickens in the coop”
her voice rumbling through the old
clapboard house
Sister went one way, me the other,
chasing the unruly chickens,
little puffs of dust dimpled the
dry, gritty sand
I began helping momma pull the sheets
from the line, a familiar smell of
sunshine and clover, clothes pins
flying like grasshoppers landed
in the thick grass,
wicker basket full
we ran for the porch
our feet hit the sagging boards
just as clouds opened
and out fell the rain
Winds became entangled in the water
flinging drops at us, like when the ringer
washing machine was overfull
polka dot patterns turned into rivulets
trickling down that old dirt road
watching a mist lift along with
the shower
Momma took the feed bucket,
turned it upside down,
sat down, pulling the wide boat shaped
reed basket to her
without a word between us
sister and I plopped down,
in unison, we all began to fold,
working in silence
air turned from stuffy to ions caught in some
excited dance of clear effervescence,
red roses looked redder
winding through the white lattice,
Sunflowers lifted heads high, radiant yellow
streamed skyward, hydrangeas
bluer and brighter then ever lined
old weathered boards flanking the driveway
sun had split drops of water high in the sky,
prisms of light striking raindrops
formed a rainbow as the clouds peeled away
a simple smile crossed the meadow
Mother stood to take in the wonder
We followed with childlike joy
Simple pleasures like this
helped us get by
as kids we never knew we were poor
and momma somehow made each
day right,
including that much anticipated
kiss each night
--Junie Moon
About the poets:
Howie Good, a journalism professor at the State University of New York at New Paltz, is the author of six poetry chapbooks, most recently Tomorrowland (2008) from Achilles Chapbooks. He has been nominated three times for a Pushcart Prize and twice for the Best of the Net anthology.
Gary Beck has spent most of his adult life as a theater director and worked as an art dealer when he couldn't earn a living in the theater. His chapbook 'Remembrance' was published by Origami Condom Press and 'The Conquest of Somalia' was published by Cervena Barva Press. A collection of his poetry 'Days of Destruction' has been published in 2009 by Skive Press. He currently lives in New York City, where he's busy writing. His poetry and short stories have appeared in numerous literary magazines.
Anne Rettenberg is Editor of Eat a Peach. She lives in New York City, but escapes to the wilderness when she can.
'Junie Moon'’s works have appeared in Dogma, Poetic Hours, Sage of Consciousness, The Persistent Mirage, Poetry Today, Black Book Press, and the anthology ‘Lives of Artists’ compiled by Melanie M. Eyth. She lives in Virginia.