Here We Are by Laura Stamps

Here We Are

During the last week
of November, ladybugs hatch
in the eves of the house,
hurling themselves against windows
and doors, hundreds
of festive guests dressed
in the red and black of the season.
Not unlike this gerbera daisy
still blooming in late November,
flexing its scarlet wings beneath
the white eye of morning frost
and the sun’s day-glo leaves,
while the holidays wave their fire-sticks,
gloomy personalities looming large,
and ghosts from seasons past rise
and flap their soiled robes at us all.
Curious, isn’t it, how cleverly
we sculpt our lives?
As if chiseling a sculpture from the blue
marble of our thoughts and actions.
We are all sculptors—
some creating a monument to crankiness,
others a masterpiece of joy—
a confusing task at times,
like trying to unravel the turquoise
thread of the meadowlark’s tune.
I walk through my days
as if at an artist colony, watching
the craftsmen at work—
day and night the marble takes shape,
dust-flight stinging their nostrils,
chisels in hand, tapping diligently
yet unaware—we are all
sculptors at life.

–Laura Stamps

Icebox by Judy L. Brekke

ICEBOX

we stand at edge of a cliff
wind blows through our hair
the cliff side is steep
below are railroad tracks
mother forbids us to go there

we watch in the distance
a green panel truck
drive up a dirt road
stop at the door
of our one room house
driver carries with tongs
a huge block of ice

we know mother is busy
with the icebox
she will not look for us
we climb down
the rocky dirt cliff
we wait for a train

–Judy L. Brekke

Shale Hill by Joyce Metzger

Shale Hill

this shortcut lies beyond
the mucky black water,
once the way to the victory gardens
when legs still held energy
didn’t grow too heavy to climb
over the flat uncertain rocks
which could tip and shift
instantly,
to get to another path
which wanders between the
pines where the owls roost
calling out messages of gloom–
youth refuses to believe in
collapsed balloons,
will only accept ritz crackers,
rocky road ice cream and
soft, oven warm, crusty bread.
a creek gurgles near the pig sty
where fatness indicates days of
satiated wealth accumulated from
an abundance of collard greens and
citrons that mimic small watermelons
but are inedible except for hogs.
the rhode island red rooster
chases the clucking, white leghorn hens,
and we took for granted the abundance
of snow-white eggs, never imagined
someday the nests would
lie forgotten,
dusty and emptied of their gifts

–Joyce Metzger

Laughter Matters by Joyce Metzger

Laughter Matters

and he did that a lot,
with chuckles to touch the edge
of reality, keep sanity in place,
and wolves at bay,
even when he sensed
the supreme ice-cream stand
had been emptied, then abandoned;
even then–
and when the hungry maggots chewed
each still green apple,
but not when the city fenced
off the blackberries–
then his eyes changed from Nordic
to glacier blue
as thoughts recalled
the way it had been in his youth
with stretching space
for legs to roam to explore,
with no granite stones
or thin-skinny houses
to block good views,
and clean air to suck deeply into
lungs, fish swimming lazily in the
lake, gravenstein apples to take
away the hollow ache when times
were lean and tough.
no stones to imagine then,
pale pink and paler gray,
sharp-cornered and bald
sparkling in the sunlight caught
within the framework
of a darkened alley
few want to imagine, talk about,
and certainly refuse to name

–Joyce Metzger

The Burbs by Eve Savage

The Burbs

Where fore art thou
Romeo
Changed his name to Ryan
Because there are no insurance salesmen named Romeo in Pittsburgh
Juliet
Now Julie
stays at home with three kids
two dogs
one mortgage
and the beginnings of gray hairs.
He used to stand at her window
Now he brings his car around to the garage
Takes off his tie
Sinks into a chair
She gives him the paper
Cleans up her solitary dinner
Trips over a box of crayons
On her way out

–Eve Savage

These Days by Laura Stamps

These Days

At seven-thirty the sun
wrestles through violet clouds
and slaps the windows
with its fiery tail, hushing
the cats and their scatter-dance,
leading them as if in a trance
to the top of the stairs
where it opens its white coat
and ushers them in.
I walk through this day bedazzled,
startled by the concept
of life as spiritual practice:
the sacred act of stepping back,
allowing stressful words
and situations tossed my way
to travel through me,
no tattered residue left
behind, this miracle
of heavenly transcendence.
My ministry is simple—
to seek the love and peace
lining the hidden pocket
of the present moment.
And the walls of resistance
in my body continue
to crumble, as my soul
slowly uncoils like a cat
pulling itself from a sunny nap—
these days spent in the lap
of sweet surrender.

–Laura Stamps

An Evening at the Theatre by Judy L. Brekke

AN EVENING AT THE THEATRE

The limo pulls to the curb.
Her first husband was in the air force.
A yellow jacket makes her hair stand up.
He plays the saxphone under the trees.
One child in yellow dress dances at the street pole.
He wouldn’t even cut the umbilical cord.
She ate cheesecake with cherries.
This is what you win when you work for Mary Kay cosmetics.

She opens the door of the limo.
A man with muscles,
a tight black t-shirt
stretched across his chest,
climbs out.
A cherry sprays water
over the gardens.
Black clouds bring out
umbrellas and hustling patrons.
Cindy Lauper and Cher will be here – oh my god!
Doors open to the theatre.
A mass of colors and sizes walk through the doors.

She closes the door to the limo.
Rain drops fall
but not under the trees.
She extends the umbrella
in order to keep her cigarette dry.
Coffee, gin with ice,
cherry red lips savor the taste of it.
Her pointed bright yellow shoes
match her hair.
He puts away his saxophone
only to bring it out again.
Holding the umbrella
she smokes in the rain.
Thunder cracks.
Drops of rain enlarge.

The limo drives away.
She just got out of the hospital yesterday.
A car seat for the baby was placed
in the wrong spot of the back seat.
Two men hug, smile, walk together.
The wind blows empty coffee cups.
She needs her ticket to obtain the hearing aid “thingee”.
A lightning flash,
the lights go down,
the voice speaks of cell phones
and pagers.
Music blasts.
A play begins.

–Judy L. Brekke

fa bathsheba, saarjite y otra vagina dentate by beluvid ola-jendai

fa bathsheba, saarjite y otra vagina dentate

a.
anutha forgotten child uv sun pepul
avin known me by slave name
gatherin loose remains uv her fortune
she furnished me fragmented specter uv hope
hair braided tight
tha rope uv history layin claim ta her labia
betrothal & betrayal makin fa
strange bedfellows in standard dictionaries
a socially prescribed astigmatism
tha boot & heel uv patriarchy embedded in her womb
mary magdalened & consumed reduced ta
sex toy video ho baby makin machine object orifice spittoon
tha moon heavy & sittin on us beached like whales
her stori intricately laced wif birth loss bloodshed
eye asked her how is it that she cud trust again

b.
this crust uv avin learned how ta suffer in silence
grinnin & bearin it swallow pain whole still bindin her eyelids
partin parched lips her voiced rasped
resonatin in hollow uv mah collar bone
a low moan deliverin grave epithet
passed down ta her thru mitochondria
frum fallopia ta uterus ta breath ta breathin
maturatin ta scrotum ta urethra ta uterus & back ta fallopia
a dream obstinate & refusin ta die declarin
& princes shall cum forth frum out uv khemet ethiopia
wif arms outstretched eye crafted mah back
inta bone & flesh shelter as she burrowed inta me
in response ta whi
she sed she wanted ta believe
again
read frum tha palms uv mah hands a livin scripture
a dark & comely song uv solomon
each beginnin soundin too much like endin

c.
an unsolicited advance
a forced conversation
a forced entry
a forced explanation
a forced abortion
a forced reconciliation
a forced return uv affection
a forced pregnancy
a forced weddin
a forced marriage
a forced separation
a forced order uv protection
a forced move
a forced divorce
a forced paternity test
a forced child support payment
a forced single female headed household
more than survivin
a force ta be reckoned wif

d.
sheer she pulled back her paperthin veil ta reveal
what unchecked testosterone often bludgeoned inta unconsciousness
curios fa idle banter chatter chance conversation
that once god was a woman
that she had skatted herself inta existence
ushered lyphe unta this world
initiated tyme tha changin uv seasons
that reason used ta cohabitate wif intuition
nun tha wiser
once she had been tha north star
her bodi temple an underground railroad unto itself
makeshift mule fa men
a bridge fa her back
hard ta concieve
she had always been t/here
even when she did not own herself
that hefer
that sacred cow uv a wuman
she is more than genitalia
had me decryin vacant rhetoric & swearin at wind
our bodies rememberin
how we tended ta repeat ourselves
she wantin ta believe again
& eye wantin ta be different
than mah father & his father befa him
wantin release frum this mongrel minstrel tribute
attributed ta venus & her hottentots
anutha ebonic fantasy

e.
coagulatin
mah eyes begged fa education & forgiveness
a wont willingness ta abandon
an image imitatin an image imitatin an image
tha excesses uv linear thinkin old & fashioned round
a world based on a lie that does not truli exist
victoria’s secrets uncovered tits exposin victorian notions
that still manage ta seep in poison pimp & prostitute
rantin despite old testament pundits revisionists redactors
that eye probably came frum her ribs
that eye can not experience free wifout her
nor du eye harbor such desire ta
cuz eye wanted ta be whole
eye part her she part me
pretendin not ta be lookin
eye met her sundey morning
on j train home frum brooklyn
tradin slave names
she spoke me wif her stori
until train came
& eye began ta bleed
that dey & everi munth afta

f.
she smiles at me

–beluvid ola-jendai

Tranquility by Laura Stamps

Tranquility

In the kitchen before dawn,
the cat sings a song
that sounds more like squealing tires
than a plea for beauty, a screeching
soliloquy even my youngest cat
has learned to ignore.
No matter how busy I am,
dashing across the wild
and fertile fields of my day,
something deep within me simply
flows—my spirit, I suppose,
floating on its back, humming
a little, as relaxed as a cat
simmering in a sunny window.
How comforting to know
there is a part of me that remains
unmoved and cannot be scratched
by the friction skittering
through this world.
Darkness before daybreak,
the frost spinning lawns and cars
in its white loom, and my cat
combing the air with her cries,
while a part of me hovers
in its changeless state—
the weight of glory,
the immutability of light.

–Laura Stamps

Artists by Lucille Lang Day

ARTISTS

Dancers

Long after chalky eggs have drifted
on a floating mat,
even after young have hatched,

a pair of great-crested grebes,
sighting white cheeks
and pointed beaks after time apart,

start to dance. One bird dives
and swims toward the other,
who arches her back, fluffing herself

like a black-winged cat. The diver
bursts from water, wings outstretched.
The two plunge under,

re-emerge with weeds, like roses
in beaks, press breasts together,
treading water, and stamp their feet.

Musician

Rolling his fibrous, thousand-pound tongue,
a humpback croons a long, lush song,
“Ah, what a whale of a male I am,”

in a seven-octave voice. Swimming
in a sine wave, he slides
through the sea, a one-man band,

blending pure and percussive tones
in symphonic ratios with rhymed refrains.
You’d think he’d studied Mozart

and Bach as he leaps on beat, landing
with a hundred-ton splash
to belt an encore for the salmon and bass.

Architect

The satin bowerbird weaves an avenue
of twigs and sticks
with foot-high walls, adorned

with blossoms, beads and poker chips.
He makes paint of saliva
and berries, crushed and mixed,

daubs it on walls, brushing
with waxy leaves, then takes a flower
in his beak, dances down the bower,

singing, flapping his wings.
When he wins a mate, the walls
collapse as they violently conjugate.

Afterward she flies away
to make her own place: she’ll raise
her young alone in a plain brown nest.

Painters

Asian elephants, each with a brush
in its trunk, are Abstract Expressionists,
five-ton de Koonings, making

biomorphic shapes. Do you see
the king cobra under fan-shaped leaves,
the horns of an antelope, bamboo, teaks?

Colors capture rolling plains,
the Chao Phraya River delta, braided
into channels that flood rice fields

abuzz with mosquitoes. Layers of paint
record chaos that finally gives way
to the will of the artist, shifting her weight.

–Lucille Lang Day