|The precipice towers
above the rampaging river;
White kids like heedless children
cavort among boiling clouds.
My ears echo the river,
knees tremor from the high pressure.
Elizabeth Howard, US
Grand Prix Dressage; the horse unfazed by flapping flags and fans.
His eye attentive, dark as coal, floating strides barely dent the sand.
This proud emblem for his country adds a throb to every heart.
It would be dreadful sad
to never sniff the air for balsam,
nor hear loons call on foggy nights
or squish through tidal mud for clams.
I am glad, wicked* glad,
to live on Maine’s granite shore.
*”wicked” is a common expression in Maine for “very, very”.
Infinities of yellow flames
light my way through mirrored halls.
Reflected thus, hand held high,
a mirage twines through echoes.
Until I stop, dousing the candle;
fearful of the future.
Kirsty Karkow, US
I watch him watch the thinning crowd
in the dingy bus station
their footsteps gradually fade
heading towards the setting sun
long wait over, I see him leave
the white roses on the bench
I remember those rosy years
when it seemed eternally spring
our mutual love for each other
grew stronger with each passing day
now that she’s gone and I’m alone
how do you hug emptiness?
Victor P. Gendrano, US
How gently the moonlight disperses sleep, filters all my dreams.
I quicken to dew’s dankness, ponder how it presses tender leaves.
Soft comes dawn for her pas de deux; I remember breathing you.
Dina E. Cox, CA
Such soft words you whisper to me
as sunset lowers its garments,
fallen among orchard fruits,
the moon tangled in prickly gorse.
Wherefore, is the entrance to Hades
any deeper than the heart?
What’s this sway of sea flowers
underneath the moon’s fixed stare?
So smooth the sound of your voice,
genteel words gliding over me.
A bouquet of wine upon my lips,
the night I dared to dream.
Karina Klesko, US
Overlooking a full valley,
ancient winds fondle her hair.
While the sun’s pulse arouses,
her spirit releases the wild.
From burning breasts of autumn,
her soul flows with the river.
Come with me to the old bookstore,
nestled on Main Street downtown.
Where quiet cats follow your cue,
to creaky wooden floors of dust.
We’ll surrender to aromas
of old coffee and doughnuts.
b’oki (Bette Wappner) US