Poetry Page 3 Fall 2007

 

 

 

shadowed garden

 

   by Daniel Wilcox

 

in the long backlawn

ansel-adam shadows

grow in the late afternoon

extending across the grass,

shading the steel dog dish,
the hula hoop, and the wagon--
a one-dimensional garden

slowly tended by the leaving sun,
only to be hoed under by the dusk

 

 

Bio:

Daniel Wilcox earned his B.A. in Creative Writing from Cal State University, Long Beach. He is a former activist, former teacher, former wanderer who has farmed in the Middle East and lived on an island in eastern Pennsylvania. His writing has appeared in The Other Side Magazine, various poetry journals such as The Centrifugal Eye, Wild Violet, Right Hand Pointing, and The Green Silk Journal.  A short story based on his life in the Middle East was published in the September 2007 issue of The Danforth Review. He currently resides on the California coast with his mysterious wife and youngest gaming son. His writer's website is at http://seaquaker.com/

 

ORANGE TOSS

  by  Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

As we tossed it
back and forth
we splashed one
another
with its sweet
liquid taste.
After each toss
we took a
bite.  The rindless
orange grew
smaller.  We
inched closer
to prevent
its fall.  The
last bite
required no
toss.  Instead
we inched
closer.  We
held the orange
between our
teeth.  You bit
one half, I
the other,
our lips
never touching.

 

Bio: Luis C Berriozabal is a frequent contributor to GSJ and has had a chapbook, WITHOUT PEACE, published in July of this year by Kendra Steiner Editions.

 

Rilke’s evening

  by David McLean

the darkling sky embraces the lowering trees
that glower me to sleep,
all their anger that sweeps dreams away
to silence, quite as silent as a house
outlining a sky with its angular darkness,
outraging the surly stars who struggle
to sprinkle me with their sparkling love,
so much more potent than any drug

and land falls still spinning into its sister's
dead life, the dead night voiding sky
while the stars stare deeper into me
bleeding their light
from night's cluttered arteries
dead as meaning, and each is
time's blindest eye,
Historian,
each emptier than life
and equally blind
behind the void that binds

 

Bio: David McLean  was born in Wales but has lived in Sweden since 1987. As of August 2007, he has  published poems in about eighty issues of 64 magazines and e-zines. In September 2007 he shall be “poet in residence” at www.poetsletter.com and in August 2008 “centre stage poet” in Decanto. He has poems at many sites on the Internet and work in or forthcoming in such magazines as Zygote in My Coffee, Erbacce, Sein und Werden, Venereal Kittens, Mad Swirl, and Gold Dust. More information is online at my MySpace page and at the Hecale portal.