Poetry 4 Fall 2011

 

According to Seamus

     by David Simms

According to Seamus, the most beautiful

woman in all the worlds is deaf and trafficks

in lightning bolts, himself a goner the moment

she appeared in his shop clutching postcards

 

she had selected from the rack outside. Strode

right up to the counter, as Seamus tells it,

pointed to her ear, pretended to lick a finger-

tip with her tongue, then stuck that fingertip

 

down on one of the cards just where a stamp

would go. “Are you enjoying Earth?” lipped

Seamus, full-frontal, hands rummaging

for stamps. She murmured softly. With

 

reverence he asked, “Where are you from?”

She murmured more. A thrill ran through

him. What paradise might be known by

such a lovely murmur? He would live with                                                                                                                                                                                              

her ever after there. Anywhere. Blithely

she licked the stamps, affixed them, looked up,

transfixing Seamus. Whereupon, he swears,

there was a blinding bolt and she was gone.


Bio: David Simms swears this poem is based on a true story. He’s the author of the novel, The Stars of Axuncanny, shorter fiction, and a number of published poems including one in last winter’s issue of Greensilk.

 

 

Striking Back

  by Mike Berger

It hides itself, blending into
the nightstand. It is an ugly
thing. The battle with it has
been harsh and mean; it's
been an ugly fight.

Each morning at six it does
it's thing. Sounding like a
destroyer on the attack, it
whoops at me. The snooze
button only perpetuates the
agony.

Not a morning person, I don't
wake up till 10. Coming alive
when most people are crashing,
I turn bright eyed. Nocturnal
is the word.

Dragging out of bed, I go through
the robot motions getting ready
for work. For the first few hours,
I'm in a sleepwalking world.

When I finally returned the first
thing I did was snatch up that
evil gizmo designed to torture
people. In my garage I put it
on an anvil and smashed it
with a hammer.

It crashed into 1000 pieces as
I cheered. It was never  to pester
me again. It may sound weird
and crazy, but I danced around
the debris chanting vile names.

Bio: Mike Berger is an MFA, PhD. He is retired and writes poetry and short stories full time. He has been writing poetry for less than two years. His work appears in seventy-one journals. He has published two books of short stories and four poetry chapbooks .He is a member of The Academy of  American Poets.

 

 
The List
   by Kelly Reed
 
Okay, I’m dressed
 
Don’t forget
  • watch
  • ring
  • iphone (turn it on)
 
And don’t forget
  • my son’s violin
  • my son’s music folder
  • my son’s music book
  • my son’s art assignment
  • my notebook
  • the forms that I’m supposed to give to whomever
  • my folder so I can keep track of the forms that I’m supposed to give to whomever
 
Now get in the car, and let’s go
 
First I have to pick up
  • my son
  • the friend that I promised to give a ride to wherever
  • some cash
  • some stamps for the letters I forgot to mail
  • the stuff I forgot to get at the store last time
 
Then I hurry there
 
Now it’s time to 
  • sit
  • shop
  • read
  • stop
  • read a book while I’m waiting
  • watching them participating
  • finding things to do
  • doing things to do
  • go online on my phone
  • watch the lesson
  • listen to music
  • get involved, while making sure I don’t embarrass myself too much
 
And now some small talk (I hate small talk, but here we go)
  • Hi
  • How are you (I’m fine)
  • Oh really?
  • I don’t know
  • That’s
    • cute
    • funny
    • strange
    • nice
    • good
    • too bad
 
And now it’s time to go, don’t forget
  • my stuff
  • where I’m going next
  • to tell him or her
  • what I’m doing here
  • my place
  • what’s going on
 
Good bye
  • good night
  • see you next week
  • oh yeah, a hugger
 
No, I won’t forget 
  • the whatever you just told me 
  • the news
  • to pray

Bio:  Kelly Reed has been writing down stories, poems, screenplays, and random thoughts in several worn notebooks as long as she can remember.  She is now trying her hand at publishing them.  Kelly’s poetry has been published in the Greensilk Journal and Foliate Oak.  Kelly currently lives in Euclid, Ohio with her husband and son.