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Poetry Page 1 Winter 2010




by David Waite                                                                                                   


fingers of blue neon which washed her

wearing her coat of fine green satin

tied with cloth above her skirt

gray and it was rising

to mid-thigh and woven,

hair knotted in a tail,

fingers touching her lips to bring a cigarette

back to resting position;

face that’s soft and polished

with teeth set in a curve,

a dark shade of lipstick fading.

she was standing in a sunken doorway

in front of a bar on Lark Street.

twenty-four and not much younger,

said she was waiting for a man named Paolo,

at seven she tore her knee

producing a small scar that glistens—

brunette with small freckles,

she hides them all with makeup

and pretends to know a lot about movies.

she’s read French authors,

the lapels of her coat

marked with silver threading,

collar sharp as it rose behind her,

she crossed her legs as she leaned against

the gray stone beside her.

for a second she looked like

a kid on a hot sidewalk,

gray hair at forty but she’ll

pull them out at the roots,

we talked about good music

but Paolo never came;

we walked into the bar after a cigarette

both agreeing not to look behind.



Bio: David Waite was nominated for the Pushcart Prize by this editor.  As well he has been recently published in Cider Press Reviews, Coal Hill Review, Aries and miller's pond.  He is also the coordinating editor for the online journal Poet's Ink Review.




   by Glenda Barrett


Inside a log cabin

nestled in the woods,

the sun shone through

the windows and fell

across the wood table

spread with nuts, cheese,

coffee cake and apple cider.

The fireplace nearby

cracked and popped

as the wood burned.

Throughout the day,

our minds touched,

and expanded as we

read and discussed

our poetry. I was

completely transported

into another world,

one with no constraints.

As the rose colored sun

slipped down behind

the Blue Ridge mountains,

and the day drew to a close,

I felt a loss as I drove

back down the dirt road

to my complicated life.


Bio: Glenda Barrett, a native of Hiawassee, Georgia is an artist, poet and writer. Her art is displayed on Yessy.com, and her first chapbook, “When the Sap Rises,” is for sale on Amazon.com. Her writing has appeared in Woman’s World, Chicken Soup for the soul, Farm & Ranch Living, Rural Heritage, Kaleidoscope, Journal of Kentucky Studies, Smoky Mountain Living, Georgia Magazine and many others.