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Poetry Page 2 Winter 2010






                                                                             The Picture

                                                                           by Carolyn Wolfe


The morning is fresh and idealized in my mind


I stop, get out of the car, camera at the ready

Looking with its’ fresh eye, for an image to present itself

There it is

A long, sleek, metal truck- it’s engine off

Tiny windows all along it’s side


The pattern captures my attention

Such a redundant, yet perfect pattern

I go closer, lense ready to click

And then eyes, 20 to 50 pair staring straight at me

Holding in a sadness so remote, it freezes ice

I step back, really looking this time

Out pops a head

Straining, straining but unable

To escape

This monstrous truck


it’s a hideous transport

a jail

of agonized animals

looking out at the world

who never looks at them

except as chops

perfectly wrapped

to feed unabated appetite

closing my eyes

I took the picture

It was the least I could do

I don’t take pictures anymore.




Bio: Carolyn Wolfe is a free lance writer, poet, and and author of two books, one is an illustrated children's book titled, "The Unhappy Little Dragon, Lessons Begin" About a little Dragon who cannot control his fire and learns from a few forest friends about how special friendship and his gift is! The other book, is titled "When The Moon Speaks", and is a compilation of poems written over a thirty-year period, ranging from her college days in the seventies to the new millennium. Her poetry emphasizes topics ranging from her strong belief in animal rights, to lighter fare, including love, life and laughing at ourselves.
Both books are available on amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com and locally at The Bookshelf Bookstore and Morgana's Elementals in Winchester. For more info on Ms. Wolfe's books, please visit her website at www.whenthemoonspeaks.com.



 by Phil Lane


The trucks downshift

   on the highway,

only half-finished

    with their journeys,

 rush past the


            the half-cities,

  everything here

         is incomplete,

     as though God

              gave up

before the job

            was done—




   by Phil Lane


It all breaks,

  breaks like

      sticks of furniture,

like mandolin strings

          snapped under the

      Heft of living,

  leaving a crack

      in all the world’s

finery, a crack

   in everything

     and a hammer

           in my hand

 and a houseful

      of things

  I can’t repair—


Bio: Phil Lane lives in New Jersey and teaches English for a private tutoring company.  His poems have been published in various small magazines and journals over the past five years.