A WHACK FOR THE AGES

by Peter Witt

Just once I want to stand at home plate in the bottom of the ninth,
game tied, bat in my hand, staring at the pitcher, waiting,
breath still, for a 95 MPH fastball, hung out over the plate—
like a lion waiting for its prey to make a move.

Pitcher would wind up, just beating the 20 second clock,
as I uncoil and smash the ball off the barrel of my bat—
thunder cracking from the heavens--take two steps forward,
flip the bat, as the ball soars, a comet slicing through the sky—
as I begin a slow dance down the first base line, hands over head
like a conquering hero, as the thankful fans stand and cheer.

Rounding third I'd low-five the coach, then trot home
where after jumping on the plate I'd be engulfed in the joy
and comradery of my teammates, who'd slap my helmet,
my butt, my back, while our catcher sprayed a bottle
of water over my head.

The mob of players would whisk me away, like a gust of wind,
to the dugout where the cape of honor would be bestowed
around my shoulders, more slaps to the helmet administered,
as our first baseman pushes me back up the steps
to take a curtain call from the grateful fans.

I'd wink at my wife in the stands, like a conquering hero,
wipe the mist from my eyes, pause a minute, survey
the entire stadium, the weight of the moment settling in,
knowing that this was a lifetime dream made real.

Peter Witt is a Texas poet, a frequent contributor to The New Verse News and other online poetry web-based publications.

THE HOUNDS OF DOGMA

The Story of an Uncaged Mind

by Katherine West

At first I didn't even know there was a cage.  I knew only the wind and cold of my cliff.  At night the wind slept, so I could fly.  Where did I not travel?  No land not open to my wings.  No black mountain, no turquoise sea, no rumpled forest, no littered beach.  No red-roofed pueblo, no city of glass and steel.  No ruin of stone. 

I flew through time as well as space.  I saw apes descend from trees.  I watched the glaciers retreat.  I watched pyramids attempt to touch the stars. I watched the first book being printed. I watched trains try to circumnavigate the world.  

My wings reached the future too.  I saw the sky turn from blue to brown.  Saw the oceans flood.  Saw the deserts grow with their own white tides.  Saw the libraries close. 

I saw the Hounds of Dogma waiting every time I tried to land.  The Guardians of Thought standing at attention on either side of the cage I now saw for the first time.  Oh!  How it glowed in the sun's first light.  Like a little sun itself, offering my heavy wings a rest. 

 

One by one I watched the birds of the world enter the cage, burn, die and never rise again.  With each friend, I burned and died as well, feeling every feather that shriveled in the flames.

I died.  But my wings did not.  They beat and beat above the molten ash that was the grieving rest of me. 

Once.  My wings hovered before the golden door.  Once.  They soared back and forth as the Guardians of Thought shoveled me up and tossed me into the cage. 

Once.  They swooped so low the Hounds of Dogma snapped and feathers drifted to the ground.  Once more, my wings rose, circled, then faded into sky, releasing one blue plume that rocked gently as it floated through the bars of my cage and touched down on my bed of ash like a windblown seed. 

Katherine West lives in Southwest New Mexico, near Silver City. She has written three collections of poetry: The Bone Train, Scimitar Dreams, and Riddle, as well as one novel, Lion Tamer.  Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Writing in a Woman's Voice, Lalitamba, Bombay Gin, The New Verse News, Tanka Journal, Splash!, Eucalypt, and Southwest Word Fiesta. The New Verse News nominated her poem "And Then the Sky" for a Pushcart Prize in 2019. In addition she has had poetry appear as part of art exhibitions at the Light Art Space gallery in Silver City, New Mexico and at the Windsor Museum in Windsor, Colorado. She is also an artist. 

THE GUARDIANS

by Tricia Knoll


I remember when it was Man
of the Year until a new century

when the clocks did not stop,
the world did not end,

and women raised our fists again
and again to carry on carrying on.

Protecting truth by saying it
as free journalists may know it,

yelling it when there is little
popularity in announcing that beings

on earth as we know it and people
may end in the changes coming.

Flocks respond to familiar shepherds
to stand together, change directions

with the nips of dogs or the
rewards of greener pastures.

Who guides us, guards us,
helps us make the wide turns

needed to save the planet?
So great is our need

for guardians.

Tricia Knoll applauds all guardians of the planet, including journalists, who speak the truth on climate change and tie the new normal of vortexes, extinction, flooding, storms, wildfires, starvation, disease, tornadoes and more to the creep of climate crisis around the globe.