HAIKU

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Lynne Schilling began writing poetry seriously when she turned 75. She has published in Quartet, The Alchemy Spoon, New Verse News, Rue Scribe, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Lucky Jefferson and others. She has poems forthcoming in contemporary haibun online, Quail Eggs, Thimble Literary Magazine and Unbroken.

TIOGA DOWNS

by Julene Waffle

Ten minutes before the sun started 

its fiery path across the sky 

and dropped its first dewy light 

through my window, 

someone called the fire department 

at Tioga Downs,

but it was already too late.

Always Smooth, Better Call Saul (a cheeky bugger), 

Birdie Three, the angel of the barn, and more.

Did he speak to them? Tell them why?

There must have been a click of an igniter

Did their ears prick at the sound? 

Did they stomp their feet?

Da Boogie Man, Danzon Hanover who loved 

nipping at zippers and pulling strings. 

A barn intentionally set on fire. 

In an instant thirty horses were gone.

Diamond Express whose eyes sparkled like her name. 

Fireside Tail arrived not twelve hours before; 

A yearling, her owner cried, 

I’m so sorry little angel.

Their trainers and owners couldn't 

free them from the flames for the heat 

and the smoke and the burning.  

Hall It Off. It’s Rigged was a soft-hearted oaf. 

Karpathos was 22 and in his eleventh year 

of retirement. Lone Wolf American.

Onlookers could hear them, kick and scream,

then nothing 

but the crackle and break of flame and beam.

And people crying in the dusk.

Hot Shot Joe had a zest for life 

as big as the race inside him. 

Hunts Point—no one will know his full potential. 

Ideal Chance arrived two days before.

He was in a new home amidst strangers. 

These horses were more than statistics, more than racers; 

They were promises made and promises kept.  

They were family.

Market Mayhem. Mc Mach loved racing 

but might have loved his ears scratched more. 

My Delight was a lady’s man. Payara danced in her stall.

Owners knew their lineages better than their own.

Grant Me This adored her barn sister Silverhill Misty.

Pineapple Sundae just finished six months of rehab

for a knee injury.  He was a race horse 

who didn’t have one last chance to run. 

Once they begged for treats. Others leaned eagerly out

of their stalls to greet everyone who passed.

Some napped twenty-two hours a day. Some knew 

their mind and let everyone know it too.

Pocket Watch N. Prairie Dutches. 

Rough Montana Lane loved cuddles and kisses.

SD Watch Me Now was grumpy, but 

would secretly give you kisses then pull faces 

behind your back. Blazin Mooss was sweet in the barn 

and crazy on the track.  Slave Labour. 

Schlitz lived for hay bags and hugs. 

And a horse named Violence 

would sit in your lap if you let him.

Buzzards R Flying was a wise old man at heart

and his brother, didn't even have time 

to earn his name.

Some were just learning. Some were veterans.

They were nicknamed: Dandy Cheeks, Princess Di,

Macaroni, Norman, Spongebob, Sassy Susan, Tank.

They were gentle to the wheel,

and named by little girls and boys who were their best friends.

They made men cry at the track and made their owners 

throw themselves into the flames to save them.

Julene Waffle, a graduate of Hartwick College and Binghamton University, is a teacher in rural NYS, an entrepreneur, a nature lover, a wife, a mother of three boys, two dogs, three cats, a bearded dragon, and, of course, she’s a writer. She finds pleasure in juggling these jobs while seeming like she has it all together.

SHELTERING

by Brooke Herter James

“Parakeet” by Kees van Dongen,ca. 1910, oil on canvas, Montreal Museum of Fine Arts

Still life  day 28
here in Vermont
a solitary junco
half black
half white
sitting on the branch
half white
half black
against a backdrop of pond
black—rimmed with white—
thank goodness for
the small red barn
in the lower right corner
of the scene

I imagine painting
over this canvas
apple blossoms
puffy clouds   a woman
in the foreground
faded yellow robe
leaning out her second
story window
to hang blue towels
and flowered sheets
on one end of a
never-vanishing cord
that travels from this hillside
to Milan   then Barcelona
Wuhan   Jerusalem   Sydney
Seattle  New Orleans  New York

An endless clothesline
adorned  with the fabric
of the world billowing
outwards   music spilling
from all those unshuttered
windows   wafts of coffee
baked bread   squeals of children
running down hallways
pinging marbles on bare floors
dogs barking
I imagine painting
parakeets in wooden cages
singing while we wait


Brooke Herter James is a poet and children’s book author living in Vermont.

FAIRDALE

by Joan Colby

FAIRDALE, Ill. — At least two tornadoes unleashed incredible destruction through north central Illinois. Two people are dead, and several others are injured. Some people are also unaccounted for. Photo: A lone horse is staying close to what used to be his barn. Owners aren't being allowed back yet. —Sean Lewis @seanlewiswgn via WGNNews, April 10, 2015

The bloodied horse walks in small circles
Where the barn stood with the stall.
Straw, timothy, sweet feed
A bucket of spring water.

From the chopper, he’s observed
In a slow practiced rehearsal
Like a monk at his devotions,
Head bobbing, lame in the forehoof,
Miserably alive.

All that’s left of structure:
Splinters. The body of the mare,
His companion, thrown
Into a nearby field with the
Defeathered chickens. At dusk

The twister plowed a fifty mile
Path like a rogue
Tractor. Huge dark wedge
Of rotating force. Shingles
From the barn’s roof plant a pasture
Thirty miles away. This horse, bewildered
Knows only to stay
In the place that he knows.

All those whose homes are smashed
Pick through the ruins
For the one surviving thing—a photograph,
Quilt, child’s toy—that confirms
The lives they had. The horse
Keeps walking.


Joan Colby has published widely in journals such as Poetry, Atlanta Review, South Dakota Review, The Spoon River Poetry Review, New York Quarterly, the new renaissance, Grand Street, Epoch, and Prairie Schooner. Awards include two Illinois Arts Council Literary Awards, Rhino Poetry Award, the new renaissance Award for Poetry, and an Illinois Arts Council Fellowship in Literature. She was a finalist in the GSU Poetry Contest (2007), Nimrod International Pablo Neruda Prize (2009, 2012), and received honorable mentions in the North American Review's James Hearst Poetry Contest (2008, 2010). She is the editor of Illinois Racing News, and lives on a small horse farm in Northern Illinois. She has published 11 books including The Lonely Hearts Killers and How the Sky Begins to Fall (Spoon River Press), The Atrocity Book (Lynx House Press) and Dead Horses and Selected Poems from FutureCycle Press. Selected Poems received the 2013 FutureCycle Prize.  Properties of Matter was published in spring of 2014 by Aldrich Press (Kelsay Books). Two chapbooks are forthcoming in 2014: Bittersweet (Main Street Rag Press) and Ah Clio (Kattywompus Press). Colby is also an associate editor of Kentucky Review and FutureCycle Press.