STANDING STILL AND LISTENING

by George Salamon

"Something is dying, but we do not yet know what it is… Something is trying to be born, but we cannot say what it is either… The old is in a state of suspended animation; the new stands at a threshold it cannot yet cross,"  —Fintan O'Toole, "Democracy's Afterlife," The New York Review of Books, December 3, 2020.

I envy those who can

See the future coming.

It's easier to endure if

You are sure, or if you

Are needed, shepherd

Or sheep, but you must

Not get scared as the

Forces unfold, just old,

And if you're like me,

Left high and dry of just

What they'll sow or reap.

George Salamon writes a poem occasionally, but is worried much of the time about what his granddaughter's generation can expect. He has recently contributed to The Asses of Parnassus, One Sentence Poems, Dissident Voice, and The New Verse News from St. Louis, MO.

NOVEMBER AGAIN

by Juditha Dowd

and I’m doubtful

that no experience goes to waste

if only we’re able to learn from it.

Deer have mangled our deer fence,

that fox is prowling the yard.

Where will we be next year

when these maples shed their gold?

You and I have lived enough

to pretend at wisdom,

take the long view,

but the angles are foreshortened

as our fields turn murky and cold.

Soon the Long Night Moon

and two-faced Janus.

Soon the weeks of ice,

the days of mending.

Juditha Dowd’s most recent book is Audubon’s Sparrow, a verse biography in the voice of Lucy Bakewell Audubon, wife of the naturalist.

POETIC JUSTICE

by David Southward

Mother Nature has a way

of teaching all who underplay

her lethal power, not to do it.

How? She simply puts them through it.

 

Thus, when her emissaries sent us

germs to baffle an apprentice,

he who most pooh-poohed the virus

(heaping scorn on scorn to tire us)

 

soon bowed down to violent grace

and in a mirror saw the face

of vanity—its purse and pout

contorted by a creeping doubt.

 

 

David Southward teaches in the Honors College at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. He is the author of Apocrypha (Wipf & Stock 2018) and Bachelor’s Buttons (Kelsay Books 2020), and winner of the 2019 Frost Farm Prize for Metrical Poetry.

ANOTHER BREXIT POEM

by Freya Jackson

Three years on & Brexit
is still hypothetical, defined only
as itself, by itself. Brexit is Brexit.
It has been measured, weighed.

It is no heavier than
the glue on the back of a postage
stamp (and tastes like God save
us all) and it is no lighter than

the shield of Saint George,
built from jingoism & thin plastic
painted to look like bronze;
it is ungraspable: too like itself to hold.

This land inherits division
from itself. Brexit, Brexit, Brexit,
something is chanting in the street,
I am not sure who is speaking

or what they want from me.
Every day thousands of calls
gush into the home office, each
orison: all these years, I’ve been here,

lived here, pay taxes, have loved,
even the rain, isn’t that what home is:
the sound of your keys dropped in
the bowl by the door, I need to know,

how much more, please, hold,
please, hold, please, please,
listen—isn’t the definition of citizen
those who live inside the city?

Even the smog outside us is swollen
with conjecture. Doubt distorts
thought. Every time we attempt
to perceive the word

it loses some part of itself:
look at a thing often enough,
it loses definition, becomes
sharp toothed & meaningless.

Strip the bones off of a ghost
& you are left only with hot air.
Bodiless, it winds around us all—
certain only in its uncertainty.

Freya Jackson is a writer from Leeds. Her poetry has previously been published in places including Magma, Arc Magazine, The Cadaverine and The Interpreters House. She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize for her graphic short story “Joy” in 2016. She is a winner of one of New Writing North’s New North Poets Awards for 2019.

THE PRINCIPLES OF DESIGN

by Juleigh Howard-Hobson

Image source: Connect the Dots

Don’t tell me there isn’t any pattern.
It can be seen over and over. Here
It is: divide  and conquer, us and them,
Left and right. An agenda based on fear
Of who the others are, could be, might do...
Creating dread that everything could crash
If its own system is not stretched -- here to
There -- to shield the modern world from the rash
Interests of that post-modern other (which
Has no interest in the universal,
Does not like the status quo, is not rich
From global loans, and does not care, at all,
About you). The pattern’s clear: it connects
Those dots of doubts it makes while it protects.

 
Juleigh Howard-Hobson has simultaneously written literary fiction, formalist poetry and genre work, along with non-fiction essays and articles, purposely blunting the modern ‘brandable’ concept of artistic obligation to any single form or movement. Her work has appeared in such venues as The Lyric, Trinacria, The Flea, The Raintown Review, The Best of the Barefoot Muse (Barefoot Pub) and Caduceus (Yale University). She is the Assistant Poetry Editor of Able Muse.