AN ATHENA FOR MODERN TIMES

by Elane Gutterman

Marking the 25th anniversary of Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s appointment as a Supreme Court justice.

Wielding her intellect 

and legal spear, she protects

the wronged and oppressed.

Decades ago, this Ruth,

shrewd as a snake

defended the right

of frat boys in Oklahoma

to buy their beers, at the same age

as their female peers,

knowing the nine men on the Court

would surely see the slight.

Then she could carry on

with women’s less frothy fight. 

Seated as one of the Nine, 

on a Bench that moved Right,

she is often caught 

in the minority,

yet delivers her dissents

with sword like flash,

crystal-gazing 

through owl-like glasses, 

that current losses will morph

into future triumph. 

She still invokes Sarah Grimké, 

warrior from an earlier era --

I ask no favor for my sex.

All I ask of our brethren

is that they take their feet

off our necks.

Now, the oldest

Left on the Court,

Bader Ginsburg’s battle gear

for the Supreme --

those lace collars.

Through poetry as advocacy, Elane Gutterman is rallying support for the NJ Aid in Dying for the Terminally Ill Act (bills A1504 and S1072 pending votes in the NJ Assembly and Senate this fall). Her villanelle “Misplaced Rage” a response to Dylan Thomas’ iconic villanelle, was recently published in U.S 1 Summer Fiction Issue, July 2018. Her poems have also been published in Kelsey Review, Patterson Literary Review, and TheNewVerse.News.

THE MOURNING AFTER 11/13/15

by Don Hogle

Image source: The Hip Paris Blog by Carin Olsson

On the bus to Lambertville this morning,
and the sadness and anger at 129 dead in Paris
hang over a stunning fall day
like the last note of the piano
concerto I heard last night,
Trifonov's delicate finger
barely grazing the key,
the lightest vibration, and then
the lingering silence…

What does it sound like
when a life dissolves?

Boucler Votre Ceinture
Abroche Su Cinturón de Seguridad
Fasten Your Seatbelt
the seat in front of me advises.

Bataclan, Charlie Hebdo
Atocha Station
Tower One Tower Two

No strap of nylon web will protect
us against the Promise of Paradise
and a Kalishnikov, the explosive
strapped to the heart, the Pilot
of the Terrible Belief.

What to do
is not a question
but a dilemma
set down in an open field
not for contemplation
nor consideration
nor inspection
but for interrogation.

For now,
three pieces of construction paper
one blue one white one red
taped to the window
of my living room
facing out onto our world,
and a black rectangle
posted on Facebook
pour la France,
for all of us,
but only
for three days.

Most of the trees are already stripped
here, but the green grass of central Jersey
rolls on, as the bus proceeds
toward Frenchtown.


Don Hogle is a poet, blogger and brand and communications strategist living in Manhattan.  Poems have appeared recently in Mud Season Review, Minetta Review, Blast Furnace, Shooter, Bethlehem Writers Roundtable and TheNewVerse.News among others.  He was a finalist in the Northern Colorado Writers’ 2015 Poetry Contest.