A VIGIL BEFORE HALLOWEEN

by Paul Belz


Our faces, half lit by candles-
did they seem to dangle and bounce
in the dry evening light?
Our chins glowed like our noses,
the lower halves of our eyes,
our hands that clutched candles
by our chests. Upper eyes and hair
stayed dark, like our lower torsos.
Did we look disembodied, spooky
like decorations by some trick and treat house?
Maybe we reminded you of nightmares,
eight year old girl, face pressed against a window
in a car that rolled down the avenue
between two lines of us. Your dad drove
and gave you no comment. Windows closed,
you couldn't hear our song - where have
all the flowers gone - or our soft chant
for the 2000th American dead in Iraq.
If we scared you, we ghosts, sad jack'o'lanterns,
no terror you can imagine can equal
the real pain our presence here meant.
I know children fear more than the boogey man,
think of deeper things than candy. Maybe you'll hear
whispers about us. Night borne rumors
from the TV news and grownups' whispered thoughts.
Maybe you'll learn why we stood shivering,
witnesses for the war dead. Sleep comfortably,
find some comfort in blankets and pillows
that cover your ears. One day perhaps you'll make a change
that will banish our songs' words and themes
so specters like us won't come here again.


Paul Belz is an environmental educator based in Oakland, California. His work has appeared in Just Like Cabbage Only Different, Poetalk Quarterly, Gypsy Magazine, Olive Oyl, and Oral Recall. Notes and Niches, the newsletter for the Environmental Studies department at Antioch New England Graduate School has also published a number of his poems. Belz has coordinated two reading series in the Bay Area during the past five years, and he edits WHO? a small magazine that appears sporadically. He calls it "An Earth Based Newsletter for Progressive Poets."

RECYCLED NOTE LEFT ON A REFUSE BIN

by Carol Elizabeth Owens


t.v.
drones on and on
delivering, at times
much of nothing except some filth
in the kitchen, a screen
door is open
and flies

love it
you can see them
gathering. they’re watching
whatever the payload may bring
a tabletop meal’s not
noisy enough
for them

to catch
a soundly buzz
or otherwise sample
bits & bytes of digitized wit
regurgitation lives
on a slow roll
the crust

carries
such curious
moldings— tastes are easy
to shape. advertisers know how
cash can micromanage
a flavored spin
that stinks.


Carol Elizabeth Owens is an attorney and counselor-at-law in Western New York (by way of Long Island and New York City). She enjoys technical and creative writing. Her poetry has been published in several print and virtual publications. Ms. Owens loves the ways in which words work when poetry allows them to come out and play. The poem "recycled note left on a refuse bin " is written in a form called eintou (which is West African for "pearl," as in "pearls of wisdom").

STAY THE COURSE

by Anne G. Davies


Said President Bush: "We must stay the course.
Insurgents can't rout American force.
Critics may whine, but our mission is blessed
I'm the Decider and I know best."

Then Pentagon brass had a great revelation:
All was not well in this bloodstained nation.
They saw civil life in Iraq imploding
And support for staying the course eroding.

"We're fighting Islamo-fascist thugs
High on martyrdom, the best of drugs,
It's only two weeks 'til the midterm election
Voters are screaming for a course correction.

"This is a mantra you've got to banish
Memories are short, it soon will vanish
We'll find a motto less vainglorious
If, in fact, we're not victorious
We're asking Iraqis to step up to the plate
And take charge of their anarchic state.
And we have a slogan that you can endorse:
'The Iraqi army must stay the course'."


Anne G. Davies is a fund-raising writer by profession and a writer and versifier by avocation. Her work has been published on local and regional papers. She lives in Lexington, Massachusetts.

NCLB

by Desiree Kannel


My school is surrounded by
razor wire.
Put there to keep dangers out.
Or in?
Teachers lock up, and look suspiciously
At those they are supposed to
inspire, but
hard bigotry tells them:
What’s the use?

No Child Left Behind promises a better future,
But it’s the present that hinders my dreams.
Crimes of the family handicap my fate,
And lock downs, lock outs and razor wire
keep me in my place.


Desiree Kannel is in the MFA Creative Writing program at Antioch University and teaches elementary school in Long Beach, California. She has had a short story published in Enjambed, the new literary journal for California State University, Dominguez Hills.

CRY UNCLE SAM

by Charles Frederickson


Age of Disillusionment remains overcast
With mushrooming clouds of DCeption
Tarnished silver linings pillowslip-up oversights
Stuffed shirt Same Old Sheet

Insecurity blanket smothering free expression
Bedlam of nail-biters nothing mattress
Democrazy quilt spread like humanure
Credibility unravels USurper honor frays


Dr. Charles Frederickson is a Swedish-American-Thai 4midable, 10acious, cre8ive 1derer who has wandered intrepidly through 206 countries, an original sketch and poem for each presented on http://www.imagesof.8k.com. This maverick uniquecorn is a member of World Poets Society, based in Greece, with 100+ poetry publication credits on 5 continents, such as: Ascent Aspirations, Auckland Poetry, Blind Man's Rainbow, Both Sides Now, Caveat Lector, Cordite Poetry Review, Dance to Death, Fullosia Press, Greatworks, Green Dove, Indite Circle, Language & Culture, Listen & Be Heard, Living Poets, Madpoetry, Melange, Newtopia, New Verse News, Planet Authority, Poetry Canada, Poetry of Scotland, Poets for Peace, Poetry Superhighway, Pyramid, Sz, Ya'Sou, and Ygdrasil.

MAN ARRESTED TWICE FOR NAKED VISITS TO COFFEE STAND

by Rochelle Ratner


She's left him. Left him with nothing more than the
kitchen sink and a pair of pants. The sink is useless.
All he ever learned to do was boil water, and before
they married he threw out all the dirty dishes. They'd
pick up coffee from a drive-thru on the way to work.
He stares at his pants, forlornly. Remembers once
spilling coffee on his pants and, the next morning,
she made him take them off before they reached the
window. His boxers also. He remembers her leaning
across his naked thighs as she reached to hand the
money to the teenage girl at the counter, her large
breasts dangling ever so close to him, the scent of
shampoo still in her hair. He looks down at his pants
again. He decides to take them off and drive up for
coffee. But it's not the same.


Rochelle Ratner's latest poetry books include Balancing Acts (Marsh Hawk Press, 2006), Beggars at the Wall (Ikon, 2006) and House and Home (Marsh Hawk Press, 2003). She is the author of fifteen previous poetry collections and two novels (Bobby’s Girl and The Lion’s Share) both published by Coffee House Press). More information and links to her writing on the Internet can be found on her homepage.

OUR BEST BEHAVIOR

by David Feela


We do not kill children
(intentionally)
or torture and rape their mothers.
We do not loot
after destroying a family’s home.
If offered a bribe
we report it.
When humanitarian aid drops from the sky
we give the old people a chance
to drag it away.
Holidays are observed
and holy days tolerated.
If a child picks a flower
from a field of rubble
we snap a photo
and send it to Washington.
Rules of engagement
prohibit bombing cemeteries
while the enemy’s funeral is in progress.


David Feela is a poet, free-lance writer, writing instructor, book collector, and thrift store pirate. His work has appeared in regional and national publications, including High Country News’s "Writers’s on the Range," Mountain Gazette, and in the newspaper as a "Colorado Voice" for The Denver Post. He is a contributing editor and columnist for Inside/Outside Southwest and for The Four Corners Free Press. A poetry chapbook, Thought Experiments (Maverick Press), won the Southwest Poet Series. His web page can be viewed at www.geocities.com/feelasophy.

EDWARD MORAN'S HENRY HUDSON ENTERING NY HARBOR SEPTEMBER 11, 1609

by Alan Catlin


Lone warrior
on Manhattan
Island beach

observing long
ships, sailors
from who-knew

where navigating
toward soon-
to-be harbor

site; the first
foreign terrorists
have arrived


The painting that inspired this poem may be seen in the Berkshire Museum in Pittsfield, MA.

Alan Catlin's latest chapbook is a long poem, "Thou Shalt Not Kill", an updating of Rexroth's seminal poem of the same name. Whereas Rexroth riffs on the abuses of the Eisenhower adminstration, the update observes abuses of power in the current administration with particular attention to the cynical, criminal behavior towards the Katrina hurricane victims. One year later, the victims are not forgotten. No matter how many candles the Bushes light, the appalling lack of humanity and the blatant hypocrisy of the folks in charge is as apparent as the disenfranchised, the homeless, and the poverty stricken people of the Gulf states.

THE BODY POLITIC

by Karl Kadie


The sun rises between two large dogs
loping angrily across the Baylands,
heads down, nosing through the ruins
of Silcon Valley.
Above, resting on the sun's shoulder,
is the still-visible moon,
a faint reminder of the big picture,
the community from which we came.
How well did our community plan?
Twenty years ago this was an industrial park,
pumping out world-changing technology,
drawing revenue from a seemingly endless tap.
Today we grab part-time work where we can get it
as a circuit designer or manufacturing analyst,
and a few weeks later
scavenge for sustenance,
prowling through the dumpsters
for something we can sell or trade,
arms sometmes scraping the bottom
of this long, economic chain.
Many talk of moving to China
the land of opportunity,
but I am older, weary of false promises,
and…someone has to tell this history.
How well did we plan?
Just look at us: cowering
behind the rocks and shacks,
waiting for the big dogs of capitalism
to pass.


Karl Kadie holds an MA in English from San Francisco State University and is a native Californian. He has been writing poetry for over thirty years, and published poems in Haiku Headlines, The New Verse News, and on poetry blogs. His poems reflect a powerful concern about the political events of the new century. Karl earns his living by providing marketing for high technology companies in the United States and Europe.

A FORCE OF HABIT

by Courtney Rae Rawls


these days he still wakes up at 4 am—
anxiety, a blunt alarm.

28 years of repetition,
he prepares his lunch like he’s on the line
bread, mayo, ham, swiss, lettuce, halve & repeat
a rhythm develops, a groove. 12 sandwiches later,

there’s no more bread and nothing to do
but watch talk shows and car commercials chanting

BUY AMERICAN which everyone in this town
already does. he never laid eyes on a toyota
until his daughter went to college on the east coast
where cars are aesthetic rather than political issues.
anymore, he’s not sure what this means, BUY AMERICAN—
laid off two years before retirement
he was told that his investment in the dream was
nonrefundable. no pension, no healthcare,
no treatment for the carpal tunnel syndrome he developed during his
tenth year. or the slipped disc during the eighteenth.
but he is hard, durable,
like a rock. so after 28 years of repetition,
he prepares his dinner like he’s on the line
and falls asleep at 10 PM—
a terse,
biting habit.


Courtney Rae Rawls is from Flint, Michigan.

POSTSCRIPT

by Mel Waldman

If Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” was more than a short story…
If it was part of our new Constitution, could we live with
random sacrifice?
Could we live with infectious, hypnotic evil?
How do we balance this contagious madness
with the love of our country?
How do we balance the Scale?

Paranoia rushes through our veins and arteries.
Terror flows recklessly
within and without.
And the Scale tips.

Dr. Mel Waldman is a poet, writer, artist, and singer/songwriter. His stories have appeared in numerous literary reviews and commercial magazines including Happy, Sweet Annie Press, Children, Churches and Daddies, Down in the Dirt, New Thought Journal, The Brooklyn Literary Review, Hardboiled Detective, Detective Story Magazine, Espionage, and The Saint. He is a past winner of the literary Gradiva Award in Psychoanalysis and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. He is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Private Eye Writers of America, American Mensa, Ltd., and the American Psychological Association. Who Killed the Heartbreak Kid?, a mystery novel, was published by iUniverse in February 2006. It can be purchased at www.iuniverse.com/bookstore/, www.bn.com, at www.amazon.com, and other online bookstores or through local bookstores. Recently, some of his poems have appeared online in The Jerusalem Post.

DARFUR

by Michael Shorb


The thorn of the name
sticks in my throat,
coats my skin like black sand,
stretches out like the White
Nile flowing toward Juba.

We saw the black clad Janjaweed,
death mask faces mounted on
jeeps and camels coming
out of the desert, images wavering
in heated air, heard the grinding
of their transmissions just before
machine gun bullets
began to curse and sting,
our thatched houses
carried off by hate and flame.

Have you ever been alone?

Have you heard the terror
at night moving through
leafless branches,
seen the red eyes
of dawn and hunger?


Michael Shorb's work has appeared in a wide range of publications, including Nation, Michigan Quarterly Review, California Quarterly, and The Sun. He writes frequently about political, historical and environmental issues, and lives in San Francisco, CA.

OYSTERS

by Katie Antony


The sun was shining on the sea,
And then it shone no more;
For in the sky there rose a cloud
That swirled like none before—
And all the oysters without cars
Just huddled on the shore.

For those with pearls already fled
To higher ground than “thou”;
So when the brine waves pierced the walls
And pressed against the bough,
The oysters Walrus cared about
Were safe from this storm’s plow.

The huddled oysters listened
To the wind and then the waves,
And saw their neighbors choking
And swallowed-up in staves—
They climbed onto their rooftops
To seek a carpenter that saves.


Katie Antony is currently a third year student at the University of Rochester. She wrote "Oysters," which draws heavily from the allegory established by Lewis Carroll in "The Walrus and the Carpenter," following a trip to New Orleans intended to document peoples' return to "normalcy" after Hurricane Katrina.

REVENGE

by Barbara A. Taylor


money          power
buying          selling
can          slur
c h a r a c t e r
destroy          a person’s
r e p u t a t I o n

          hpprotest
hppretexts
          hppretend

there’s          pain
p o i s o n
on          the board
a          corporate
vendetta is          at hand

woman          on top
tall          poppies
f a l l i n g


Barbara A. Taylor has published short fiction and poetry on www, in print in USA, Europe and Australia. She is a regular reader/slammer at local poetry nights. Barbara's work is published in or is forthcoming at Triplopia, The Blue Fifth Review, Wisteria, Tattoo Highway and The Yellow Bat Review: Journal of Contemporary Rhyme. Her poetry with audio is at <http://batsword.tripod.com>. The last stanza of "Revenge" is a haiku first published in Folly, 2006.