Our topics touch a variety of subjects about nature and the nature of humanity.  The purpose of our all-volunteer organization is to educate poets, and to foster the reading and writing of short poetry.  We are not a vanity press.  Not every poem submitted will be published.  We are a family magazine.  Do not advocate the use of alcohol or drugs in your poetry then ask us to consider your work.  Please read our monthly rules before sending us your work.
 
 

• WELCOME
• LETTERS
• YOU'RE NOT FROM AROUND HERE
• FIRST IN 2001:  COOKING UP SOME FUN
• THE BEST POEM OF AUGUST
• HIDDEN CONTEST:  PICNIC

FIRST PLACE

Nihil Alienum (We Know No Strangers)

Emigrate. Might be too late but go. You'll never know ...
Left behind a single line, fading ink in a battered bible:

dep. LIVERPOOL FOR AMERICA 1858. Left CORK
GONE TO NEW YORK 1866. to GALVESTON '88

The only link between before and after, between
tears and laughter, between death and life. A

record of pain and peril, fear and fortitude, terror
and triumph. It's the record of us all. Call

the role as they step into the dark night those
years ago. Call it again. Watch new dawns rise

in each ones eyes. We've finally come to
realize you are we and we are you. I see

you, brother, as you step ashore. Sister, too,
looking to this open door. Come on! Come in!

Bring strong hands and bring your songs. There's
still space, you'll find a place and so much more.

John E. Rice, Houston, TX

SECOND PLACE

Déjà Vu

Tides of days crossing the ocean,
crowded nights of endless snores

surviving to arrive on Ellis Island
given papers and a new name.

It was, after all, a new world -
her family thrived then forgot

& out west, seven waterless miles north
of the border, a descendent works a clinic.

Patients stumble across the doorstep
after long, illegal walks from Mexico.

Bound by Hippocrates, she helps them
but wonders who will pay the bills.

Ancestral ghosts whisper in her ears.
Does she hear them?

Deborah P. Kolodji, Temple City, CA

THIRD PLACE

Smooth Sailing

I brush my hand across his chiseled name,
A man of strength whose face I never knew.

He left his homeland trusting fate’s unknown
To sail on through a nation’s gateway door.

America, with waiting arms she hailed,
A destiny for ages yet to come.

So who am I to slam her portals closed
When immigration paved this path for me?

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA

Removing Border Barriers

Many Chinese adults are sitting in American prisons
Because they tried to enter the US without papers.

Some wait years for the decision -
"You may stay or you must go."

Five thousand Chinese Children are adopted
Yearly by American families.

After over a year of filling out endless legal forms
Parents are free to bring their tiny new citizen home.

When the child arrives, assimilation goes quickly -
No requirement for admission to the family's hearts.

Congress should allow immigration of adults
Wishing to become be self-supporting constituents.

More People from all countries could be admitted
To carve out their livelihood as did our ancestors.

The new residents will blend in the Land of Room Enough
And proudly salute our splendid flag full of stars.

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX
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Georgia Gold

For years the only gold found in North Georgia
Was that drawn from mines in the red hills of Dahlonega

Now industries bring in a new form of gold
Hard-working Mexicans who increase production

Menus at eateries offer tacos, enchiladas and guacamole
Along with fried green tomatoes, biscuits and sweet tea

Spanish mingles with southern drawls at the grocery
Sombreros bob along with Braves caps on Town Square

Children learn of a new culture from classmates
Rather than from dry pages of a text book

The Georgia lode is gone. only a few flecks remain
With increased immigration Mexican gold can flourish

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA
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Take Me, America

I will go to the land where skin
is skin; no more, no less than flesh.

Where each hand set to task
is proud of work well done,

where each face adorned with a smile
is returned heedless of sorrow,

where each heart heavy with burden
is healed by a hand and a smile,

where each child who learns to learn
is taught by the love of their children,

where each elder who rests in their age
is kept in respect and attended,

where each soul who seeks its mentor
is blessed with an answer to their prayer,

where each intrepid journey ventured
is achieved with distance covered to destiny,

where each courageous link toward new language
is a discovery of greater comprehension.

Where I go. When I leave. I am coming. There,
is America. Take me like a life into your land.

Maryann Hazen-Stearns, Ellenville, NY
JUDGES' COMMENTS:  Idyllic view of the Land Of Plenty;  very easily imagined as being written from the point of view of an outsider dreaming of America.  Lovely ending.
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Melting Pot

The green of meadow, tree, and grass
is rarer than it used to be.

Population estimates soar.
Resources are in short supply.

Our citizens keep giving birth.
We need more space for next of kin.

Do we limit the number born
or slow the total coming in?

America welcomes a few,
but shuns illegal aliens.

It's time now to be selective.
Policy is too indulgent.

Our children need their space to live.
They can't mass move to Mexico.

The best of stews have their limits.
A vessel only holds so much.

One more cupful may top the brim
and overflow the melting pot.

Susie LaForge, Fort Worth, TX
============

They Want Tomorrow

They want something, they want
More than they have at home,

These proud people, gentle
People come to our land,

Some say seeking freedom,
More than freedom from want,

More than freedom to choose,
More than how to live and

How to make a living.
They want a land to leave

Behind for their children
And children to come.

They ask no guarantees,
They seek no charity.

They seek only the chance,
Each to participate.

And each to share in the
Sublime adventure we

Call a way of life, they
Call America's dream.

Janet Parker, Leesburg, FL
JUDGES' COMMENTS:  A look at the other side of the coin;  there are those who would shut the portals, who would refuse to see the humans on the other side, but this poem helps to illuminate that "other side."  The closing couplet drives the point home - it may be our way of life, but for others it is a true dream.
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The Story of Dan Handley

In the mid-nineteenth century, the Irish potato crop failed.
Old folks died of starvation, malnourished babies wailed.

The English so rich, looked at the poor Irish farmers and said,
"No food for you here.  Go to America, where you will be fed."

An old farmer in Ireland thought this life was over and done.
He said, "Go on to America, for prosperity." to his able-bodied son.

An Irish ancestor of mine came in the nineteenth century
After hearing that America was the land of opportunity.

Dan Handley came to the North from the Irish West Coast.
Poor man, not a penny or anything to his name, he could boast.

The most awful War Between the States was being fought
My naïve grandfather's grandfather ran the risk of being shot.

For the army of Abraham Lincoln, he so bravely fought.
Won the war, married an Irish gal and had wee ones, lots.

I think the U. S. Army took advantage of his poverty and strife.
But I'm here today because America needed a man to risk his life.

I'm proud that my ancestor, Dan Handley, held his head up high.
For me to say he wouldn't fight for his country would be a lie.

Eileen Sateriale, Bowie, Maryland

FIRST PLACE - Winner of a picnic kit for four, and a recipe book written by our judge, Debby Cochran.

Lazy Lois' Ice Cream

Making ice cream was a big event
In our childhood that involved:
Milking the cow, picking plump strawberries
Gathering White Leghorn eggs from the hen house
And chipping blocks of ice while mother mixed the cream.
The task of turning the crank seemed endless;
Salty melted ice seeped from the bucket cooling our bare toes
Each of us had a turn licking the freezer dasher.
The delicious ice cream had to be eaten quickly
Before it turned to mush.  The cold made our heads ache.
Later, Lazy Lois tried to revive the delightful event
Using an electric ice cream freezer
But it didn't taste as good.  Something was missing.
Perhaps it was the camaraderie of six sweaty siblings
Laughing long ago.

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX

Uncle Charlie Goes Courting

Early in the 20th Century, entertainment was simple.  Money was scarce.
Picnics on the Village Green brought out courting couples.  Her fluffy
pink dress and saucy curls escaping from a wide brimmed hat caused his
heart to flutter as he squired her around.  She spoke of the heat and
her thirst at the sight of the lemonade stand.  With empty pockets he
guided her to the well and gallantly served a dipper of cool water
saying it was perfect nectar for such a lovely lady.  They were married
in the spring.  Smiling, she served him homemade lemonade for the next
fifty-five years.

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA
EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  A vivid look at the past.
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SECOND PLACE

Loblolly Tree Picnic

Etched in the skin of the loblolly,
is this message:  D.B. loves A.V.
Perhaps long ago, they picnicked here,
shared each other's company
beneath the lacy Maylight of spring.
The day might have been warm, buzzy under sun,
They may have spread the blanket,
its plaid back arched upon breeze
They would have laid out food,
as if hungry. Moving through the motions.
Imagine, in the harmony of afterwards:
her asking, The Question, again
his deftly carving his beloved confession that,
yes forever yes, beneath the arms of the loblolly tree,
he did love me.

Maryann Hazen-Stearns, Ellenville, NY

Recipe For Late Summer Picnic

Sunshine
enough to share,
no threatening clouds
to call it off,
a hint of fall
but that is all,
a basket packed
with lots of snacks,
a child or two complete
with swimming gear,
we're ready now
to join the crowd,
a picnic at the shore.

Janet Parker, Leesburg, FL
EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  By use of simple rhymes and repeating rhythms, this poet brings us swinging along to the picnic.

We could not just choose one Best Poem Of August, and so chose two instead.  Here they are, and from the comments, you can tell that the judges were happy with the results of this competition.
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Unraveling

What is it he has said?
I try to unravel his words,
so beautifully woven in visions
of ice glazed streets-- still
and windless--a glacial place
where trees stand rigid, and numb
comes to mind.

He says the beast is at the gate,
the kingdom is under siege, and I run
to the closest memory
where he weaves green boughs
and lilac, this I understand.
I understand when his words woo
with the magic of moonlight,
when he says roses are blooming
inside his head, I inhale
the sweet breath of June.

The sun is setting on the city, he says,
something seems lost in the passing
of chestnut autumn days. Oh! I see,
I see the swaying of those words,
as they trail into the park
where walkways become dark
lines that do not connect
and the details of joy
are suddenly forgotten.

Judith Schiele, Brandon, MS

Autumn Mandala

Along the edges of the wood
the birch's leaves have turned to gold
encircling forest maple fire.

I'd take you with me if I could
on leafy paths and I would hold
you midst those trees while our desire

rose up around us as a fire should,
as passion flared in days of old
before we sank into the mire

forgetting as but mortals would
the way it was before flesh grew cold.
Our colors wax and then retire

just as the edges of this wood
where birch's leaves have turned to gold
encircling forest maple fire.

Gary Wade, South Burlington, VT

Our hidden contest this month (tucked into the August Contest Notice sent out to the folks on our distribution list) was "Picnic."  Look for another Hidden Contest in the September Notice.

FIRST PLACE - Winner of a black cap from Dorling Kindersley.

Monkey Bread

Ape attack? I think not!
Butter melted, oozing hot,
Cinnamon and sugar dipped.
Diet bust, scales are tipped.
Every morsel ripe for picking,
Fingers sticky, finger-licking.
Gorilla, monk or chimpanzee?
Heck no! What absurdity!
I’m no poacher, hunter I.
Just give me cookies, cake or pie.
Knock aside the home-baked beans.
Lose the salads, pastas, greens.
Make room at the table’s head.
Newsworthy: my monkey bread.
Orangutan? Heavens no!
Pillsbury biscuits’ flaky dough.
Quick to rise, even quicker to eat,
Rapid ready, satisfyingly sweet.
Stop this monkey business pow-wow.
Take off the saran wrap, hurry, now!
Unlock the cages, free the beasts.
Welcome greedy hands to feast.
You’d never guess it tastes so yummy.
Zoology sure sates the tummy!

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA

Sol Magazine will mail no book prizes to poets outside the United States of America.  Book gift certificates from Barnes & Noble will be substituted.  No exceptions.
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Have a comment?  Want to be added to our list?  Want to be taken off our list?
Write to us at:  Sol.Magazine@prodigy.net

Or at:
Sol Magazine
P.O. Box 580037, Houston, TX  77258-0037
Phone number:  (281)316-2255 weekdays 8-5.

Sol Magazine's Website:  http://www.sol-magazine.com
============
So you want to be judge, guest editor, interviewee?  Tell us.  Judges are asked to write a guest editorial on a topic we set before being invited to judge a contest.
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All poetry remains the property of the poet, except Sol Magazine reserves the right to publish all poems (once) at a future date, and/or to post them to a web page.  NONE may be reproduced without permission of Sol Magazine.  Electronic forwarding is permitted as long as no portion of this magazine is changed and all credits are given.
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Sponsors in 2001:  M. G. Angel, Mary Margaret Carlisle, Lois Lay Castiglioni, SuzAnne Cole, Jim Lay, Cliff Thomas Roberts, Marsha Rose Steed.
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Angels in 2001:  Leo F. Waltz.
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Book donors in 2001:  Paula Marie Bentley, Debby Cochran, Katherine Elmore, Maryann Hazen-Stearns, Glynn Monroe Irby, Peggy Zuleika Lynch, Carlyn Luke Reding, Cliff Thomas Roberts, John Salacan, Kathleen Elizabeth Schaefer, Craig Tigerman.

Corporate book donors:  Barnes & Noble, Bookstop.  New sponsors and angels always welcomed.  Thanks for your support.
 
 
 

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