sounds
transfix
in water
sanctuary
where gold torpedoes
and fragrant white lilies
have been inspiration for
a garden of crystal pools where
heart seeks solace, body is refreshed,
mind seeks clarity and spirit finds peace

Toward Phoenix sunshine RVs roar
Twenty-first century nomads
Their destinations concrete pads
Where winter chill is felt no more

COMMENTS:  Rhythm and rhyme blend with light, informal tone.  Clever.  Effective near rhyme of nomads and concrete pads.  Nice reporting!  Excellent poem.  True-to-life.

Free-lance writer and award-winning poet, Stephanie lives in Texas with her husband Mel and a redbone coon hound named Charlie.  Ms. Baldock has been published in International Toastmistress Magazine, Emotions Literary Journal, Scribe and Quill, SEEDS, The Fisherman's Guide, A Writer's Choice, WritersBlock and Sol Magazine.  She is currently working on a collaborative book of poems, "Highways to the Heart," anticipated publication date: 2002 (Canada).

From
winter's
granite tomb
emerges a
whisker of color --
lavender scent so full
the garden could answer death.
A palette that puts the courage
of purple and velvet in human
to seedy shame. God cooks and stirs. We watch.

COMMENTS:  "Whisker of color" is a wonderful image. Last two sentences are a poem unto themselves.  Word pictures combine with metaphors, fanciful expressions, contrast, and imaginative personification.  Great metaphor!  Lovely ending.

The banging trees on window pane
are bold and brassy castanets.
Through livid tears and stone regrets
the sunshine's cage can smell like rain.

COMMENTS:  Multi-sensory joinings create synesthetic contrasts.  The sense of hearing, seeing, smelling, and feeling are all well-Illustrated.  Exceptional poem with original phrasings and depth of layered meanings.

  In my hands I hold these bruises of old photographs
  a mother, a smile that walked from my cradle into a grave.
  So much of you I never knew.  So much of you is lavender and Daphne lace.
  The other half, a spider bite of Father's poison silences.
  A poem won't bring you back to me.
  I stare at this page, this sweater with holes.

COMMENTS:  Last line is masterfully understated.  Evokes emotion in its face of loss.  A delicate personal elegy.  Chilling.  Rich in detail.

Paris blue marks the sky of a nubile kiss
that spittles like rain into the Seine.
L'Arc de Triomphe stands so tall
until the bricks of love are gone.
The sun, no matter how hard its coin tries,
fails to rule the groping cloud.
Paris marks the setting blood. I gather clots,
assuage the crust, point fingers toward awaiting graves.

COMMENTS:   Powerful poetical language creates strong metaphors, interesting word pictures, rhythm and sound.  Great coined term – spittles.  Fantastic setting, excellent writing.

Janet Buck taught writing and literature at the college level for sixteen years.  She is an amputee; some of her poetry deals with coping with a disability and the process of emotional adaptation.  The author of four collections of poetry, Buck's work has recently appeared in Three Candles, The American Muse, Runes, Red River Review, PoetryBay, Stirring, Facets, Branches, The Carriage House Review, Offcourse, CrossConnect, Sand to Glass, and The Southern Ocean Review. She has received awards from Sol Magazine, Kota Press, L'Intrigue, and Kimera, and her work is scheduled to appear in Recursive Angel, Apples & Oranges, The Montserrat Review, Artemis, The Pittsburgh Quarterly, and The Pedestal Magazine. In 2000, her poem "Acrylic Thighs" was paired with original artwork and featured at the United Nations Exhibit Hall in New York City. The piece was translated into five languages and went on tour around the world.   her latest book, “Ash Tattoos,” deals with the terrorist attacks and the aftermath of war.  She is a three-time Pushcart Nominee and the author of four collections of poetry.

Jays
nesting
in latticed
arbor, amid
entwining vines of
Carolina jasmine,
brighten my days with blue joy,
bless my garden with newfledged life.

The cheeks of clouds blush with sunrise
molten gold paths cry, "Day's begun."
Let us sing praises to the sun,
for sunlight causing night's demise.

SuzAnne C. Cole, former English professor at Houston Community College, now spends her time writing poetry, fiction, plays, and essays, dabbling in art, traveling with her husband, and enjoying her family including her first grandchild, Alexander Wesley (Sasha) Cole.  She believes in writing critique groups, classes, and workshops because there's always something to improve.  Recent awards include first place play in Flashquake, spring 2002 issue.  In addition, her work has been published in Baby Blessings, Journal of the Radix Institute, BigCityLit, Windhover, Writer's Digest, Moondance, Promise magazine, and posted on the USA Today web site.
 

Ten
Hungry
Ladybugs
In my garden
Cleaning sap sucking
Aphids from the asters
Save me trips to the store to
Purchase those dreadful pesticides.
I am inviting them to help this
Old Lady with the dishes and the house

Kitty basks in pool of sunshine
Warming the cozy window seat
Pads over to nuzzle my feet
Seems to purr, “I’m glad you are mine”

Gardener, grandmother, and award-winning poet, Kay Lay Earnest was born in Calhoun, GA, and spent her life in Atlanta.  She is a retired secretary of Federal Aviation Administration.  In her words, “Among my earliest memories are the gentle voices of relatives swapping front porch stories in the semi-darkness of soft summer evenings.  Consequently story-telling for me is as natural as breathing.  In recent years, I am challenged by Sol Magazine to express myself on paper and being published is an encouraging learning experience.  Nurturing poems is similar to caring for my plants and granddaughters.  All need guidance in growing the proper direction and occasional pruning.”

Soft
murmurs
trickle past
rock memories
gathered and arranged
around my backyard pond,
goldfish swimming past bamboo
reflections. My garden’s focus
luring me outside to soothe away
scars of a hectic life with poetry.

COMMENTS:  Sustained use of personification makes this garden scene come alive. First six lines could stand alone as a complete piece.  Clear, flowing, imaginative work with an unusual twist at the end.  Patchwork of terms forms attractive word quilt.

Soft strokes of yellow in the East
fading to scarlet in the West
sunshine paints a visual feast
on glorious sky canvasses.

Award-winning poet, Deborah P. Kolodji graduated from the University of Southern California and works as a database administrator.  She is a member of the California State Poetry Society, Science Fiction Poetry Association, Haiku Society of America, and Southern California Haiku Study Group.  Her poetry has been published in St. Anthony Messenger Magazine, Pearl, Star*Line, Twilight Times, Rogue Worlds, Stirring, Tales of the Unanticipated, and Dreams and Nightmares, and "2001:  A Science Fiction Poetry Anthology." One poem was named "Horror Poem of the Year" (1999) by the Zine Guild, another placed in the 1999 Preditors and Editors Readers Poll,  She has twice been nominated for the Rhysling Award by the Science Fiction Poetry Association.  She is associate editor of Amaze, a webzine totally devoted to Cinquains. www.amaze-cinquain.com
 

a
clay frog
sits in the
crook of a tree
nearly hidden by
the dried leaves of a large
bird of paradise, where flies
circle, then land, upon orange
and purple blossoms so heavy with
sap that they hang over the garden fence.

It was a winter's day near spring,
when ominous gray clouds drew near;
my daughter said that, "this will bring
a rainbow and sunshine--don't fear!"

COMMENTS:  Focuses dramatically on the coming spring.  Poem reminds that "Out of the mouths of babes comes truth."

  In my hands I hold a bird nest, found in the crook of a barren tree.
  My daughter blows off withered leaves, feels the soft, gray down.
  "But where are the baby birds?" she asks, tears trembling in her eyes.
  I tell her, they've hatched and flown away, hoping I spoke a truth.
  Carefully, we place the nest in a shoe box--"for show-and-tell", she says.
  Then, after one last look, we close the lid, and carry it to school.
 

COMMENTS:  A heart-warming teaching vignette.  Delightfully illuminated, endearing keepsake.   Vividly captures the season's lesson.

  There's a wisp of blue behind pine and eucalyptus trees, before
  one roof ends and the other begins.  This is the way I walked
  through La Jolla to The Cove.  It was before the locals left,
  the outsiders arrived, before my parents sold their house and I
  moved away.  It was a village where neighbors gathered at sunset,
  where hang-gliders would rent the clouds, circle back and like seagulls,
  scatter sand and seaweed.  There--do you see it? A pearl-gray mist
  like the inside of an abalone shell, just beginning to rise.

COMMENTS:  "Rent the clouds" is a gorgeous metaphor! Last sentence completes the image perfectly.  Enchanting images of a rich and varied world.  Delightful metaphors.  Story-telling at its best.

Award-winning poet, editor, and freelance writer, Terrie Leigh Relf lives in South Park, California, where she teaches at San Diego City College.  She writes a monthly column, "The Mistress of Rhetoric," for The Espresso, San Diego's Coffee House and Cafe Magazine.  She is a board member for The Mother Lobe's Writing Coterie; co-author of two horror screen plays, and of a vampire novel.  Terrie Relf's poetry, short stories, and articles have appeared in Sol Magazine; The World Haiku Review; The Pennine Poetry Works; The Poetry Worm; Driftwood Highway; Nightingale; Manifold; Star Leaper; The Fifth Dimension; The Martian Wave; Moxie Magazine; The La Jolla Light; Vision Magazine, The Espresso; City Works; Lucy Westenra; and others.

A
Secret
Place exists--
A walled garden
With enchanting seeds
Of hope buried within
There, I bask in the sunshine
And soak up long forgotten dreams
Until they become a part of me
And I can set them free beyond the walls.

There's enough sunshine to go 'round
Even in the cloudiest haze
Even on the rainiest days
When there's a smile to be found.

Freelance writer, book reviewer, contest judge, columnist, and award-winning poet, Lynne Remick lives on Long Island, New York, with her son, dog, cat, and four hedgehogs. She attends college at Empire State, where she is pursuing a degree in Children's Literature and Creative Writing. She is a member of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators and is the SCBWI Metro New York/Long Island Critique Group Coordinator.  She has received a Highlights Foundation Scholarship.  She has been published in Amateur Poetry Journal, Family Fun Magazine; Fantasy Folklore & Fairy Tales, Inkspot, Inscriptions Magazine, Once UponA Time; Poetry Super Highway; Sol Magazine, Bardic Beachcomber; Hard Wind; Lover's Knot, Poet's Garth; Romantic Bower, Writer's Journal (Staff Columnist) and Writer On-line, among others.   Lynne Remick is co-moderator of Children's Poets. <childrens-poets@yahoogroups.com>.

Plants
in my
garden sleep
so silently.
Today is the first
day of the spring season.
Spring warms the ground with its charm
so breathtaking, forcing young bulbs
to peep gingerly through the soft earth
blooming everyday until killing frost.

They hang outside from house rafters,
cone shaped rods from recent ice storm.
Bright sunshine hits, large droplets form.
Children drink them the day after.

Poet and poetry judge, Eileen Sateriale is the mother of two girls, and lives in Bowie, Maryland with her husband, Ken.  She is a member of the Annapolis Historical Society, and is drafting a young adult historical fiction novel set in colonial Annapolis.  She is the public relations liaison for her younger daughter's school. Her work has been published in the Washington Post, Sol Magazine, and in the "Let Us Not Forget" Anthology.

There,
beneath
the arbor,
those two mourning
doves huddle close and
wait like pallid statues
in their chill. Winter reclaimed
the early taste of June, which teased
in the garden yesterday. Gentle
creatures, so still...yes, I hear your cooing!

He relied on his old tractor,
For back up he carried a hoe,
But in making what he grew grow,
Sunshine, determining factor.

Award-winning poet Judith Schiele is the mother of two daughters, grandmother to one, and works as administrative assistant in accounting for an engineering consulting firm.  In her words, “Having no formal training in writing, I simply listen to that mysterious voice which now guides me.”  Her work has been published in Sol Magazine and other Internet magazines, and in anthologies.  A few years ago, she was a juried poet in the Houston Poetry Fest, and her work was included in that anthology.
 

A
poet
in the weeds
dandelion
verse floats on the wind
and lawn and garden merge.
An idle mower awaits
as the grass grows into stanzas
and my horticultural desire
demands of my garden its greatest gift.

Slipped to sleep a cyclic life
we drifted dark and tidal schemes
then cast to shore as man and wife
awakened into sunshine dreams.

In my hands I hold a body
her form dispossessed as life decays
to an endless, hopeless dust
an undesired name sold
in love's infinite lies
my fingertips crumble at the touch.

Frauenkirche, jewel of Dresden, shined a quiet peace.
The Church of Our Lady weathered winds of ancient storms:
the Seven Years War reigned as the Bell of Stone rang
unscathed by the cannon, later echoing peace.
Two hundred years a sandstone dome graced the sunrise
in a city of art only to feel the heat
Ash Wednesday, Nineteen Forty-Five.  The city burned
and tears boiled as the Bell knelt into the firestorm.

COMMENTS:  Words generate energy.  Poignant description with a unity of sense and sound.  Lovely tribute to troubled time, memorable.

Award-winning poet, James Thompson is a construction professional.  His work has been published in Frogpond, The Journal of the American Haiku Society, Lynx A Journal for Linking Poets, and the Native American Poetry Anthology, published by Indian Heritage Publishing. His poetry and prose is also published in Sol Magazine, Rose and Thorn, and Fragmented Light, among others.

A
well laid
out garden
is poetry
with theme developed
from balanced, ordered rows
to weedy inconstraint. From
repetition comes emphasis,
from bountiful yield, satisfaction
as body and soul from field arts are fed.

Mourning steals life-light from your eyes
Mourning sets a dirge in your song;
Mourning makes grief to pass along
As grave flowers nod their good-byes.

Gary Wade has been a poet for about 15 years, partly as an antidote for the technical writing he does as a Research Ecologist for the US Forest Service.  Most of his poetry has been circulated in live Internet poetry events, but his work has also been published in Sol Magazine, and others.  He performs occasionally in the Burlington Vermont Poetry Slam.  In his words, “I also have a published poem in the form of a mini-book that is sold in poetry vending machines in Vermont, Massachusetts and New York -- for 50 cents, you can get something that won't tar your lungs or rot your teeth.”

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