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CONTENTS:

• LETTERS
• TRAUMA
• HIDDEN CONTEST - OUT OF THE ASHES & RUBBLE:  PEACE
• BEST POEM OF SEPTEMBER
• Staff info

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FIRST PLACE - Winner of a $20.00 electronic book gift certificate from Amazon.

Silent Screams

scarred hands
heroic attempts
a lasting reminder

burns fade
medals tarnish
memories live on.

M. E. Wood, Belleville, ON, CAN

A Fortune Teller Reads My Belly Scars

four horizontal
one vertical
lifeline redrawn

serendipity
child's gentle hand
full moon of love

Terrie Leigh Relf, San Diego, CA, USA

Mending

One year ago
Divorce final
Tonight's dinner date

Bona fide gentleman
Hour approaches
Nausea sets in

Tony A. Thompson, Lufkin, TX, USA

Betrayed

Failing organ bleeds
Beneath prostrate form
Bloody river born

No fleshly part torn
From no wound departs
Pours from broken heart

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA

Abuse

a slow poison leaked into the nerves
daily spoonfuls of cyanide verbs
on a busy street they stand on curbs

not waiting for the light to change
not waiting for their minds to change
waiting for their husbands to change

David C Bursey, Job's Cove, Newfoundland, CAN

ICU

Monitors beep incessantly
Lines wave across blue screens
Recording his vital signs

Clock movement imperceptible
Family standing statue-still
Maintain vigil over Papa

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA

Quarantined

Cooling feverish brows
Soothing itchy measles
Serving icy lemonade

Mother's healing hand
Gently slips sleep-nets
Over restless brood

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA

topic of cancer

snowball dancer
dark cloud cancer
organic necromancer

out of control
wreaking its toll
pleading for peace weary soul

Tim Floto, Scotts Valley, Ca, USA

Insulted

She casts in vain:
a fly-fisherman's swain
atop a runaway train.

Pleading to feign
the hook that would gain
her favor; she's sane.

Catherine Harper, Austin, TX, USA

In a Blink at the Shrink's
 
liquidized make-up
fidgeting like a hiccup
hands tremulous oars
 
tailored finery
questioning fine lines
alienist seeking to cross
 
Tanya Ruth Larson, Kamloops, BC, CAN

Regression

Finally graduated
elevated to competence
soaring in confidence

One slip one slide
caught unawares
in the arms of dependence

Alma Philbert Linton, Lasalle, QC, CAN

One Year Later

sudden act of terror
disbelief as towers fall
victims and survivors all are one

one year later
looking backward life goes forward
healing hands of friendship urge us on

Janet Parker, Leesburg, FL USA

Gone
 
his blue veined ankle glows bone white in unrelenting light
surgical solutions are scalpel forceps scissors hemostat
blue green shapes hover near his head
 
they call his name louder louder still as I watch distance
come up to meet him so soon questions of whether or not
to pull the plug become unnecessary
 
John E. Rice, Houston, TX, USA

Class Reunion

classmates grow apart
gathering years later
sharing present worlds
 
boisterous greetings
turn to stony silence
as alumni reminisce

Eileen Sateriale, Bowie, MD, USA

Prodigal

I fled monotony
I found despair
I buried pride

I abandoned frivolity
I found forgiveness
I knew happiness

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA

Final Watch

out and in mother
breath take another
eyes say why bother

no hope for another
no love left for others
breath leaves in flutters

Claiborne Schley Walsh, Montrose, AL, USA

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FIRST PLACE
INVITED TO ENTER SOL MAGAZINE'S 2003 POET LAUREATE COMPETITION
 

Phoenix

When you hear the echo
in your head -
the sigh of those
too sudden dead -
When all the screams
remain behind
to haunt your dreams
and fill your mind -

When lonely eagle
feathers fall -
when all you see
at night, in bed -
is crumbling wall
and dancing flame -
Recall the terror
without shame -
shed the tears
then still your fears -
and gracefully arise.

Arise -
and put
your tears and fears
aside.
Put to rest
the violence
inside.

Let the shadows disappear -
Let the smoke and fire clear -
Hold instead, the memory
of once what was -
and once will be -
for from the ashes
that remained -
from all we lost
we learned -
we gained -

Some memories, Love,
they will not fade -
The heroes came -
they stayed -

They stayed.

Laura Heidy, Highland, IN, USA

Rebuilding Piece by Peace

When disaster's dust has settled,
When light dawns on a brand new day,
Life cannot be rebuilt in an instant:
Piece by piece is the only way.

When a human heart is broken,
With no hint of a chance to mend,
The deep wounds will not heal in a second,
But a seed is planted within.

It may not mature for a season,
It will not reach full flower in a night,
But the final result's worth the waiting:
Inch by inch is the path toward light.

As the winter warms to springtime,
As the sun lights the world each dawn,
So the soul comes to life as time passes,
And with strength fresh and new goes on.

If a soul knows only pleasure,
Beauty soon proves shallow at best.
Scars can shine with a glorious splendor
When adorning a soul at rest.

When life seems to become a dungeon,
When there seems no hope of release,
That's the time to start gathering pieces:
Piece by piece is the path to peace!
 
Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA

Fireweed

The soul is not just an eagle,
or a bear, or a stately oak
grown for centuries in one place.
The soul is also a dandelion.
It is cricket-song and dragonfly-wing,
nest and web and chrysalis.
It is pinecones burst from the heat,
scattering seeds everywhere.
It is red alder lifting pale green plumes
above the grey and broken ground.
It is chipmunks and fireweed.
It is anthills made of ash, of gravel,
of all things old made new again.
The soul is a whole forest
and a forest is a phoenix.
It does not matter what trouble comes,
for the world is full of trouble.
There will always be earthquakes,
tornadoes, wildfire, hurricanes,
drought, flood, famine, hail,
plagues of this and that,
volcanoes erupting, great mudslides
that flatten everything in their path.
It is their world too, and in it
all things are accounted for,
even the hand of humanity
when it grows careless.
That's why we have
fireweed.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA

Clichés & Rain

This is a winter where ash
is what we have inside
displacing drifts of ivory snow.
A fireman's helmet
scooping innards of the dead.
My palms in petty arches
under tall cathedral domes.
I could recant for trumpets of a daffodil
I didn't bellow, didn't pick.
I could recant for leaving
the music submerged.

Cold thrives in the wax of frost.
Salt Lake City seems
a patch for jagged jeans,
their knees blown out
by airplanes crashing into towers.
Emotion on the brittle edge,
detectors running down a breast.
When anthems sound,
I'm moved to liquid eyes again.
When flags go up, clouds are parted,
sifted coal embarking on
the purity of scattered flour.

They aren't the feathers of an angel,
still they stroke the theme of hope.
Rain could be a universal tear that falls,
but poets label that clichés.
The world could snap like fingernails.
We could be that stream of blood
running up the cuticle.
As skaters move across the ice,
they pin a little grace to chaos,
pirouette inside a prayer,
leave a sequin on the floor,
leaven rows of flattened stars.

Janet I. Buck, Medford, OR, USA

Love's Triumph

it was dazzling, the images, intense
an array to stupefy the senses
(not really something understandable)

throat would catch, heart would skip
a proverbial beat, how clichéd - dismayed
to find the only things that come to mind
are trite

polite, i felt i should ask - is it all right
if i look?  stare?  how can i compare this
with every other thing i've been told
to feel indignant about?  busy shouts

became a single mourning sob - warning
portentous of so many days of finding
so many ways to just keep going on

hearing weary slash of siren's dawning
streaking one more sooty morning

splintering images flickering screens
unrealistically real, untouchable
men and women under God
bowing together, multitude Atlases
under sudden weight of the world

can it be borne?  equally yoked, straining
to see the morning, sun's new start -

there, a shadowy figure sifting ashes,
Love, slowly putting together her heart.

Paula Marie Bentley, Portsmouth, VA, USA

Powerful Rotations

There is a stirring at my feet this September.
Walks with small grandson who waits
to be a fireman   shuffles the leaves
not much differently than last year.
It is peaceful here. It is peace-filled here.
So little has changed. So much has changed.

I look into that face and see innocence.
The ignorance of an unbelievable world
plays around his eyes.  Cannot help but
think, with sinking heart, I cannot protect

him from the world nor vice versa.
There are no girders left in New York;
no bricks, no mortar, no twin towers.
There are no embers smoldering left in New York
all removed, taken away from horrific view
by those who sacrificed time, body and heart.
Could they too replace the thought-ashes
of children who, once adored, are now left bereft.

Untraceable dust memories looking for a smidgen,
a scent; a fingerprint of approving parental touch.
Those gone, who will never come again.
Like us, I know these children still walk, stir the rustles
but have lost innocence and ignorance. What

have they gained, but sad knowledge of no reason,
eyes for destruction, growling hearts
wanting retribution learned from the hands
of hate-filled strangers who also love their own children.
Perhaps if we all, as tendered astronauts in this fragile orbit,
could remember: Love children. Hate war.

Leaves might fall each mid-September. We
assume they will continue, fill our hopes with thoughts
that somewhere all young ones hold protective hands
while they again learn to trust hope, stroll with loved ones.
Peace restored, to be thankful for those who reached out.

I move a small rock, to show this grandson a tiny, fragile bug
then carefully put it back; replace the piece as it was.
I, not he, am then enlightened, struck with the thought that
the word "power" has far more than any dictionary's definitions;
realize, thanks to others, this world once more is filled with hope
sometimes just by the power of one.

Claiborne Schley Walsh, Montrose, AL, USA

E Pluribus Unum
Sept 11, 2001
 
My heart ached.
I was tired of crying.
Tired of hoping.
Exhausted from feeling,
the day American's came to my aid.
 
I stretched to place a coin into an offering,
and I read,
"E Pluribus Unum, In God We Trust."
 
I saw a lone man waving a flag
on the overpass of the freeway.
 
A young boy looking on
as his father in a ponytail
lovingly smoothed
a flag bumper sticker
to the back window of their car.
 
A woman burying her face in the flag,
and another whose tear
sizzled against the wick
of a flickering candle.
 
I listened to those who
too often argued bitterly
about who is wrong
and who is right say "we."
 
I too heard, a president
who listened, and who prayed.
 
I healed a bit, as exhausted rescuer
choked up with "I'm only doing my job."
 
and I closed my eyes and hugged my child
when he whispered, "We are getting better mom."
 
Today, I am not white or black, or yellow.
I am not a Jew or a Christian or a pagan.
I am not Japanese, or French or Danish.
 
I am not a mourner or a survivor or even a rescuer.
I am, an American.
Just like them,
just like you.
 
In many, we are one.
E Pluribus Unum.

Marsha Rose Steed, Roseville, CA, USA

Felicity

Felicity, please don't panic.
The history of the world has been painstakingly
Charted by people who have painstakingly
Lived and endured. They don't do it for
Their health or in return for youth.
Even beautiful dreamers get long in the tooth
If not one bit less daring.

While surly death, on the weekend waters
Slurps like a button-pusher reddened by the sun
And wouldn't lend a hand to help you, girl
For all the IOUs in the world
But kills time angling from an unrepainted boat
That bobs along indifferently afloat
Tragedy in its wake, like it owns the place.

So, this poem is my attempt
To keep you from despairing and giving in
To the soul shout of your burning doubts
To the wearing on and the wearing out
And the consequent coming unglued
What with the history of the world
Painstakingly curled around you.

Joe Blanda, Austin, TX, USA

In Anticipation of Anniversaries

The last full moon of summer
ripens in anticipation of Autumn,
the season best for moon harvests.
Last year's Autumn diseased -
the moon either sharp enough to slice without thought
or overripe, a husk empty of all but sorrow.
Even roosters ceased to crow.

This moon, walnut, chestnut and hickory
load limbs to the point of collapse,
tomatoes ripen on the vine,
peach on the tree.
Fields harvested and scraped,
smoke and dust attacks sheets and clotheslines.
Dogs bark,
cats scour oak and maple in search of blue feathers,
scrub jays argue ownership of empty feeders.
Cannas lilies bloom among cowslip, wild parsnip and mint,
geese wing south.

On the anniversary of his birth,
my grandson cuddles next to me.
I tell him of tomorrows, flowers, the names of birds.
He speaks to me of baby games
in a singular language.
A soiled book is closed, a new spine cracked.
The toddler runs from toy to toy
as we hold his future in remembrances.

Gary Blankenship, Bremerton, WA, USA

tears

a rivulet of tears
trickles down my face
no dam will stop them
tragedy struck one year ago
forever burning in my heart
never to be forgotten

tears well up
sorrow for loss

ordinary people
were heroes that day
dedicated humans
saving countless lives
courage is etched in my soul
never to be forgotten

tears well up
pride for humanity

Tim Floto, Scotts Valley, CA, USA

The Air and Sea are Prophets

To the earth
the sea is a bath
that cleanses
wounds, like tender
hands lovers expect
each blue-lit morning.
The air is a present
made to mountains,
the heart of refuge
placed among eagles.
And once planes flew in that space
where speed seemed to cease,
where hopes rose and floated
above the earth, offering
the thrill of departure,
the comfort of arrival.

Now, amidst an unskilled silence,
the sky full of smoke has its say,
and dust rolls over the sea's poem.
Stay, voices whisper,
cleanse the wound, then inhale
the air mountains enjoy,
recall the flight of birds
through sun-brushed breeze.
It will all come back.
It will all come back,
changed.
The dead know it better
than most.

Larry L. Fontenot, Sugar Land, TX, USA

Distant Witness
 
I don't live close; I did not hear the thunder or the crash.
I didn't hear the cries for help or see the metal thrash.
 
I didn't witness buildings fall. This was on TV.
I didn't run from plumes of smoke. I know that wasn't me.
 
I didn't arrive with photo in hand looking for my wife.
I didn't tell my only son his dad has lost his life.
 
I didn't send my oldest child into a burning tower.
To try and save whomever he could and die within an hour
 
I cannot say that I was hurt while saving someone's life.
I cannot say I've ever lost a daughter, son or wife.
 
I do not daily pass this site where bodies still decay.
While people who must get to work must pass it everyday.

I am not brave; I do not grieve for loss beyond compare.
I know I am not a party to the death and the despair.
 
In some small way I'd like to say I hold you in my heart.
Although this won't amount too much I hope it is a start.
 
There was a part inside of me that died upon that day.
I cannot look at life the same or trust in the same way.
 
I look to God to give me strength, my trust is in his grace.
And deep inside within my soul, I find a peaceful place.
 
Kelly Ann Malone, Canyon Country, CA, USA

In Candle Flames
 
Ash upon ash
dust upon dust
a nation divided in terror
cannot stand.
Hand upon hand
heart upon heart
a knitting together.
Hope upon hope
strength upon strength
in destruction
a people not destroyed.
Peace upon piece
red, white, blue
indivisible spirit rises
out of the debris
a rebirth.
 
Kathy Paupore, Kingsford, MI, USA

Let's Go On, America
 
Americans, New Yorkers
as well as  the rest of the  world
have been put through hell since
September eleventh, two thousand one.

On the thirtieth of May, two thousand two,
the rescue work ended
at the New York's World Trade Center.
It was the last day that
tired rescue workers
who worked around the clock
for months sifted
through ashes and debris.
An empty stretcher represented
a body not found.
The firehouse bell clanged
telling everyone that life must go on.
On that day the rescue work ended,
New Yorkers gathered at Ground Zero
to mourn, to help, to heal.

Nothing else could be done
and victims' families accepted the fact
that their loved ones
were gone, presumed dead,
and now it was time to give up
and begin the closure process.

Today is September 11, 2002.
Exactly one year day after
America was brutally attacked.
It's been a long hard year.
But it's also been a year in which
Americans have joined together
to mourn, to help, to heal.

Let's go on, America.
Let's go on, New York.
Let's thank those
who helped us
and go on.

Eileen Sateriale, Bowie, Maryland, USA

Rising to New Life

The whole world groans under the weight
Of catastrophe, by storm or hate,
Destruction swift and sure in violence,
Followed by a deafening silence

How many cities have wept under strain
Of lost innocents, borne the pain
Of grief for loved ones not returning
From quakes or towers crumbling, burning

More than New York and Pentagon
Have fallen victim, crashed upon
Yet see how many people appear
To remove debris, to volunteer

Unfailing hope, unflagging zeal
To rise above the ashes, feel
Strengthened, proud, emboldened, free
To mitigate the misery

And strive for peace!  For with peace comes
A dream of life away from drums
Of war, of oil-soaked combat gear
Entrenched in mud, entombed by fear

In peace we find the will to rebuild
Where natural disasters lately filled
All hearts with terror, homes with death:
The spirit knows no dying breath.

Sweet peace shall cleanse us like a river
Pure love from all fear shall deliver
When we bond into one family
And attain our true humanity.

Craig Tigerman, Moline, IL, USA

Responsory

Arising out of the emptiness
of ashes and rubble, through vapors
of diffused light, on September 12, 2001,
our president initiated a prayerful silence...

On that day
in the iridescent haze, I heard voices lifting
against unexpected weight, saw strength surround
emptiness with warm contours of white.

On that day
I learned silence does not mean
one should not speak, but more fixed in
the structure of determination, knowledge
and peace.

Arising out of the emptiness,
very silent on that 12th day of September, 2001
the world began to turn again, coming together
like four corners of a large white cloth
returning us
life.

Betty Ann Whitney, Wesley Chapel, FL, USA

Resilience

Teleprompters inform
Dispassionate newscasters
Of a Tornado that swept through town

-Lancaster, Texas-

Is suddenly comprised
Of a dazed community
Rising to overcome adversity

Stumps abound
Where once stood
Giant Oaks

Hackberry, Elm and Sycamore
Are scattered amongst the
Misplaced mortar and bricks

Displaced families
Gaze heavenward
If they have insurance

Families without
Fall helplessly
To their knees

Yet
Character is formed
Within this chaos

Neighbor
Lending neighbor
Helping hands

Patiently, we'll plant new trees
Give sagging landmarks
Facelifts

We who survive have Hope
Will turn our shoulders
To rebuilding

Like many another

-Phoenix-

We shall rise up
Out of ashes

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA

We must be Builders

When the world turns upside down
all the good rally around,
to build houses

When boots march, laces tied with hate
children sent onto heavens gate,
build hope

When sea and winds lash the coast
families flee, life hurts the most,
we  build dreams

When  love for life goes alone
seems that God has left and gone,
we build faith

When  bridges collapse
we, build more bridges

David C Bursey, Job's Cove, Newfoundland, CAN

Two Eagles

Two eagles were soaring
Up and up in the sky
Two eagles were serving
A noble and worthy cause

Two eagles were falling
When four preying devils
Attacked their soft nesting
And wrecked lots of our kin!

Two eagles are praying
In heavens darkening
Watching upon their people
Trying to help them striving

One eagle is standing
Gathering his fellows
To prevent any more
Of such a deep sorrow!

Catherine Escarras, Marseille, FRA

one year after
 
ground zero
we are hovering
beside the ceiling lamp
looking down
at ourselves
the fire fighters
look
At their watches
we are all sharing
trust and belief in
red white and blue
 
Timothy McNeal, Alzey, GER

I Shall Not Weep

I shall not weep
in manner meek
nor raise my fist at God
I'll stop and think
and know I'm sure
before I plan my course.
I ask you, please
do not look towards me
for answers to our plight
I do not have the answers now
but you may rest assured
our Nation will withstand this test,
together we are strong.
I know within my heart
that we must bond as
we never have before
not one of us is able to
endure this grief alone.
Unity will be our strength
and prayer will be our haven
from this storm.

Janet Parker, Leesburg, FL USA

Spring Amongst Ruin

We walked among the rubble
Of two once upstanding towers
Who vanished in one day
To the horror of the world
We stood in awe, in grief, in hope
That one day this terrible act
Would be redressed with justice

A man pointed past a fence
"Look," he said
The large tree was uprooted
By the force of the collapse.
Much like the tall towers
This tree too did fall
Knocked down without chance
Of ever being upright again

Yet, at the base of this ruined tree
I noticed
Small, green shoots were sprouting
Grasping at the hint of spring
Even though frigid air threatened them
These shoots were growing
One day maybe taller than this fallen tree

These shoots, I thought
They are like our spirit
Though our past achievements fell
And it seemed that we would die
Our spirit grasps at hope and lives on
Though starting small
It grows in midst of grief
When we are struck down
Our spirit still springs up

Fighting for our freedom
And defending our homeland
We're the shoots beside a fallen tree
A country by two fallen towers
Though hope still young
We show a promise
For a future much more grand

Katie Rollins, Houston, Texas, USA

The Phoenix

From the ashes
a new spirit
rose,
a spirit
of unity,
of brotherhood,
of service
to all men;
from the ashes
a new spirit
moved
across the world.

Gillian Wilkinson, Saxonwold, Johannesburg, RSA

one little boy

Roland's eyes are teary. His father
won't be coming home again today.
He went to help his friends
so very far away.

Roland watched the buildings
on the TV burn. Now he waits for
his father to return. But not like
all the other boys. For high above
the buildings size, higher
still he did rise.

Roland sits and plays with his toys.
But not like all the other boys.
In front of Roland, there are no wars.
No battle ships blowing up cars.

Roland's figurines sit in a group.
All uniforms and armor removed,
stripped nude. There they sit
with no designation, come together
to grieve for the nation. Some are
white, some are brown, some are black
and yes, some are even blue.

M. E. Wood, Belleville, ON, CAN

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Phoenix

When you hear the echo
in your head -
the sigh of those
too sudden dead -
When all the screams
remain behind
to haunt your dreams
and fill your mind -

When lonely eagle
feathers fall -
when all you see
at night, in bed -
is crumbling wall
and dancing flame -
Recall the terror
without shame -
shed the tears
then still your fears -
and gracefully arise.

Arise -
and put
your tears and fears
aside.
Put to rest
the violence
inside.

Let the shadows disappear -
Let the smoke and fire clear -
Hold instead, the memory
of once what was -
and once will be -
for from the ashes
that remained -
from all we lost
we learned -
we gained -

Some memories, Love,
they will not fade -
The heroes came -
they stayed -

They stayed.

Laura Heidy, Highland, IN, USA

There is no immediate prize associated with a poem having been picked as the Best Poem of a particular month, only the knowledge that our editors picked it over all the other prize winners of that month.  However, all poems chosen for BEST POEM of each month in the year 2002 will be automatically entered in the BEST POEM OF THE YEAR 2002 competition, voted on by Sol Magazine Members at the end of the year.  The winners of that contest will be awarded prizes and will be invited to enter Sol Magazine's Poet Laureate 2003 Competition.

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