Guidelines and submission requirements are posted at:
http://www.sol-magazine.org/rqmts.htm
 

CONTENTS:

• LETTERS
• CROWS
• POET'S CHOICE
• ANOTHER DIARY
• SEASON OF THE WISH
• BEST POEM OF NOVEMBER
• Staff info

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FIRST PLACE - Winner of a copy of "The Haiku Handbook," by William J. Higginson, donated by Cliff Thomas Roberts.

from corn stalk
crow takes wing
autumn harvest

Kathy Paupore, Kingsford, MI, USA

one crow feather
among falling leaves
sudden storm

Deborah P. Kolodji, Temple City, CA, USA

aging foliage
scattered by dark wing
shines in moon crescent

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA

ebony plumes masked
plaintive caw pierces dusk
betrays camouflage

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA, USA

hungry crow
plucks his choices
from tree

Tanya Ruth Larson, Kamloops, BC, CAN

shrill shriek
big black crow
early dark sky

Eileen Sateriale, Bowie, MD, USA

Squawks fill killing field
Crows fight over choice meat
Harbingers of death

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Packed with raucous action in so few words.
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crows standing on ice
river no longer nimble
winter is coming

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA
COMMENTS:  A sure sign of a change of seasons!  Suggests the stillness of a frozen season.
============

autumn winds
rattle empty corn stalks
crows grumble

Lois Lay Castiglioni Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Post-harvest disappointment for those anthropomorphized birds!  The phrase, "rattle empty corn stalks," not only reports, but also makes a wonderful sound.
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above rice paddy
where harvest ripens
crow crying harshly

SuzAnne C. Cole, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Suggests a scene from nature in which the observer simply reports and implicitly celebrates having been there.  Intimate details convince us the poet heard and saw this before writing.
============

crows sing melodies
perched among windy branches
leaves dance minuets

Linda L. Creech, Bellefontaine, OH, USA
COMMENTS:  Connects two of nature's life-forms in a lovely serenaded scene.  Tender, careful word choices put the reader in the moment.
============

eight crows circle swoop
black marks against early snow
fall under winter

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
COMMENTS:  "Circle swoop" is a powerful action phrase.  The third line leaves one to ponder a double-meaning.  Well-done.  Enumerating the birds is a positive and fresh touch that adds supportive data to this Haiku.
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caawing crows careen
over ripe cornfields
autumn's bounty

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
COMMENTS:  Alliterative opening is packed with sights and sounds. This piece highlights the life that thrives in autumn.  Very nice.  Excellent attention to detail.
============

black as night crow cries
gray autumn's sad surrender
white winter's approach

Tim Floto, Scotts Valley, Ca, USA
COMMENT:  Transition from black to white has multiple layers of meaning. Alliteration in each line adds poetic punch.  Excellent!
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oak branches sway
beneath crows unseen in mist
sunlight flutters down

Avonne Griffin, Greer, SC, USA
COMMENTS:  Ethereal imaging of oak and sunlight creates an ephemeral scene;  interesting contrast between the mental conceptualization of crows as harsh, blacker-than-night creatures and the softness of the masking mist here, turning the crows into part of the filmy softness.  Very nice usage of specific words.
============

roadkill raptors waltz
waiting at winter's wayside
impatient hunger

Laura Heidy, Highland, IN, USA
COMMENTS:  Alliteration is the key to this scene, and works well with the subject matter.  Very nice parallelism of winter with a road to be travelled, peppered with hungry crows.  Especially nice are "waltz" and "impatient hunger."  Kineticism within haiku's confines can be difficult, but is achieved nicely here.
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crow feather
falls on leaves
ready to be raked

Allyson Noyes, Longmont, CO, USA
COMMENTS:  Simple, yet the beautiful.  The single feather, symbol of so many things, is lovely.  Crows and fall go well together, and this is a lovely merging of the seemingly dissimilar natures.  Also, nice usage of "ready to be raked" to convey the specific season without naming it outright.
============

early morning
my breath hangs frozen
crow calls to its mate

Janet Parker, Leesburg, FL, USA
COMMENTS:  "My breath hangs frozen" is the keenest image here, and serves to specify the time of year as well as time of day.  The final line serves nicely to remind readers that the cocky crows still have their tender spots and loves.  Nice contrast between the warm and cold.
============

dawn meditation
breathing with crows'
karasu   karasu   karasu

Terrie Leigh Relf, San Diego, CA, USA
COMMENTS:  "Karasu" is a glorious word, a word that so neatly captures the raucously haunting melody of a crow's caw.  Truly a nature/man interaction snapshot moment, timing the meditative breaths with the crows' own morning-welcomes.  Beautifully done.
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Fresh-mowed grass peppered
by blackbirds in patient poise
awaiting rewards

Brady Riddle, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Interesting snapshot of a little-noticed tidbit in a crow or blackbird's life;  freshly mowed grass often unearths tasty tidbits, both manmade and of the earth.  Nicely worded to convey the most in the fewest words.  Also, very nice alliteration in the first and second lines.
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tree of black
wings flap in night
crows caw to roar

Carol Sircoulomb, Wichita, KS, USA
COMMENTS:  Kinetic!  This haiku leaps out and grabs attention with the unusual word choices, specifically "roar" to describe the cacophonous sound of multitudinous crows all together.  Excellent phrasing to portray the visual aspect of a "tree of black," peopled entirely by crows.
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crow on fence post
surveys three
sparrows wait to play

Tony A. Thompson, Lufkin, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  A peaceful moment in Life of Crow!  Nice usage of the second line to create varying images, depending on how you breathe and/or pause when reading aloud.  Contrast between the crow and sparrows is not lost and is very effective in the scene, lending a slight note of menace.
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black commas on wire
signal rest while
forewarning of death

Claiborne Schley Walsh, Montrose, AL, USA
COMMENTS:  Excellent visual!  "Black commas" is marvelous, and serves as a piquant contrast to the next two lines with their  concepts of rest and death, provoking philosophical thought.  Nice nod to the traditional meaning of crows, as well.
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Black and white feathers
Shake and ruffle in wind
Of coming storm

Gillian Wilkinson, Gauteng Province, RSA
COMMENTS:  A small piece of a small hour of a small day, yet how magnified when looked at properly.  This puts the coming storm into perspective, as seen in its effect on the minutest feathers of a crow.  Nice minimization of what is usually a "big" picture.
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crow topped trees
sing out
summer's demise

M. E. Wood, Belleville, ON, CAN
COMMENTS:  An interesting interpretation of "crow as death harbinger" meaning.  Here, it is death of summer, not of life itself.  Yet, in this form, and with these words, it becomes a beautiful eulogy, not a wicked finalization.  Very lovely word choice and phrasings.
============

branches caw and clack
crow's feet for old year's eye
sun cools to winter

Andrea M. Zander, Rochester, MN, USA
COMMENTS:  Fascinating way of conceptualizing not just the Old Year, but also Mother Earth - literally, not just figuratively!  Complete with crow's feet, and a cooling sun, this Mother is one that springs to life in lively diction.  Very nicely done!

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FIRST PLACE - Winner of a $30.00 electronic book gift certificate.

Call Again

Because I thought I knew and called you friend
I was not ready when you had to go--
still wonder what it was that brought the end,

and to this day I cannot comprehend
the ease with which you said goodbye. Although
I thought I knew you well and called you friend,

believed that through all trials I could depend
on you, but now I know it isn't so,
and wonder what it was that brought the end

so quickly. Since you promised me you'd spend
more time, makes this an even harder blow;
because I thought I knew you, called you friend.

But, given time I’m sure that I will mend,
(unanswered things no longer long to know)
not wonder what it was that brought the end,

not analyze this brokenness, pretend.
This chill that’s seeped in me will surely go,
(quickly as the breath that brought the end)
and you, who left, I’ll call again my friend.

Judith Schiele, Brandon, MS, USA

One of a Kind

What is this thing for which we seek?
There can be no comparison:
Each snowflake singular, unique.

Some things through winter air so bleak
Still shine, like flakes of gold in sun -
What is this thing for which we seek?

We scarce can steal a little peek
At this, the magic that has spun
Each snowflake.  Singular, unique,

Yet all on common ground and cheek
They fall in graceful unison.
What is this thing for which we seek?

One crystal cannot make mystique
But in their numbers, how they stun:
Each snowflake singular, unique.

The gears of culture groan and squeak
As we imagine them undone.
It is but this for which we seek:
Each snowflake singular, unique.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA

The Window

How soft the morning lies upon your face
when sunlight nudges shadows through the blind,
and breezes come then leave without a trace.

What memories play through fluttered lace
lie silent when the day begins to shine.
How soft the morning lies upon your face.

Do I refuse again or yield to grace
knowing after summer comes the rhyme?
And breezes. Come then. Leave without a trace.

Or should I wear a veil of time and space
until you might accept what you will find?
How soft the morning. Lies upon your face

adopt an innocence that stays in place.
It isn't easy watching you decline
as breezes come then leave without a trace.

I glance your lips and wait for your embrace
to validate surrender for design.
How soft the morning lies upon your face
when breezes come then leave without a trace.

Avonne Griffin, Greer, SC, USA

Find Her - Keep Her

I watch the sunset rising from the sea.
My Good-God-Girl swirls upon the sand,
she turns her golden gaze to search for me.

She smiles and the sparkling galaxy
blossoms in the night at her command.
I watch the sunset rising from the sea

and stars and heavens open breathlessly.
She beckons that I join her sojourn and
she turns her golden gaze to search for me.

I don't know how to trust her, how could we
believe such fantasy or fairyland?
I watch the sunset rising from the sea

and move to walk beside her timidly.
Tamira frees her wings and takes my hand,
she turns her golden gaze to search for me

and face to face we face our destiny.
Now, in my time, these things I understand.
I watch the sunset rising from the sea,
she turns her golden gaze to search for me.

Maryann Hazen-Stearns, Ellenville, NY, USA

Ms. Scallop in crenulated skirts dwells in the sea
Secure in a snug mantle she rarely gets upset
A lovely blue-eyed bivalve living comfortably

Filtering foods from the ocean's vast bounty
Unlike lady landlubbers she needs no kitchenette
Ms. Scallop in crenulated skirts dwells in the sea

Oyster cousins cleave to rocks but she's free
Clapping shells together zigzagging like a jet
A lovely blue-eyed bivalve living comfortably

As mobile mollusks the family made Middle Age history
Christened "Pilgrim of the Sea," an honor she'll not forget
Ms. Scallop in crenulated skirts dwells in the sea

Understanding diverse foes extends life expectancy
She avoids crab's cruel embrace and the fisher's net
A lovely blue-eyed bivalve living comfortably

I heard she circulated petitions for everyone to see
Converting folks to vegetarians was her best idea yet
Ms. Scallop in crenulated skirts dwelling in the sea
Now all blue-eyed bivalves are living comfortably

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Slightly off-rhyme works as the ear retains the sound.  Interesting twist at the end.  Humorous approach hides more serious message beneath light words.
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Our Grandchild

My happiest hours are shared with Irene
Beginning when she leaps from the school bus
The kitchen table is where we convene

Papa-baked pound cake is part of our routine
She tells him all his treats are delicious
My happiest hours are shared with Irene

Our amazing first grader reads like a machine
Sounds out unknown words like a genius
The kitchen is where we convene

We mull over math laughing in between
Old and young heads figure minus and plus
My happiest hours are shared with Irene

Her original stories are a scream
Says, "They'll make movies that are marvelous"
The kitchen is where we convene

Years from now perhaps she'll repeat this scene
Sharing the joys of learning as it was with us
Her happiest hours may be with a future Irene
At the kitchen table where they will convene

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
COMMENTS:  A celebration of inter-generational bonding with a word of poignant hope at the end, recasting the two "repeating lines" into an entirely different scene.  Well-done.
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My Sweet Bird

Sunlight moves softly through her hair,
Shading her sleeping eyes.
I say good morning to one so fair.

Her face unfurrowed without a care,
She exhales. Sultry sighs.
Sunlight moves softly through her hair.

Night soon forgotten by dawn's fresh air,
Painting pink blue sky.
I say good morning to one so fair.

Subtle movement, a flicker there
She's stirring, I surmise.
Sunlight moves softly through her hair.

Tossing and turning, her dreams laid bare,
She wakens, prepares to rise.
I say good morning to one so fair.

Greeting her day like a fresh dare,
Each morning, a new surprise.
Sunlight moves softly through her hair,
I say good morning to one so fair.

Tim Floto, Scotts Valley, CA, USA
COMMENTS:  A colorful, sensual poem that comfortably fits the form.  The easy, accessible verse helps lighten the strict structural requirements of the villanelle.
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Chaos

Too many people in my dream last night
I lost all track of what they came to view
I welcome eagerly the morning's light.

No one apparently had any right
To make decisions based on feeble clues
Too many people in my dream last night.

Now that I have them gathered in my sight,
Perhaps, I'll give a penetrating cue
I welcome eagerly the morning's light.

At least among themselves they do not fight,
Except for just a discontented few
Too many people in my dream last night.

I watch suspensefully in fear and fright
Searching the dark for things that I could do
I welcome eagerly the morning's light.

Now dawn arrives and brings to me insight,
There's no need now for me to follow through,
Too many people in my dream last night
I welcome eagerly the morning's light.

Janet Parker, Leesburg, FL, USA
COMMENTS:  Smooth flowing relationships, syllable to syllable, word to word, add harmony to the whole.
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Learning by Observation

Young eyes gaze with thoughtful intent
at cones, shooting stars, and colorful dolls,
though not quite aware of what meanings are meant

the infant stares with bemused amazement.
He makes happy gurgles and soft squeaky calls;
young eyes gaze with thoughtful intent.

A melodic tune seems to offer a hint
to a developing mind entranced by it all,
though not quite aware of what meanings are meant,

tiny ears are touched by tuneful tones sent
by a round little speaker mounted onto the wall.
Young eyes gaze with thoughtful intent

at twirling visual stimulants,
not worried whether the spiraling objects will fall,
though not quite aware of what meanings are meant.

There is a considerable amount of time spent
watching shifting shapes and bobbing balls;
young eyes gaze with thoughtful intent,
though not quite aware of what meanings are meant.

Brady Riddle, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Nice descriptions involving sight and sound, well varied from stanza to stanza.  Touchingly detailed as the parent looks on as raptly as the babe.  Melodic?  Definitely.
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Chill's Revival

When autumn air at last grows cool
And starry skies bring frigid night,
To frisk and play becomes the rule.

The squirrel scampers like a fool.
Sun spills through leaves in dappled light,
When autumn air at last grows cool.

More eyes are drawn to toy than tool.
A day of fun seems only right.
To frisk and play becomes the rule.

The morning frost's a sparkling jewel.
Do leaves play tag? It seems they might
When autumn air at last grows cool.

One never knows when someone who'll
Work hard most days, will turn to flight.
To frisk and play becomes the rule.

Cats romp like children out of school.
The sun winks down from lowered height.
When autumn air at last grows cool,
To frisk and play becomes the rule.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Excellent development of the theme, and delicious use of crisp words to mimic the effect of the chill.  Wonderful language use throughout.
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Calorescence

She repeated herself often in her old age
Saying the same things over and over and over again
As if she were an actress and life was a stage.

If misunderstood, she frequently screamed out in rage
At professionals, assistants; often family, old friends.
She repeated herself often in her old age.

It became harder to tell, harder to gauge
Where her memories ended and they would begin
As if she were an actress and life was a stage.

I listened closely each time as if she were sage.
Starting and stopping, those life's thoughts now blend;
She repeated herself often in her old age.

She struggled valiantly to get all thoughts to engage
Though some of her synapses misfired and hit send,
As if she were an actress and life was a stage.

I saw her fabric begin to rip up and rend;
That final curtain, never to mend.
She repeated herself often in her old age
As if she were an actress and her life was in stages.

Claiborne Schley Walsh, Montrose, AL, USA
COMMENTS:  Wonderful ending that plays upon previous stanzas.  Nicely drawn metaphor.  Beautiful story-telling.
 

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DEDICATION:  To Katherine Rita Bloesch Carlisle, complex woman, election judge, seamstress, and African Violet judge, who wanted me to be a journalist; and to her mother, Margaret Dorothy Cole Bloesch, reader of mysteries and gentle soother of fears, who said I was a poet before I even knew what that meant.

FIRST PLACE

i n n e r  t h o u g h t s

little black book
looks like new
pages scribbled on
but not abused
lies tucked away
and seldom used

M. E. Wood, Belleville, ON, CAN

Turning Back the Years

Tucked deep inside a cardboard box
Dated pages guard my past
When flimsy locks were sacrosanct
Against a prying eye

In 1983 I carved
In off-hand, left-slant print
A time capsule of teenage angst
That reincarnates the year

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA, USA

Bound Ink

inky shadows cast on white
pages pressed between black
covers, disguised in verse
or stranger fiction - all loves
lost or never gained
except in bound words

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN

Diary Archaeologist

In the depths of a wooden cave,
Buried in a velvet chest,
I uncovered a packet of parchments
Which held treasure more valuable than ancient jewelry,
Secrets more enlightening than ancient scrolls.
They held the treasures of past dreams,
The hopes and fears of youth,
Ebony-etched windows into distant decades.
I donated the documents to a private museum,
The Museum of Personal Memories.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA

The time was ripe for longhand
Introspective swirls and frills
Dayglow ink keeping my secrets
Better than a best friend will
But I've given up my journals
Nor more write on Diary's page
Flying fingers keep new secrets
In an electronic age

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Delicious segue from the "old-fashioned way" into the "e-way."  How many of us still write in "introspective" longhand?  Yet there is still a feeling of nostalgia, as if wanting to go back.  Word choices help convey the bridge between then and now in more ways than one.  Perfect picture of old and new technology.  Well done.
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Swift Silver Words

Seventy pages dressed in white,
Wide-ruled, each line neatly numbered,
Bound at the top with a copper spiral enclosing

A carousel of comedy and tragedy
The hoofprints of dreams on foreign shores
Things that make me laugh, that catch my eye,
Names of stars in my stories, and stars in the sky
The fingerprints of linguists whom I have admired, all
Forming my reflection here in mirrors of swift silver words.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA
COMMENTS:  Lovely opening line with personification of the pages, and the first trio of lines is deliciously specific in enumerating the virtues of pristine, unwritten-upon pages.  Glorious nod to all the things that can be held within such specifically few pages - only seventy!  Title catches the reader's interest and carries the reader along with memories.  Interesting pace.
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Between Lines

No one book holds my thoughts safe from prying eyes
no locks and keys, dark places and hidden doors
I bare my daily soul to those that read between the lines
I hide my inner secrets safe inside metaphors
on paper poems and plastic songs, words
written to help me live and love my daily life.

David C. Bursey, Job's Cove, Newfoundland, CAN
COMMENTS:  A departure from everyday mundanity, this poet chooses to live his secrets in such a way that they take on new and enriched meanings.  Intriguing conceptualization of the "inner secrets," turning them into facets of everyday life so that he can "live and love" it.  Very concise and appropriate word choices.  Memories safely hidden in metaphors.
============
spell bound

little grey pad
eighty ruled pages
wit and words
contained therein
not the work of sages
my coffee ring signature
titles this spiral bound volume

Tim Floto, Scotts Valley, Ca, USA
COMMENTS:  Pert, tongue-in-cheek medley neatly sums up what the vast majority of us could confess to if prodded enough.  Witty final two lines provide the coup de grace for this smile.
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Excerpt from: My Dream Diary Dreams

I rinse the coffee cup; it still has rings. I use a sponge, look
out the window, it is raining. I walk down the hall into
a locker room, face rows of closed lockers. I jog in place.
People take turns getting into the lockers like dressing booths.
It is my turn. I take shorts in, pull down my jeans, accidentally
flush the toilet. I laugh and pull the shorts up. The toilet
fills to the brim with water and fresh flowers. I think, "What
a nice idea," as it pours over the edge onto my white sneakers.
Water and flowers float up my legs to my waist. I swim to the
golden exit sign, up into the blue sky filling with white flowers.

Maryann Hazen-Stearns, Ellenville, NY, USA
COMMENTS:  Fascinating literal way of approaching this poem topic with a diary excerpt.  The actual "excerpt" itself is humorous, filled with outlandish yet somehow believable concepts.  Very nicely done.
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Too Long Forgotten

A treasure long forgotten came to light today,
I took the time to read the diary's many lines.
The words filled in blank spaces that
memory had left out,
answered questions for children yet to come,
re-built the family tree for those of us still here.
I gave that precious little book a new and
prominent spot,
never again will I allow this precious book
to ever be forgot.

Janet Parker, Leesburg, FL, USA
COMMENTS:  A fresh look at a diary's meaning from the other end of the years.  Diaries often hold the very things that created us, and it is vital they never be forgotten.  Precise diction and specifics help the reader realize the importance of this discovery.  Very well said.  An interesting way to provide answer to future generations and to fill in blank spaces temporarily forgotten.
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The Pages Inside

Condensed memories on yellowing paper
in curls and loops with circles dotting i
the current crush, the latest broken heart
fragments of favorite love songs
a radiating tear stain on an ink scrawled page
the profound feelings, the thoughts, the words
moments that by definition did not last
inspirations for the poems of my youth.

Kathy Paupore, Kingsford, MI, USA
COMMENTS:  Turbulence marks youth, and this poem aptly captures that feeling from an adult perspective, twisting it around to concisely point out how that very turbulence became inspiration.
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The Medium

Strewn throughout the house
hidden in clear sight,
my diaries haunt the spirits
bound between their pages.
That fathomless scrying pond of night,
holds me in a trance while each stroke of pen to paper,
summons forth the dead.
Anagrams and palindromes,
metaphors and similes--these
spells and charms are scrawled in bloody ink.

Terrie Leigh Relf, San Diego, CA, USA
COMMENTS:  Unusual word choices mark this poem's lines with uniqueness while capturing the poet's heart-feelings toward diaries, as well as any form of writing.  The opening lines are perfect, especially the fifth line.  In entirety, conveys a feeling of phantasmal inspiration.  Thoughtful.
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Masterwork

Under the stack of dustless fantasy novels
A burnished black notebook was protected
By a golden knot of velvety fabric.
Ivory white pages overflowed with a
Myriad of colors--
Blue, black, red and green
Strokes from my hand.
Swift as those of
Caravaggio in 1600.
Modern baroque art.

Tony A. Thompson, Lufkin, Texas, USA
COMMENTS:  Colorful memories in more ways than one nicely capture parallelism between the ever-fluctuating moods and memories of our lives, detailing the colors of ink chosen to immortalize them.  Interesting contrast between the pristine pages and the lurid slashes of color.
 

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FIRST PLACE - Costumed Owl Doll

Gobblin's My Treat

Tickle, tickle little tummy,
gonna eat you for my yummy!
Gnaw your neck and ears and toes,
one by one -- that's how it goes!

A wish you make, a wish I take.
You want to laugh until you ache!
So I make your wish come true...
Again? Again?? Gonna get you!

Avonne Griffin, Greer, SC, USA

Childhood Gifts: Imagination vs. Reality

If I could be a fairy
I'd flit about on wings
that glitter in the moonlight
and in my flutterings

I'd tap myself upon the head,
two teeny tiny swishes,
and give myself the greatest wish;
to grant all others' wishes!

Maryann Hazen-Stearns, Ellenville, NY, USA

What Hope Is All About

Find a penny, put it in your shoe
See a star, and whisper in its ear
Catch a cricket, keep it close and dear
Old wives say that wishes can come true

Take a dime, and drop it in the well
Close your eyes, and blow the candles out
Wishes are what hope is all about:
Good things may happen yet, who can tell?

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA

Priorities

I wish that I could take a cruise
To far off places with scenic views
Where there would be no chores to do
But drink champagne; peruse menus

Yet I am here instead of there
Tying pink ribbons in silken hair
Washing out grass stains; mending tears
Giving my grandchildren loving care

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA

I don't want much, a healing touch,
a world war free, dime's worth of sympathy.
Soft winter snow, bright lights that glow,
neighbors who smile, harmony for awhile

I wish freedom of belief, an end to grief,
joy and gladness, cure for madness,
an end to bigotry. See Santa -
my list is small, I hope you can fill it all.

Linda L. Creech, Bellefontaine, OH, USA
COMMENTS:  So simple, seemingly, but so complicated;  effectively captures the childlike wishes we all have these days.  Wonderful closing line!
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Holding Hands in the Laundromat

Holding hands in the laundromat,
spinning dryer reflected in your
eyes, we speak around ordinary things,
wish the way the weather will turn--

showers dot the window like loosed
tears.  I pray for grounding fog.
"I'll think of you sometimes,"
you say. "Often," you whisper.

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
COMMENTS:  Beautifully written, lyrical prose - such a simple moment, so full of feeling and such a fervent wish.  Very nicely said, with effective short pieces of dialogue to add to the breathlessness of the moment.
============
Humans Kind

Would that I could fly
around this globe of ours,
seeking answers to the whys
we humans are the way we are.

Would that I could peer
into our private minds,
understand our hopes and fears
that we could become humans kind.

Tim Floto, Scotts Valley, CA, USA
COMMENTS:  Wonderful closing line effectively summates the feeling of a broader humanity-wish.
============
The Sky's The Limit

What season's this
that has my spirits riding high
even the sky seems within
an easy reach.

A breeze sends gentle coolness
and I dream of being wise
then I realize
it is the Season of the Wish.

Janet Parker - Leesburg, FL, USA
COMMENTS:  Free-wheeling words and open imagery combined with a lovely rhyme scheme lend a cosmic feel to this gentle piece.
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The Child Who Would Banish Evil

Throughout the long and starry, starry night,
when pixies, elves and goblins are in sight,
fantastic realms arise without a fight,
as I hold the pages of a book so very tight.

"In this land of magic" I begin to write,
"a person of power did battle for what is right;
with her wand, crystals and hematite,
she called upon the spirits to end the blight."

Terrie Leigh Relf, San Diego, CA, USA
COMMENTS:  The true spirit of Halloween - the children who take part in it - and the true spirit of our battles to banish evil from the world.  Good attention to rhyme scheme without sounding pedantic.
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Coming True

Blow out a candle or toss in a dime,
Spot the first star and give voice to a rhyme:
Wishes are magic, though skeptics demean,
Call you a child with impossible dreams.

Wishes of children are dreams of the grown,
Those who seize visions and make them their own:
Brilliant achievements the world crowns and cheers
Simply are wishes grown strong through the years!

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  The rhyme is wonderful, without being sing-songy.  Glorious reinforcement of the fact that childhood wishes can often become adult accomplishments.  The power of wishes should never be discounted.
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Heroes

Cape from a bedsheet made by grandma
Turned me into Captain America
A metal garbage can lid my shield
To protect me from harm

John next door made a great Hulk
Green dye on red hair
Muscles not yet developed
Still we were champions of the block

Tony A. Thompson, Lufkin, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  A sweet reminiscing of childhood times and heroes.  Wishes can turn anything into superhero trappings;  especially nice is the mention of "muscles not yet developed / still we were champions of the block" - truly drives home the point of imagination's pull.
 

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Call Again

Because I thought I knew and called you friend
I was not ready when you had to go--
still wonder what it was that brought the end,

and to this day I cannot comprehend
the ease with which you said goodbye. Although
I thought I knew you well and called you friend,

believed that through all trials I could depend
on you, but now I know it isn't so,
and wonder what it was that brought the end

so quickly. Since you promised me you'd spend
more time, makes this an even harder blow;
because I thought I knew you, called you friend.

But, given time I’m sure that I will mend,
(unanswered things no longer long to know)
not wonder what it was that brought the end,

not analyze this brokenness, pretend.
This chill that’s seeped in me will surely go,
(quickly as the breath that brought the end)
and you, who left, I’ll call again my friend.

Judith Schiele, Brandon, MS, 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 in mid-December.  The winners of that contest will be awarded prizes and will be invited to enter Sol Magazine's Poet Laureate 2003 Competition.

Sol Magazine will mail no book prizes to poets outside the United States of America.  Electronic book gift certificates will be substituted.  No exceptions.
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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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