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• LETTERS
• QUESTION ANSWERED
• SEPTEMBER SONG
• THE SECRETS OF LOVE
• WHAT IS BEAUTY
• CLICHÉD MUSE
• EDITOR'S CHOICE
• Staff info

LETTERS - The following letters may be lightly edited.

FROM -- MARYANN HAZEN-STEARNS:  Thank you very much! I'll use this GC to help purchase "The Adventures of Dr. Alphabet: 104 Unusual Ways to Write Poetry in the Classroom and the Community" by Dave Morice.  Note:  Maryann won an electronic gift certificate in August's Flower Garden contest for her poem, "Reflections."

FROM -- JEANETTE OSTERMYER:  Thank you so much for the lovely book, "Between Landscape & Dreams."  I have read some of it already, and I am enjoying every poem.  The book is professionally presented, including the cover and the artwork.  I always enjoy the Sol Magazine contests; they are challenging.  Thank you again.  Note:  In August's Flower Garden contest, Jeanette's poem, "Desert Delight," won a signed copy of "Between Landscape & Dreams," by Mary Margaret Carlisle.  (See BOOKS AND CHAPBOOKS)

FROM -- LYNNE CRAIG:  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  Can you tell I'm happy?  Note:  Lynne won an electronic book gift certificate for her poem, "Small Memories of Loving You," in our September Secrets of Love competition.

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QUESTION ANSWERED

Q:  Dear Grammar Lady:  I have a question about three words I use often enough to wonder if I'm using them correctly: Toward(s), Backward(s), and Forward(s).  Although I do not make them plural, I frequently see them used that way; should they be?  Maryann Hazen Stearns A.  We posed your question to Dr. Roy Schwartzman, our resident English grammar expert.  Here is his answer:  This one's easy.  Strunk & White's The Elements of Style (1st edition 1919; current ed. 2000) recommends the singular for 'toward' and, by extension, the same advice would apply to 'backward' and 'forward'. The reason is that all these words function as adjectives. In English (unlike German or French), the adjectival form does not acquire a different form to agree with the noun it modifies. If we added an 's' to these terms, then we would have phrases such as "The car veered forwards, backwards, lefts, and rights." The 's' would become necessary only in the case of a verb to make its number agree with the subject. Example:  "They number every item, but she numbers one in a million."  Thank you, Maryann, for asking us, and thank you Roy, for your informative answer!

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FIRST PLACE - Winner of a signed copy of the poetry book TigerTale, by Craig Tigerman.

Isadora Fall

Dark, dark the spinning spokes snapped to black: pique
a soul slid from movement, a pirouette of flowing scarves.
Falling leaves, an autumn dance, a clue, a ripple
the curved expression of a wave undulating
in a harmony from within, freedom, freedom
a glissade in bare feet, flowing liquid luminous movement
body and soul united.  Hands, centered, emanated grace
in the silken breeze of dance until sad fortune dawned
September Fourteen, Nineteen Twenty-Seven
you lived, you tossed your flowing scarves
your cascading hair and shined with a crown of stars
as the day, the month, the fall turned bitter black.

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA

Anchored

We waited below sealevel – you aft, dad and me
in the galley.  My dress like sailcloth,
slack on its hanger, would be snug in the wind.
You were trying not to look through the louvers.
Gabrielle – God’s eyes – and our witnesses
arrived, one for every stanchion:  a gauntlet
of sunglasses and smiles, topside.
That night, the third moon of September
sank with the anchor, the currents cradled our berth,
the stars falling as confetti.  And I knew (as my dad knows)
I will never fathom a rock bottom with you.

Tanya Larson-Spahmann, Kamloops, BC, CAN

Fallen Seasons

Copper, ochre and mandarin
shades surround me in my sleep,
feeding dreams of fallen
seasons.  Fetally recessed
in the warm hollow of mother's
quilt, I hide from September's chill,
hide from the grief
revived by his birthday
so soon after his death.
Big brother, gone
so long, now
forever.

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN

View From a Teacher's Desk

Pencil shavings perfume the air, mingling
with the vast potential of new notebooks,
the lines on the crisp pages stretched out like tilled soil.
The beanbag chair in the reading corner
promises to be a favorite pillow and dreaming-place.
Shelves of books wait like paid plane tickets
that will take these charges so many places,
all while keeping them close.
Budding faces fulfill this teacher's August dreams
like lumps of new clay, only more lively and self-molding.
Oh, the glory of September in a classroom
feels like springtime in the garden.

Shannon Riggs, Victoria, BC, CAN

Slow sunrise over the blue mountains
awakens the September morning.
Grackles scold the cat as she comes
to get her breakfast below the cedars.
Cold breeze is replaced by warming sun
on the patio where the wind chimes sing.
Autumnal Equinox means summer has past,
welcome to the harvest and cooler days.
Golden apples hang on the trees,
reminds of cold mornings and hot cider.
The calls of the first sandhill cranes
and V coming across the azure sky.

Jim Applegate, Roswell, NM, USA
COMMENTS:  Nice language use.  This poem demands to be read aloud.  Lovely.
============
Reprieve

September days the last of summer’s ways
Delights intrepid soul.  Let fly a mighty
Tarzan cry, then heave and toss
From trees heavy with moss
Into a favorite swimming hole whose
Frogtime bandstand hops and bops
Round sunburnt boys intent to stall
Mercury’s fall.  Leave raking for
October and the month beyond
Today content there’s not a hint
Of Autumn in the air

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Great fun for everyone in the last few days of summer!
============
Slow Fade

September’s song is the last note
Fading from a fallen flute.
Its brass is the wing of geese going by overhead,
Its strings the strum of ropes taut in the autumn wind,
Its percussion the clatter of shutters against
The walls of an empty house.
September’s song is the one
That makes you look over your shoulder,
Remembering things you have lost.
September’s song is the sound
Of ducks coming down in the marsh, as the year
Goes out with a whimper of reeds.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA
COMMENTS:  Sweetly orchestrated, with a good attention to musical details.  A poem of sounds and sights.  Excellent ending line!
============
Forget-Me

Each September, I remember
Days spent with you by the salt marshes.
So attuned to one another's thoughts,
Ideas and observations jumped between us
With the speed of lighting in a cloud.
I was entranced by summer romance
Until you gave me bouquets of "Forget-Mes"
And migrated with the Monarchs.
Long ago memories still speak clearly
When I hear the doves'
Plaintive songs in September.

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Lovely love song, sung in gentle language, with a soft rhythmic pace of a dance.
============
A Labor of Love

Once, early morning dews whispered,
"The cold is coming, the cold is coming,
it's time to think of putting on the tea and biscuits,"
though haze on the steeped grass was being scorched
away by the sun like biscuits too long in the oven;
and my September song became a lullaby.  Later, I thought
how droll it was:  a holiday for labor seemed meant
for me - though it felt like no holiday I had ever known.
No matter.  Wise-old-man face, perfect little face,
the dark wells of your eyes stole into my heart and began
to own me from the first sight.  From that moment, life
was a run-away merry-go-round.  I loved the ride.

Lynne Craig, Terrell, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  The loving details carefully described here bring the reader right into the room with a new mom and baby.  Very well done rendering of a difficult emotion to describe.
============
Music Maestros

Breaking the milky silence of a foggy morning
Humming birds chatter and swing across lawn
From guard posts on leafless dogwood tree limbs
Chase hungry invaders from nectar feeder
Mourning dove coos and struts across side deck
Rise and fall of cicada's call to mate adds tenor note
Tree frog fills in with "harump" from lake edge
Black spotted grasshopper tunes his legs to join chorus
Slowly September begins to pack her summer bags
As fall slips onto the landscape
Chilly breezes chase away musicians
Their song ends

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
COMMENTS:  Sights, sounds, feelings, it’s all here in this beautifully done journalistic entry of the change of the seasons.
============
Eveningshade

I listen to the crickets' serenade
and my mother takes my hands
holds them tightly and my mother
takes my hands and holds them
gently and I say
I feel safe with you then she says
I feel safe with you here she says
now and leaves rustle they are busy
turning golden-edged tonight
beneath September's harvest moon
and she rests her head
upon my starlit shoulder and sleeps

Maryann Hazen Stearns, Ellenville, NY, USA
COMMENTS: This excellent poem encapsulates the feeling of both agedness as well as agelessness caught in the moment. The repetitiveness of the lines captures this so well, and the allusion to the starlit shoulders of the child shows by allegory the peace found between mother and daughter.
============
In Temperance - Change

Cool nights, full moons,
burnished leaves in brown,
gold and amber pirouette
on their way to earth.
Summer’s gentle mood changes
to a more frantic stance.
School begins, with children of varied ages
and sizes waiting on corners for buses.
Roses, morning glories and honeysuckle
fade and cease to bloom.
September’s entrance sad, yet colorful,
a harbinger of winter’s glitter.

Jeanette Oestermyer, Roswell, NM, USA
COMMENTS:  Beautiful detailing of colors and flower names.
============
Recessional in Four Seasons

September begins, stepping softly in,
singing late Summer's song of sweet
subsidence. Sugar, stored in leaves
grown old, ferments, readies Autumn's
palette of red and orange, brown and
gold. And we, as part of Nature, too,
prepare to rest the Winter through.
We've strung our seeds like precious
beads, in faith, come Spring, we'll
start anew.

John E. Rice, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Lovely writing.  Mature look at the changing of seasons that looks forward to the spring.
============
Back to School Night

An annual event on a September night
starts the school year off just right.
This parent night has one important feature.
It’s a chance meet with their child’s teacher.
The principal introduces his faculty,
their names and academic specialties.
To each classroom, all the parents walk
hearing teachers with curriculum talks.
Because I’m a parent of a new student
I want to find out if in class she’s prudent.
When it’s over, I meander the halls
knowing what my girl will do this fall.

Eileen Sateriale, Bowie, MD, USA
COMMENTS:  The relief of a reassured parent is fully apparent in this poem.
============
Relief

Four long months passed
As the Gulf Coast simmered
In the high nineties.
Finally, the north breeze brought relief
And gave a new beauty to the world
(The sky always seems bluer
On cooler days).
Here at the end of September,
Between the misery of summer
And the gray chill of winter,
We enjoy the perfect climate.
(Even the birds seem to agree.)

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Appreciation is never out of place, and this poet revels in the seasonal refreshment.
============
Nine Pounds, and One Ounce

To a hospital bed
a woman lay.
Preparing to bare new life
upon a beautiful September's day!
The song of a newborn baby's cry
soon to fill the room,
and to the bouquet of life was added,
another tiny, wondrous bloom!

Daisy Autry Worrock, Abingdon, VA, USA
COMMENTS:  Sweet and tender moment remembered.

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FIRST PLACE - Winner of a $25.00 electronic book gift certificate.

Small Memories of Loving You

Remember, remember...I remember
how often I watched you in secret as you worked.  Dazzled
by the glints flashing off the light-gleamed
hairs on your bronzed arms, I loved your smiling strength.

Sleep now, my love, and I will watch over you still,
touch you with my longing eyes, caress your shoulder
and impress the feel of your cool flesh into my dreams.
From the shadows, I will remember.

Lynne Craig, Terrell, TX, USA

A Letter From Ella

which will never be sent,
it is too revealing.
The secret that she keeps;
she is concealing

the love she feels for him,
her heart's desire.
The ink upon the page
sets it afire!

Maryann Hazen Stearns, Ellenville, NY, USA

Expedition

Oh, the colors, textures, taste
and sounds of pleasure's pain,
as we explored in lustrous haste
early love's unknown terrain.

These years long, love's steady flame
has provided light for me to find
those secret things no one can claim -
that breathtaking beauty deep in your mind.

John E. Rice, Houston, TX, USA

In the Courtyard

Like a hidden garden
Gone to seed and grown
Beautifully out of bounds,
You open your gates to me.

My love, I promise to keep
The secret of your roses
Safe from those who see only
The stone face you show the world.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA

Nocturne

Midnight wanes on piano keys
The fading notes drift into night
And our eyes meet in secret pleas.
Midnight wanes on piano keys

My fingers part your soft chemise
Love in the stillness, we unite.
Midnight wanes on piano keys
The fading notes drift into night.

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA

After 50 years of marriage
I asked my longtime mate
"Why all those years ago
Did you ask me for a date?"
He said, "I heard you tell
Of your secret savings account
Money lifts the latch of love
Regardless of the amount."

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Rhyme scheme works well for a light and lively rhythmical effect.
============
What We Want

After all these years
Together
Like we never were
Apart

No secret what we want
Forever
This could be love
Or not

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
COMMENTS:  Succinctly said.  Short lines enhanced by alliteration tightens the poem.
============
Seeds

Silver and brown heads touch as they contemplate
Mysterious secret of life hidden in a simple seed
Grandmother presses into child's warm hand
Passing her love of nature to next generation

They both stop to admire autumn's sun
Shooting slanted silver rays across flower garden
As each flower busies herself making seeds for spring
Sends petals to dance in the wind like pieces of rainbow

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
COMMENTS:  Shared consonants and vowels (consonance and assonance) link words and phrases and help increase the mood expressed.  Thoughtful narrative.
============
September’s Steeple

We’d exchange the concrete for canvas
and wed in secret.  No, not in May,
not in church, no fence of daffodils,
just horizons and pink champagne.

A quiet love under a steeple of sails,
we became legal where a shadow flew:
the heron is a symbol of fidelity, Skipper
said as he spilled some bubbly to Neptune.

Tanya Larson-Spahmann, Kamloops, BC, CAN
COMMENTS:  A journal entry from the heart of a new-wed wife.  Nice details, strong physical accounting in this tender moment.  The amplification of the negatives (no, not, not) actually intensifies the affirmation of an idealized elopement. Very precise, understated imagery matches the theme of yearning for a straightforward, loving relationship. Excellent parallelism in word choice: concrete vs. canvas, nature's symbols vs. ceremoinial artifice.
============
While You Sleep

One thing, my love, that I'll not share,
In secret I watch when you're unaware,
At night or in the morning's light,
Asleep in my arms, all is right.

And when you're down, dreaming deep,
To greater heights my love grows;
You're far more lovely in your sleep
Than you can ever know.

George Stateson, Grand Prairie, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Lullaby for the well-loved.  Interesting contrast between the growing awareness and ascending heights of love set against the unawareness and descent into sleep.
============
Stolen Glance

His eyes locked with mine
across the table
for one brief moment
Who knew?

A world of words
bound in one secret glance
from those deep dark eyes
where love grew.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Nice, simply written love song.  The sparse verbage of this poem match well with the silent, intense attraction it describes. The rhyming last lines of the two stanzas also describe the central question the poem poses: "Who knew...where love grew?"
============
Illuminating Spirits Become One

Under a weeping willow
declarations of love were proclaimed!
The intentions of a young man
were so eloquently explained.

He stated the secrets of love,
to never break her heart!
She glanced into his big brown eyes, and felt secure.
The soul mirrored a love too strong, to ever fall apart!

Daisy Autry Worrock, Abingdon, VA, USA
COMMENTS: Love proclaimed in every line.
============
With Gratitude

Since I met you
There is a lightness to my step,
A sparkle in my eye,
Cheer in my voice.

Secretly, I wish to bottle
This sweet sensation.
Everyone should feel this,
To love someone such as you.

M. E. Wood, Belleville, ON, CAN
COMMENTS:  Bottled love would be good to have in every home!
 
 

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

Construction

Placed, not poured, she flows into day like concrete
a liquid solid conforming to the forms
the wood-grained constraints braced in reflected light.
Each ripple of inconsistency re-written, set in powder
or rouge she stands: a wall before a river
a dam before a flood, dries her tears and perseveres.
Weathered as time's lines line her face
in lifts, layers, a strata of dawn, daylight and night
fading, fading, fading in the mirror
she blinks, squints, and admires beauty
in the fleeting constructs of a Revlon dawn.

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA

Question Marks

The African queen lifts her head high, on a neck stretched
long and slender as a black swan’s, the gold rings of her
collar keeping her chin up.  Scars trickle down her
cheeks like tears.  Are we so very different –
swan-pale skin, high-necked dresses, and
secretive stigmata of face-lifts at forty?
They all say the same thing: here is
meat on the market, treasure for
the taking.  Beauty?  The
only real difference is
that our scars
don’t show.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA

Self-Imprisonment

Like their puritanical beliefs,
Victoriana women sheathed
Their forbidden sensual beauty
Behind a laced-up, pulled-tight wall of propriety.
Imprisoning their torsos
In whale-boned, corseted "stays,"
Their Scarlett O’Hara-esque cinched waists
Enslaved breath and seductiveness,
Yet failed to keep their sanctioned tears in check.

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA, USA

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall

A natural chest, a natural bottom,
they come for free and we all got em.
It's human nature, our discontent.
We dream and scheme to supplement
our attributes, imagined or real,
to improve our looks and how we feel
about what we see in the looking glass.
It's the same for the lads as it is for a lass.
We take a tuck here, put silicone there,
Botox, Vioxx - dye what's left of our hair.
In tears, there goes Beauty lost round the bend.
Nature just chuckles - she wins in the end.

John E. Rice, Houston, TX, USA

Having fallen into the fountain of lies, she exists
in various degrees of "new."  She buys youth
and beauty, and is not satisfied until every cure
has been verified.  Intersections in her face are heavily
propped up and braced, lined with stitch traces, and
poison-laced.  Her nose has been snipped, clipped,
and de-tipped.  Still fighting back, she discovers, alas,
that "back" is where she's under attack from bellicose
cellulose stashed in blubber reminiscent of old rubber.
At last, fanny-nipped and tummy-tucked, she bemoans
through Niobean tears, that she's run out of finances
at her command before Time's glass has run out of sand.

Lynne Craig, Terrell, Texas, USA
COMMENTS:  An interesting use of "Niobean Tears," to note that all that is done in the name of beauty can turn you to stone.  Read this one aloud for full effect!
=============
Blinding

beauty brings tears
to the smitten eye
but in the end
tears the eye
away from truth
hidden behind made-up
faces and shadowed eyes
blinding the soul

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
COMMENTS:  Says it all in few but well chosen words.  Terse writing points out a valid truth.  The brusque wording intensifies the curtness of the message.
=============
Facial Facade

Beneath a thick green masque of scented cucumber and avocado,
one feels like the skin wants more - no - longs for more
than mere temporary tightness. It desires firm youth.
Magic muscle tone. There is the beauty of tears.
Only eyes, nostrils and lips remain facial.
The mirror looks terrified at the thing it sees
and the thing it sees is also afraid.
What will happen after the masque dissolves
to reveal the same face hanging on?
Surface cleaner, but still unchanged.
Wrinkles, liver spots, crows feet - the same.
A thing of shame.

Maryann Hazen Stearns, Ellenville, NY, USA
COMMENTS:  This "masque" of beauty is frightening.  The poet shares an intimate yet dark moment with the reader, a hopeless feeling from a character who feels outside beauty, long since slipped away, will never return.
=============
Chemical Peal

Wrinkles, taking away her beauty
of porcelain-doll-face perfection
when she reached her ‘golden years.’
Many kinds of creams, lotions and
potions that promised to erase
the years and lines were applied.
All to no positive avail.
A chemical peel was her next
dangerous alternative.
Beauty her main objective.
After one week, bandages removed;
a mirror, tears – terrifying scream.

Jeanette Oestermyer, Roswell, NM, USA
COMMENTS:  Witty title!  This poem captures the dangers of beauty treatments.  The poet attacks the topic with the air of someone who has been there done that and may never do it again!
=============
The Battle Of The Curl

Plastic curlers, bobby pins,
Velcro and hot rollers.
Remember those cotton strips
Tied into gentle bows?
When beauty calls
Time, pain and tears are paid
For the perfect curl.
Money is irrelevant
When in the wizard's chair.
Toxic chemicals for permanent spirals
Are all the rave
At least, until next year.

M. E. Wood, Belleville, ON, CAN
COMMENTS:  This humorous poem points out how quickly beauty fads fade.  It also reminds that un-natural beauty hurts.

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FIRST PLACE TIE - Winner of a signed copy of Between Landscape & Dreams, by Mary Margaret Carlisle  (SEE BOOKS & CHAPBOOKS)

Cliché: Music to my Ear
Rewrite: Symphony to the Tympani

Ear-to-Foot Stomping

Tambourine jamboree sets the toes atap.
Synthesizer geysers; fingers start to snap.
Bongo anaconda slithers 'cross the lap.
An on-your-feet epiphany
Is symphony to the tympani.

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA, USA

FIRST PLACE TIE - Winner of a signed copy of Between Landscape & Dreams, by Mary Margaret Carlisle  (SEE BOOKS & CHAPBOOKS)

Cliché: Music to my Ear
Rewrite: Sugar to My Soul

Luscious News

The good news that you brought me
Was sugar to my soul
As sweet as golden caramel
Whose flavor lingers on the tongue
Long after it dissolves.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
 
 

Isadora Fall

Dark, dark the spinning spokes snapped to black: pique
a soul slid from movement, a pirouette of flowing scarves.
Falling leaves, an autumn dance, a clue, a ripple
the curved expression of a wave undulating
in a harmony from within, freedom, freedom
a glissade in bare feet, flowing liquid luminous movement
body and soul united.  Hands, centered, emanated grace
in the silken breeze of dance until sad fortune dawned
September Fourteen, Nineteen Twenty-Seven
you lived, you tossed your flowing scarves
your cascading hair and shined with a crown of stars
as the day, the month, the fall turned bitter black.

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Wonderful language used in almost an abstract yet very sensual way.  Beautiful writing evocative of both the season and of the dancer, Isadora.   A historic, poetic tale woven with excellent craftsmanship, with lovely alliteration.  Keeps the reader's rapt attention until the very end.  Highly rhythmic, concise, image laden language.  Well-written ode to the celebrated 1920's dancer and her tragic death by strangulation with the very scarves that had won her fame.  A good ending.  The cadences of this poem create a sense of swirling, a dance-like pace.  Subtle alliterations and internal rhymes add unity without contrivance.
 

There is no immediate prize associated with a poem having been picked as Editor's Choice in a particular month, only the knowledge that our editors picked it over all the other prizewinners of that month.  However, all poems chosen for EDITOR'S CHOICE of each month in the year 2003 will be automatically entered in the EDITOR'S CHOICE OF THE YEAR 2003 competition, voted on by Sol Magazine Members at the end of the year.

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Questions?  E-mail Mary Margaret Carlisle, Managing Editor: Sol.Editor@prodigy.net
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