Sol Magazine, A Poetry Journal:    An international organization of Members and Volunteers interested in the education of poets.  E-mail us at Sol.Magazine@prodigy.net .  For Submission Requirements and Membership information, visit: http://www.sol-magazine.org.
 

FEATURED ARTICLES - March Note: These links are on separate web pages and will exit you from the current edition. Glossary: "Lyrics and Poetry" Poetry Works: "Thoughts on Billy Collins" A Good Read: "Axe Against An Elm/Covenant Songs" Grammar Rules!: "Among Versus Between"

CONTENTS of this page:

• LETTERS
• LAGNIAPPE:  RITUALS
• CLICHÉD MUSE
• EDITOR'S CHOICE
• THE BEST TEACHER
• FIVE/SEVEN/FIVE
• A STRONG RESOLVE
• Staff info

LETTERS - Letters may be slightly edited.

FROM -- JIM APPLEGATE:  Hi.  I haven't tried to stay strickly within the 5/7/5 in a long time, it's a good thing to do for a change. I didn't write in last month on your haiku rules, for they are the same as HSA, Modern Haiku, and Heron's Nest so are fine with me.  Jim.

FROM -- MARY MARGARET CARLISLE:  Our thanks go to Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper, Sol Magazine member and guest editor of this month's Poetry Works article, “Thoughts on Billy Collins.”

We asked our poets to compare a ritual to a more serious ritual or to some recurring event, and to use a few poetic tools for enlivenment.  Which they did, and in some interesting and surprising ways.  Because of the response, only a few of the entries were published, but all were nicely done.
==========
FIRST PLACE -  A copy of "When I Got Dressed Again," poems and illustrations by Sol Magazine poet, the award-winning Dodie Meeks.

A Proper Way to Dress for Each Occasion
 
I lay out my clothes for the next day
shoes, pants, shirt on top,
don't forget to add underwear.
Stacking my clothes
In the order in which they will appear
I shudder, remembering
my clumsiness
when I laid out articles from
my grandmother's favorite outfit
for her to wear the next day.
 
How could I know
the mortuary's dress code
required nylons?
 
Heather Jensen, Cheyenne, WY, USA

A Different Kind of Mail-Order Bride

While January wears her snowy gown,
And bridal veils of ice gleam in the sun,
The trees are charcoal streaks of black and brown
And in the garden, nothing’s to be done.
That’s when I sit with catalogs askew
Across the couch and spilling on the floor,
In which bright flowers bloom as I flip through
And dream of what damp April holds in store.

The wedding’s past, the registry is closed,
And winter’s guests are nowhere to be seen.
The ground, at last, long covered, is exposed.
Here’s April clad in gown of pink and green,
The year no more a bride, but now a wife.
My plants arrive – and in the garden, life.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA
COMMENTS:  Lovely language fills this work with the lilting sunshine of spring.  Beautifully described light fantasy.
==========
OTHER POEMS COMMENTED UPON
==========
I Like to use a Fountain Pen

I like to use a fountain pen
it makes a better line, so when
the word I need’s not in my head,
the pen will guide my hand instead.

Held high like chivalry’s own true sword
if it can just be chosen well, a word
might cut through the dark like evensong,
but soon be quiet if chosen wrong.

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, YP, CHN
COMMENTS:  This poem grabs the reader and says, sure, you've done this too, you know you have!  And indeed, all we poets have taken up the pen like a mighty sword to cut through the dark like evensong.  Well chosen words, tight writing.
==========
Instead of funerals… You ‘all come.

All of you departed, here’s a reciprocal trade agreement.
Come in here with me, celebrate my still being alive.
Let’s skip all the sadness, tears, inappropriate bereavement.
See again, hear, smell, taste, that’s the jive, maybe
contribute advice to help us all thrive.

Stay long as you want, leave when you please-
What? A baby conceived that needs your attention?
Such splendid opportunity about to be seized.
Was that you departing? I thought I just sneezed.
Now… permit me come visit when I’ve slipped my detention.

Warner D. Conarton, Zephyrhills, FL, USA
COMMENTS:   Entertaining, fun, full of the zest of living, this poet brings a smile with every new line.  Original and zany approach to the topic and so well done!  Nice ending, too.
==========
If You Move Too Fast

Each weekday morning, before any
work, comes double-cream coffee--
with muffin or not--bought on the way
but sipped at my desk. Liquid energy
carries me along like a rolling
wave, never hinting I could

fall without warning. It only hurts
if you move too fast. Better to
ease into knowing another, taking
small steps before taking the
leap, even when your heart
cries out for speed.

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
COMMENTS:  The universal appeal of this poem is undeniable.  Coffee, coffee, coffee!  Yes.
==========
I Don't Know Why We're So Uncomfortable

together. No, I'm sorry - I expect it's because
of the politeness. Something that began in the early
awkwardness of our relationship. Something that never
released its grip from the door knob
to let one of us go first. It built in intensity
until a simple thank you, led to a thank you
for thanking you or excuse me for pardoning myself.
We never moved beyond the stage where pass the salt
did not begin with please or end with thank you.

Last week someone told me she saw us in the store
together but didn't approach, we seemed so
engrossed in each other, like honeymooners.
We wait for each other to stop waiting.

Maryann Hazen Stearns, Ellenville, NY, USA
COMMENTS:  The topic of rituals is gently approached in a many-layered way, leading the poem through a quick list of courteous things we say at the beginning of a relationship, but don't expect to be saying once some time has passed.  Nice stacking of elements.
==========
Knowing the Correct Answer Helps my Growth

I work crossword puzzles
cut them out of the daily newspaper as
the solution seeps knowledge into my soul.
Inside my head, answers
ricochet like Lottery drawings
on Channel 7's nightly news.  Learning
enlightens my personality
which always craves growth.

I daily dream of finishing
the puzzle without Mr. Thesaurus's
help and in solution record time.
I save puzzles and check next day's answers.

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
COMMENTS:  Great word choices here, fine picture painting with just the right touch of philosophical comment.
==========
At the End of Each Day
 
At sundown each day, we pour
a single flute of pale champagne
for each of us.
It's the cheap stuff from Spain
but it feels expensive.
A long ago wedding vow
repeated now as the flutes
sing their single note.
We link our arms, clink, drink,
exchange a kiss. If we miss
 
a day because travel keeps us apart,
I keep the ritual anyway - but
only in my heart.
 
John E. Rice, Houston, Texas, USA
COMMENTS:  Lovely love story!  It's difficult to write about romance, but lightly phrased comparisons allow the emotion to sweep through the poem without flooding the reader in sentimentality.  Very beautifully done.  Excellent writing, with a strong ending.

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cliché: a rolling stone gathers no moss
revised: aliens in orbit meet no earthlings

Stop by for a Visit!

I know that's you I saw--You did another fly-by.
What about my invitation? I haven't received a reply...
Aliens in orbit meet no earthlings--so stop being shy!

Terrie Leigh Relf, San Diego, CA, USA, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy
 
 

EDITOR'S CHOICE

Inner Battle

The fiercest foes find footholds in the soul.
A dragon in my heart would spew its rage,
And every day I struggle for control,
And every other day it breaks its cage.

How the innocent suffer
burned by the flames
of the monster I bred
by my own bitterness!

I took up arms too late to kill it young,
and now I have to fight a longer war,
a war I plan to win at last, and yet
the fiercest foes find footholds in the soul.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA

While we also occasionally include an Editor's Choice in individual contests, Sol Magazine's editors choose one overall favorite for the honor of the monthly EDITOR'S CHOICE.  Each monthly EDITOR'S CHOICE will be automatically entered in the FAVORITE POEM OF THE YEAR 2004 competition, voted on by Sol Magazine Members at the end of the year.

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FIRST PLACE
WINNER OF A $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

Oh Steffi, Eternal
 
Oh Steffi, how I wished we were lovers. I remember
how our eyes would meet and I would drift with you
as you lectured, how I longed to touch you.

With punctuation you were my first: I first understood
as my apostrophes caressed your eyes with kisses
periods dotted your cheeks and semi-colons slid

slowly down your neck.  We made love as we
transcended our bodies and became eternal:
embracing only with words, and a few well placed commas.

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA

 “Experience is not what happens to a man; it is what a man does with what happens   to him.”
  --Aldous Huxley

Though Will Rogers, great mind of the West, said it best
about electric fences and how we learn from them –

I think it is an inherent trait I cannot shake,
get out there and let life teach a thing or two;
and I have come to know such things I never thought I would
through dirty fingernails and other men’s shoes.

I still have rose petals for eye lids,
thorns have not blurred my vision with hardened tears;
and I have come to know such things I never thought I would
from dainty wires strung from pole to pole, from year to year.

Brady Riddle, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  All three stanzas are consistent in tone and language.  Good image of "dirty fingernails" as a metaphor for hard work and "other men's shoes" as a metaphor for empathy or learning from others through experience. The last line is a wonderful circle back to "electric fences" and connects not only learning from experience but learning as we age, "year to year."  Well done.
============
OTHER POEMS COMMENTED UPON BY OUR JUDGE AND/OR OUR EDITORS
============
A Loving Man

He asked: “Who hurt you?” but
I couldn’t tell him I’d been
molested…abused…shamed…betrayed…forsaken

With tender kisses he promised he'd never do the same
as - portion by portion - I parceled out my pain until

Free of the past at
last I learned to trust,
to Love
 
SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  This poem is genuine and emotional, from the heart.  Good use of dialogue in the first line. The list of abuses suffered by the speaker in the poem is effective, the language is consistent throughout the poem, and each stanza furthers the poet's intent.
============
Booking Passage

 There is no Frigate like a Book, to take us Lands away,
  Nor any Coursers like a Page of prancing Poetry...
                -- Emily Dickinson

The world holds no boundary a book cannot breach,
And rare is the mystery that no page may teach.
Power fills the written word, opening its wings,
For knowledge is a bird that loud in silence sings.

This is the teacher at whose aged feet I sit,
The classroom that I choose when I have choice of it.
I have learned little that does not lie in some book –
And that, I have sought to place there myself. Go look.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA
COMMENTS:  Strong title that immediately draws the reader into the poem. Consistent rhythm and rhyme scheme is appropriate for the seriousness of the topic. Good metaphor of knowledge as a bird. Excellent writing.
============
Winning

Here’s the tale I want to tell.
Snooker and billiards taught me well.
A mis-spent youth? Why not at all.
For when your eye’s on that last ball,
you either learn to keep your head,
or learn to lose the game instead.

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, YP, CHN
COMMENTS:  The language of this poem flows easily.  Efficient use of language by a skilled poet in this compact poem.
============
Neighbor

Earnest Neal, a poet laureate of Georgia,
Invited me, the barefoot kid from next door,
To sit on his porch swing and showed me how to
Capture sights and sounds on paper.
He changed my expression for flowers
To daffodils bearing cups of sunshine
Wandering down the ravine to greet us.
My description of the nearby Oostanaula
Became a rhythmic rushing river
Flowing through our hunchbacked clay hills.
His lessons linger in my own poems
Dancing with daffodils and river rhythms.

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:   Wonderful tribute to a former poet laureate, with good juxtapositions between what the speaker knew to begin with and what was learned about language and poetry from Neal.  Good personification of daffodils as "bearing cups of sunshine." Alliteration adds to the calm feeling of the poem. The language is consistent throughout.
============
Women of Words

Janet came first with her Renaissance
words, sharing Shakespeare and Marlowe
and Donne, catching me up in her
passion, and easing me out of my shell.

Then I met Jenni, the Bohemian waif,
who tickled my brain with inspiration
as we sat on the floor, listening to
waves and voices from outside ourselves.

Two women taught me that beautiful words
find their way in and work their way out.

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
COMMENTS:  Good contrast between the first and second stanzas. The language connotes the different interests of each teacher.   "Bohemian waif" has a connotation that fits well with "tickled" and "inspiration." The first teacher seems more traditional while the second seems more contemporary. Nice closing couplet.
============
Ida

That's the trouble with writing a poem;
people assume it's about you. But it's not.
Not all the time, anyway. Sometimes it's a mix
of reality and imagination. You write what fits,
what they want to read, what you think
they think is interesting; sometimes truth sneaks in.
Sometimes you begin the poem by telling the reader
that it isn't, in fact, a poem about anything at all
and by the end, you've convinced them that it is, actually,
a very good poem about something terribly important.
They believe it's about you, that you've given them
a glimpse, even when you've given them nothing at all.

Maryann Hazen Stearns, Ellenville, NY, USA
COMMENTS:  Appealing.  Excellent command of language, rhythm, and line breaks.  Here is a poem about writing poetry that makes the reader believe that this is a poem about something important when really the poet has given us "nothing at all" except this skillfully done work.
============
Music Man

“Tap your feet to the beat,” he calls,
a chest-filling laugh waiting to reward us
when our feet synchronize, a rare occurrence
In this motley group of beginners.

After two weeks of instrument-specific lessons
He gleefully pieces us together, his newest band.
The clarinets caterwaul and squeak
We trumpets spit more than we tongue, but
His eyes glow admiring and his arms pump joy
We know his belief in us will make us glorious.
Twenty years later, I tap my toes as I play.

Heather Jensen, Cheyenne, WY, USA
COMMENTS:  Enjoyable read that has the potential to encourage readers recall their own experiences with musical instruments. The two lines about the clarinets and the trumpets are great. Wonderful word choice with "caterwaul."
============
Aficionado
 
 "As all must be," I said within my heart, "whether they work together or apart."
  --Robert Frost
 
Both writers, we met in English Comp. 111, the student and
the teacher.  His pen corrective red and true with precise diction
and syntax, mine lead easily astray by wandering prose.  He encouraged
through his enjoyment of my composition, constructive criticism, and positive
praise.  I still ponder punctuation; a comma here, a semicolon there, which would Professor Watanen put where.  Thank you for seeing what I didn't know was there!
 
Kathy Paupore, Kingsford, MI, USA
COMMENTS:  A nice tribute to an inspirational teacher!
============
Teaching Me Friendship

She pressed her company like petals in a book,
but a cool shell of indifference encased my heart;
faint tolerance was all I could muster.

Still, she came to me in the hospital
the day my baby died, and put her hand in mine.
Back then, I thought that grief dissolved my heart's veneer.

Years later, I know the credit is not grief's, but
the constant, gentle pressure of her fingertips,
teaching me friendship, touching my heart open.

Shannon Riggs, Victoria, BC, CAN
COMMENTS:  This poem is beautiful, sad, deeply touching.  The opening line is especially strong and memorable--an intriguing comparison.
============
Teacher Toast

 “The essence of knowledge is, having it, to apply it; not having it, to confess your  ignorance."
  --Confucius

The best teacher
I ever had learned
her subject thoroughly.
The best teacher
knew when to admit
she was wrong.
The best teacher
could learn from
a student like me.

Clink and sip--a toast to teacher!

Eileen Sateriale, Bowie, MD, USA
COMMENTS: The onomatopoeia and alliteration are effective, while the repetition of "the best teacher," (a technique known as "anaphora") moves this poem along well and gives it an optimistic tone.  Interesting sounds in the last line.
============
Tomorrow, Eventually, Never?

They say experience is the hardest teacher
because you get the test before the lesson.
Another thing you don't get in advance is a due date.

I wanted to learn patience
but I got (almost literally) sick of waiting for it,
and waiting for the other things I so desperately wanted.

I threatened to drop out of school more than once
but now I know what makes experience the best teacher--
it always lets you learn by doing.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Strong opening statement, and the second stanza seems consistent with the first.  Good poetic technique of irony used in the speaker's words--trying to learn patience and literally getting sick of waiting.

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NOTE:  SJ Baldock suggested this form (5/7/5, untitled) which is is only similar to Haiku in that it has the same syllable count.  Any similarity after that is strictly superficial.

as these rules are fine
I can make a haiku rhyme
but just this one time

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, YP, CHN

a distant blue train
the sound of wind through the reed
tenor saxophone

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  This painted-on-paper sound is palpably heard.  Fine writing any poet would do well to emulate.
============
HONORABLE MENTION

grubby little girl
tiara on tangled hair
somebody's princess

SuzAnne C. Cole, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Smile provoking imagery is enhanced by sound echoes.
============
HONORABLE MENTION

unable to sleep
a rag doll and little girl
listen to whispers

Maryann Hazen Stearns, Ellenville, NY, USA
COMMENTS:  This tiny poem points to so much more, while the reader wonders about the whispered mystery.
============
HONORABLE MENTION

all our ancestors
pass along their genes and dreams
family lives on

Diana M. Hebner, Marysville, MI, USA
COMMENTS: Good use of internal rhyme and alliteration.
============
HONORABLE MENTION

so if not haiku
discoursing on bees in trees
then what is it please

John E. Rice, Houston, TX, USA

COMMENTS: Stimulates pleasantly with questions, and visual effects.
============
HONORABLE MENTION

pen tip lightly glides
bleeds abstract in concrete form
opened thoughts flushed clean

Brady Riddle, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS: Strong visual effect , internal rhyme, alliteration.
============
OTHER ENTRIES COMMENTED UPON BY OUR JUDGE AND/OR OUR EDITORS
============

ruby red sunset
glows above pink desert sand
black rocks and sage brush
 
Jim Applegate,  Roswell,  NM,  USA
COMMENTS:  Colorful contrasts and dualities abound in this brief poem.  Nicely done.
============

sunrise reflected
in rearview mirrors ... splendor
neglected, ignored
 
SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  This poem has universal appeal as it hightlights an event common to us all.
============

My annual rings
are the grey wrinkles of my
generation tree.

Aparna Belapurkar, London, EG, GBR
COMMENTS:  This unique comparison encourages the reader to revisit the poem again and again.
============

Queen Ann’s Lace bends low
black swallowtail butterflies
sip royal nectar

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Lush description paints a lovely picture.
============

end of an illness--
windox box tulips the shade
of Pepto-Bismol

Kathy Lippard Cobb, Bradenton, FL, USA
COMMENTS:  The ending of this bright narrative poem is so totally unexpected.  This poet packs in a lot in a few words.  Well done!
============

tears water the sand
fade into its porous depths
salt all that remains

Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper, Portland, OR, USA
COMMENTS:  Personal yet universal, this nicely done succinct poem provokes much emotion, while allowing the reader to fill in the rest of the picture.
============

his kids wait for beds
while Dad stretches out on his
brand new pool table

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
COMMENTS:  Excellent biting social commentary.
============

burly March wind whips
pink shamrock buds in O'Shea's
tiny rock garden

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
COMMENTS: Really beautiful snapshot relates both to March's most famous holiday, and to the change of weather.  Good contrast between the burly wind and the tiny rock garden.  Nice touch of color.  Well done, poet!
============

Rain patters on leaves
Humidity swims in air
We walk on dry earth

Mary E. Gray, Newport News, VA, USA
COMMENTS:  Journalistic style reports what is seen.
============

It's not the season
For mosquitos, I tell the
insect on my arm
 
Heather Jensen, Cheyenne, WY, USA
COMMENTS:  This light fancy gives a real smile to the reader.
============

winter frostbite kiss
frozen fingers, rosy cheeks
cherry Popsicles
 
Kathy Paupore, Kingsford, MI, USA
COMMENTS:  Pretty painting done in very descriptive words, proving the point that any poem can be larger than number of words it uses.
============

Love shines in his eyes
Wanting to be just like me
Sons' adoration.
 
Steven Simons, Brooklyn, MI, USA
COMMENTS:  Delicately written, this poet lightly, gently touches a warm place in our hearts.
============

in clean clear spring pools
raindrops spread ripples widely
like love in my life
 
Gary Wade, Williston, VT, USA
COMMENTS:  Gentle and warm, this poem captures a wonderful image in its comparison.
 

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DEDICATION:  We honor Eve Braden, Frieda Dorris, and Robert Simonton, creators of the challenging and mind-stretching Dorsimbra poetry form.

Inner Battle

The fiercest foes find footholds in the soul.
A dragon in my heart would spew its rage,
And every day I struggle for control,
And every other day it breaks its cage.

How the innocent suffer
burned by the flames
of the monster I bred
by my own bitterness!

I took up arms too late to kill it young,
and now I have to fight a longer war,
a war I plan to win at last, and yet
the fiercest foes find footholds in the soul.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA

Red Pocketbook

She walks along the stones, the cold gray stones,
head lowered deep in thought. Red pocketbook
hides the jagged scar, her wrist of bones,
the bones in her, her feet in Inglenook.

the courage
that it takes
to take her life
the spirit shall remain

long enough to ease the burden of her guilt,
release her pain and residue of anger,
shall carry her along to Taber's Deli.
She walks along the stones, the cold gray stones.

Maryann Hazen Stearns, Ellenville, NY, USA

Self Portrait

A sound of thunder rumbles down the slope,
Embedding rocks in rivers made of snow.
The fallen branches blunder, lost to hope,
Toward scattered flocks of skiers far below.

Out of my way!  Writing career
coming through!
Nothing can stop me.
I am avalanche – hear me roar!

My words will sweep you screaming off your feet
And keep you reading though you clutch your head.
No longer steadfast, now the mountain shrugs:
A sound of thunder rumbles down the slope.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA

Defying Gravity

Tenacious reason steadfastly fixes
Eyes’ focus and mind’s determining will
To an obstruction that seemingly tricks us –
Sisyphus’ rock and a towering hill.

It’s passion
that creates desire
and every inch of achievement
the drive.

Go forth and conquer tasks with vengeful ire
allow apt and skill to govern the outcome;
let a crowned summit be the product that
tenacious reason steadfastly fixes.

Brady Riddle, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Excellent rhythm, and nice usage of the classic myth of Sisyphus to perfectly capture that helpless feeling of trying over and over again. Good call to action at the end, and tightly written lines.
============
HONORABLE MENTION

Refract Dance

To glisten bright the dancer's pirouette
as water heats beneath reflected glare
and strength of light, once bent, distorts the sweat
to perfect form in grace and savoir faire.

Yet she dares to fold in waves
and curl from deep within
to find the might, the courage
the vigor in her different steps

against the tide the thousands danced before.
Find solitary vision set to drift
and ride the crest of Isadora's sea
to glisten bright the dancer's pirouette.

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  A portrait of courage against great odds, this poem moves with the very grace it seeks to describe.  Very descriptive language, excellent diction.
============
EDITOR'S CHOICE

Lowlife Longevity

We roaches are survivors in our designer genes
Out smarting generations of you Homo sapiens
Developing expensive extermination schemes
To eradicate us from our place on planet earth

Mom teaches
Her roachettes early
"Never sample potent potions and
Dodge idiotic stomping feet."

Folks save that "Bug-Out" money for a nursing home
We'll join you there and munch on your treasures
Hanging on tenaciously long after you are gone
We roaches are survivors in our designer genes

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Rich with humor and irony, though bound by the tighness of the Dorcimbra form, this cynical piece stretches the imagination of the reader in a style reminicent of poet/artist Don Marquis who wrote through the voice of two pals:  Archy, a cockroach with a poet's soul, and Mehitabel, an alley cat who claimed she'd been Cleopatra in a previous life.
============
OTHER POEMS COMMENTED UPON BY OUR JUDGES AND/OR EDITORS
============
True Intent

To understand the true intent of love
You must let hope into your sheltered heart
And trust in someone else, for far above
Our simple needs we cannot be apart.

Dance with me at midnight,
Hold my hand in the dark,
Whisper my name into the air.
I will echo your need

At once; no mile too long nor time too slow
Could keep me from your side. So wrap your arms
Around my soul and let me show you how
To understand the true intent of love.

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
COMMENTS: A simple plea, elegantly cloaked.  The language of love's call shines in this piece.
============
Schooling Wails

You know his mournful cry across the wild.
On canyon's rim, above the cliff like walls,
he  stands erect-his howl and message mild
to younger wolves that understand his calls.

Attune. Creatures!  As
the Lord of wild rules your night,
immediately
you heed.

In reverence you follow his forlorn
of wails.  His shadow traced across the sky
at night.  You sense his pride.  His majesty.
You know his mournful cry across the wild.

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
COMMENTS:   Vivid word-pictures.  Wailing language echoes the song of the wolf.
============
Conquering Form
 
This new form, the Dorsimbra, I will write
take one stanza, sonnet, Shakespearean
rhyme iambic pentameter just right
enjamb with the next stanza's free verse, I'm
 
trying not to write Haiku,
Cinquian, or Fibonacci instead,
forcing rhyme jangles
my nerve synapses, now
 
determined, I turn back to iambic
pentameter, beat along five ta Dums,
without rhyme this may just get easier.
This new form, the Dorsimbra, I will write.
 
Kathy Paupore, Kingsford, MI, USA
COMMENTS:  The reader sympathises with the plight of the poet struggling to practice a difficult form, and cannot help but admire the excellent writing that twists and turns even as the form itself changes from stanza to stanza.
 

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