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 - July Note: These links are on separate web pages and will exit you from the current edition. Poetry Works: "A Brief Haiku Primer" Glossary: "Lines Break with End-Stops and Enjambment" Poetry +: Betty Ann Whitney Grammar Rules!: "Accede Versus Exceed"

CONTENTS of this page:

• LAGNIAPPE: UP TO ME
• CLICHÉD MUSE
• JULY EDITOR'S CHOICE
• WISHES
• FEROCIOUS FEAR
• Contact info

FIRST PLACE

WINNER OF A $20.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

Who turned out the lights?

Me and Lazarus would've been mates.
"Was it mystic for you, Laz?"  I'd ask.
"Did ya see a light?  Maybe a tunnel?
Nah, me neither," I'd tell him.
"What a rip off. We was robbed."

"Did ya choose life, when he asked, like me?
Or did ya choke on that first gulp of tomb-dusty air,
Not for-certain-sure you wanted it?"

"Mate, your name'll live forever
For doing what we all do,
'Cause you did it twice
in a miracle sandwich."

"Would've been nice to see a light, though, eh, Laz?
I'd have liked some illumination too.
You 'n' me, mate.  You 'n' me."

Heather Jensen, Cheyenne, WY, USA

Making decisions is like dancing with dryads.
All of the things you thought securely rooted pull
Themselves loose and caper around you until you get
Dizzy. Their laughter fills your head as they twirl you back
And forth, tugging you in two directions at once.

Making decisions is like dancing with dryads.
You can’t see the forest for the trees, and the
Peaceful meadow of the past is but a memory.
Like gymnasts they leap and turn – you can give
In gracefully or be torn in two, your choice.

Making decisions is like dancing with dryads.
You can cry if you like, when the trees pull both
Ways, but you can’t go back, only onward. Better to
Dance and decide willingly, but remember: even the roads
Not taken can lead you to their conclusions.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA
COMMENTS:  Repeating first lines in each stanza sets the metre for this poem. The final sentence provides an interesting take on Robert Frost's familiar phrase of "the road not taken."
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Wisdom Cries in the Streets

A beautiful woman stood in the doorway, solemnly watching
a second woman, who returned her gaze.  The second studied
the beautiful woman’s simple black dress curiously,
for she thought she saw a crimson iridescence catch the light.
The beautiful woman held out her arms, across which a sword
lay.  The other woman studied the choice she was offered.

Peace, the end of cares and curses? no more hatred.
There would be no mocking voices in the grave.
She held her hand out to take the sword.
A child’s voice stopped her and stilled her arm.
Not a word had been said about the child.
What about her burden?  Her future?

No.  I do not choose to do this, the mother said.
A beautiful mask broke and fell; in its place was emptiness.
The mother chose another sword and strapped it to her side.

 Lynne Craig, Terrell, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  A strong final line anchors this poem.  Mysterious yet somehow familiar, this poem almost seems to be a tale from a different time and world, yet could apply to any life in any time.
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Different But Not So Different

The other night I had a dream
about two men who made me scream.
One was wearing a suit of orange plaid.
The other, wearing green, was just as bad.
In my dream I had to choose
just which one I'd like to lose.

Torn between two lovers,
I had to make a choice.
Pay attention to my dream -
listen to my inner voice.
I knew what had to be done.
Get rid of two, not just one.

June P. LaVernway, Roswell, NM, USA
COMMENTS:  The subconscious solves a romantic dilemma in this poem.
==========
The Animals Were Happy Too

That day at the milk barn, you
took a knee, peered into my eyes
and said, “Carol, will you marry me
tonight, perhaps tomorrow?”  The cows
swished their tail.  Happy for this male.

As his gaze turned to stone,
he feared my answer took too long,
and then he rose in front of me,
saw my emotions in a whirl,
wondered if he’d lost this girl.

Like a blender stirs things up
my mind was spinning with this luck.
What in the world can he
see in me?
“Yes,“ I cried.  “Let’s wed at three.”

Carol Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
COMMENTS:  A broad rhyming scheme ties this poem's stanzas together.
==========
Day of the First Step

I'd spent ten years in a standstill career,
And it seemed my dreams had long been dead.
Longing to move on, but controlled by fear,
"Should I stay here and die of boredom?" I said,
Yet it seemed safer than the dark path ahead.

My cat's kittens opened their eyes that day,
Four little creatures with silky-soft fur,
Four little balls of silvery gray.
The largest nudged close to his mother's purr,
Turned his head toward me and then back toward her.

Then he turned again--struggled up and stood,
Set one tiny paw on my bedroom's floor
(First time that his feet felt the touch of wood).
As I watched him take one step--two steps--more,
Resolve rose in me--and I turned toward the door.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS: Three well rhymed stanzas depict lessons learned from decisions made in the animal world.  An interesting approach to a serious topic.  Nice imagery.

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An Optimistic Outcome

The Optimist is positive
There’s usually more that life can give
In fact, he’s grateful to have chauffeur
Convey him to the place interred

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA
 

“… No Gain”

I’m not afraid of heights
I’m afraid of falling
Heights are places to fall from, but
Falls hold the potential of pain

I’m afraid of falling
Off platforms or into love
Falls hold the potential of pain
Only a masochist likes pain

Off platforms or into love
There’s too much to risk
Only a masochist likes pain
I’m not afraid of heights

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  The Pantoum is a challenging form that takes much effort to create an unforced effect.  This poet squarely hit the mark, creating a hypnotic and natural-seeming poem, almost musical in its effect.  The lines relate to each other in an interesting way, and the poem's theme has strength.  Tight and concise, the repeated pattern works well with the subject  to emphasize that mood.  Skillful interweaving of lines with an ingenious  twist on "falling in love," and an additional clever commentary on the parallels between physical and emotional falling, both holding the possibility of pain.

Sol Magazine's editors choose one favorite poem each month for the honor of EDITOR'S CHOICE.  Each 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.
 
 

FIRST PLACE
WINNER OF A $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

Don’t Tell Mommy

Wishes
He could fly away
— or die —
Can’t understand
(Why???)

Rigid
Still as Death
Holds his breath
Dares not scream
Dreams

Morning will come ...
With its forgiving embrace
— erase —
Frustrated tears upon a
Blameless face

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA

I longed for long, brown hair and prayed
one day I'd wake to find it straight,
and stretch my legs to discover them
as tan as a Malibu surfer's. The Sixties
wasn't the time, nor California the place,
for an Irish girl with curls. I ironed my locks,
reshaped them with cans, laid in the sun
till I blistered, peeled, freckled, and alas,
my skin would fade so white it might delight
an English maiden in Tudor times.

At last my hair relaxed to brown. For awhile
I thought I had arrived. Then I saw
The River Dancers with their chins in the air
in Celtic fashion, cool and passionate --
long white legs, bouncy red tresses --
and I began to think about Clairol.

Avonne Griffin, Greer, SC, USA
COMMENTS:  Great irony, pleasant rhythm and an occasional internal rhyme.
=========
Finding Aunt Maddie

I've wondered about her for so long.
Is she like my mother in any way?
Or is she like her father; tall and
 regal-looking with white hair.
Two half-sisters who never met.
A twist of fate kept them apart.
I wish I could find Aunt Maddie
but I don't even know her last name.

I searched for clues that might lead me to her;
finding a distant cousin on the internet
who made my dream come true.
We looked at photographs from the past.
Two beautiful young women a world apart.
Each with a different mother.
Stubborn and headstrong like their father.
Finding Aunt Maddie, too late to meet her sister.

June Patricia LaVernway, Roswell, NM, USA
COMMENTS:  Heart-warming story with bittersweet ending.
 

Back to contents

FIRST PLACE
WINNER OF A $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

“… No Gain”

I’m not afraid of heights
I’m afraid of falling
Heights are places to fall from, but
Falls hold the potential of pain

I’m afraid of falling
Off platforms or into love
Falls hold the potential of pain
Only a masochist likes pain

Off platforms or into love
There’s too much to risk
Only a masochist likes pain
I’m not afraid of heights

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA

Unseen Terror

Evil spirit of the night.
Unholy creature of the dark,
Don't turn round you'll get a fright,
can't you feel its dreadful stare?

Unholy creature of the dark.
Yes it's there, it's always there,
can't you feel its dreadful stare?
Unseen terror in the dark.

Yes it's there, it's always there,
don't turn round you'll get a fright.
Unseen terror in the dark.
Evil spirit of the night.

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, YP, CHN
COMMENTS:  Victor Hugo, reportedly the poet who brought the Pantoum to France from Malasia, would certainly have enjoyed the dark spirit of this poem.
==========
HONORABLE MENTION

Dangerous Dining

I'm afraid to sit and eat
Carbohydrates are taboo
Fats and sugars seem fatal
Nothing's safe on my table

Carbohydrates are taboo
Eating beef could drive me mad
Nothing's safe on my table
Spinach remains untainted

Eating beef could drive me mad
Salmon's high in deadly mercury
Spinach remains untainted
I'm afraid to sit and eat

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Deceptively light in nature, this poem carries a thoughtful message about the consequenses of trying to comply with every new health report.  Nicely done!
==========
HONORABLE MENTION

Purple Heart

I saw the ventilator breathe,
I heard it hiss, fill lungs with air
her small heart patched, mends
in this cold aseptic hollow

I heard it hiss, fill lungs with air
through snakes of slithering tubes,
in this cold aseptic hollow
blue to red circulates, blood flows

through snakes of slithering tubes
oxygen sustains her life's rhythm
blue to red circulates, blood flows
through veins, heart, arteries, lungs

oxygen sustains her life's rhythm,
my faith in machines for recovery
through veins, heart, arteries, lungs
I saw the ventilator breathe.

Kathy Paupore, Kingsford, MI USA
COMMENTS:  A frightening and suspenseful topic so delicately approached and well written that one barely notices this beautifully done poem is in Pantoum form.
 

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