www.sol-magazine.org
Spring 2005 Edition
April through June

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

FIRST PLACE
WINNER OF A $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

Dozens of Indian Blankets

bloom by the roadside
petals tipped in bright yellow
deepening to red-orange
touching rusty-brown seed centers
like giant pinwheels spinning in the sun.
They whisper my name
sending their words
on the lips of the wind.
I sit and spoon in the sun
like lemon sherbert, sip
a glass of wind, taste
pink sky, fully opened
to the language of nature.
I speak Flower to the world.

Carol K. Cotten, Galveston, TX, USA

Bluebell Girl

Delicate crinolined ladies,
in every blue hue,
dance on the breeze,
carpet the floor between the oak and ash
where you used to walk.
Their heads nod sunwards,
a splash of vibrant colour,
all too brief in this short season.
Like the bluebells you came and went,
filled my days with love and laughter,
then left your impression of spring,
imprinted on my memory
and in your picture
painted on my wall.

Celia Lawton-Livingstone, Colchester, EG, GBR

Bluebonnet Fields Forever

Fields blanketed in vibrant color and scent,
among paintbrushes, and mesquite trees
stand tiny blue sentinels, some a rose-purple
hue, waving in the soft Texas breeze.
Blue upon blue with white tipped tops
standing at attention in natural formation
creating a picture of the expansive
Texas bluebonnet nation--
the field which holds the eye and soul
of the retired couple on vacation
seeking all five distinct varieties
of the Texas flower approbation.

Robin Pelata Stone, Houston, TX, USA

Lupins sway by summer's roads
Tossed to and fro by each passing car
Unseen by white-knuckled drivers
Bent on quiet retreats at any price
But the children chant, "Lupins, lupins!"
Breathless with each sighting of white
And blue undulating wildness, common
As the earth that grows as the city
Fades and white knuckles loose
Their grip on things best left behind
Lupins spread their tribal dance
While children sing in primitive joy
Somewhere along summer's roads

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
COMMENTS:  This poem is itself a chant as we repeat the endearing song of "lupins, lupins" and find ourselves on the roadside, grinning at the beauty surrounding us.  Draws the reader in.  Very well done.
=====
HONORABLE MENTION

Flame of the forest

The cool breeze dies, and the curtain rises.
They bloom, suddenly, profusely,
A warning of scorching days ahead.
The gold mohur, beautiful, but not romantic,
Wild, burning red, on branches too high
for the cows to pluck and eat.
For them it would only mean a meal.
From humans, a collective groan: summer’s here,
Burning heat, in the deep dark green;
A brief, passionate fling, just a month or two.
Then, they will flounce out and fade,
As dramatically as they came
And the dry earth will sing.
The Flame of the Forest will be doused
When the monsoon blows, bringing life-giving rain.

Meena Menon, Mumbai, Maharashtra, IND
COMMENTS:  Lovely and particular language tells the story here.  Well-told.  Nicely phrase, and interestingly ended.
 

Back to contents
 

WINNER OF A $50.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE
 

Street Life

Like jellybeans displayed in crystal jars,
forbidden, sequins strut for all to see;
in twilight, spangled hands pan crowded bars
where loneliness pays gold for company.
Cigar smoke hangs in tongues around the room
while bleary eyes lose focus; fingers curl
and bid each bartered bride to join a groom
who, open-mouthed like swine, awaits the pearl.
As hollow hours fumble to the west
and night no longer master becomes slave,
the users use, then leave like all the rest;
the used left curbside watch yet never wave,
but shimmer, in the red tail-lights of cars
like jellybeans, displayed in crystal jars.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

Back to contents
 

FIRST PLACE
WINNER OF A $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

cherry blossoms
snow descends on verdant grass
April in England

SuzAnne C. Cole, Houston, TX, USA

after spring storm
rainbow old tree
freshly colored

Marek Kozubek, Zywiec, Silesia, POL

Deer grazing on slope
snow melt streaming down mountain
mirrors daffodils

Frances Schiavina, Ardmore, PA, USA

petaled maple buds
tinged late april peridot
erupt from drab bough

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA, USA

one grasstip dewdrop
refracts early morning sun
prismatic promise

John E. Rice, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Excellent word choices, well-placed line turns.
=====
HONORABLE MENTION

chunk of river ice
tumbles over waterfall
melts in sunlit pool

Avonne Griffin, Greer, SC, USA
COMMENTS:  Lovely natural scene.
=====
HONORABLE MENTION

thunder
deep in plum tree foliage
two song sparrows

Jeanette Oestermyer, Roswell, NM, USA
COMMENTS:  Terse, tender, gently treated.  Nicely written.
=====
OTHER HAIKU AND MIKU

Each of these poems is in the genuine voice of its creator.  Some fit the forms requested exactly on the mark and to the point.  Others drift gently into musings far from the intent of Haiku or Miku.  It is up to the reader to discover which is which.  For more information about Haiku and Miku, please visit POETRY FORMS.
=====
warm rain
apricot blossoms
under rainbow

Jim Applegate, Roswell, NM, USA
=====
glorious sun scraped skies
golden mist and mornings
soft blur of spring

Kristina Villasenor Cajipe, Las Pinas City, MN, PHI
=====
wisteria chokes
live oaks
spring is born

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
=====
sand ripples in pools
rainbow arcs across dark clouds
bright sky breezes scud

Lynne Craig, Terrell, TX, USA
=====
rain falls on parched fields
soaks through partly frozen soil
tender shoots spring free

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
=====
bluejays
attack crows
nursery safe

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
=====
Pre dawn
Bird chorus
Chatters

Mary E. Gray, Newport News, VA, USA
=====
crystal clear
spring rains unite
bloom seas of wildflowers

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
=====
vultures circle sky
invitations sent air mail
dead bull banquet feast

Yvonne Byrd Nunn, Hermleigh, TX, USA
=====
outside my window
tiny bird with
big song

Janet Parker, Leesburg, FL, USA
=====
blonde squirrel
unfolds last year's acorns
spring cleaning

Kathy Paupore, Kingsford, MI, USA
=====
young leaf
dew drop languishes
water of life

Eileen Sateriale, Bowie, MD, USA
=====
sprouting clouds of cotton
sugary wafting
swaying a drumming beat

Beth Shipper, Pearland, TX, USA
=====
sun melting
ponderosa
shadow

Craig Soderquist, Bend, OR, USA
=====
gold feathers
flutter high
in fresh leaves

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
=====
raindrops shake petals
from streamside flowering crab
beauty gently flows

Gary Wade, Seymour, IA, USA
=====
spring rain fills dry creek
sending rivulets downstream
dormant tadpoles wake

Anna Wilke, Conroe, TX, USA
=====

Back to contents
 

FIRST PLACE
WINNER OF A $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

Street Life

Like jellybeans displayed in crystal jars,
forbidden, sequins strut for all to see;
in twilight, spangled hands pan crowded bars
where loneliness pays gold for company.
Cigar smoke hangs in tongues around the room
while bleary eyes lose focus; fingers curl
and bid each bartered bride to join a groom
who, open-mouthed like swine, awaits the pearl.
As hollow hours fumble to the west
and night no longer master becomes slave,
the users use, then leave like all the rest;
the used left curbside watch yet never wave,
but shimmer, in the red tail-lights of cars
like jellybeans, displayed in crystal jars.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

To Vera-Ellen in Yellow

Wasp-waisted elegance
to buzz on taps
hovering a note
and then a dozen
zealous steps

because? - why just because
she could stay
with Danny Kaye
his fingertips just touching
that hint of hip
and long, long
wrap-around legs.

Three -
Three Little Words
with Astaire
staring as they dance
a chance caress
and remember

the slow, dreamy snow
in a yellow dress
to fade, fade
Vera -- fade away.

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA

Aubade II

While the tea is steeping, the toaster ticks away the time it
takes to toast a bagel - as good a measurement as any other.

While the tea is steeping, there is time to watch the cock
cardinal, his feathered cassock flaring, as he forages among
the five-lobed leaves creeping the beds along the fence -
vestal vermilion against Virginia viridian.

While the tea is steeping, first sunrays backlight Phalaen -
opsis butterfly blossoms into a glowing offering of pale
pinks leached from languid lavender as the first four notes
of Beethoven's Fifth leap from the radio announcing their
centuries-old code yet again.

While the tea is steeping, there is time to reflect on the
passing of princes and popes, commoners and criminals
and all the people weeping, singing, each mourning in his
own way.

While the tea is steeping, there is time to consider the terrible
darkness which breaks at last when mourning conquers the
night, resolving, to no one's great surprise, into a scattering
of crows which was waiting, as were we all, for the first
faint flare of light, the light of the newest day.

John E. Rice, Houston, TX, USA

When Gravestones Turn to Dust

Like statues in Saint Peter's square, tall stones
sit acid-etched in fields of daisy heads.
A flash of granite streaks up toward the sun
and bounces back to tab the births and deaths.
Beneath the sod remains of saints lie still
as orioles intone their lullaby.
I wonder if old bones keep time with song
content to rest until all time is past
and need for mounds a thing of by gone days?
What patience lies in wait of rapture's call
when future saints arise in jubilees,
when all is new and gravestones turn to dust.

From winter's hibernation life springs forth,
a resurrection march across all time.

Yvonne Nunn, Hermleigh, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Interesting composition.  The question of the narrator becomes the question of the reader, as we all ask if graves are really necessary...
==
HONORABLE MENTION

Love Poem

Maybe I'll die at daybreak--vanish
in a fog bank, and reappear
as a swan.
I want to write a love poem
using routine words like forever
before I go. This might be the road
that leads to nowhere,

because there's always that mouth
with its permanent pout, those eyes
that registered nothing but …
anything you can imagine here
is probably true.  But from this point on
don't bother trying to read between the lines,
I've weighed each word--trust
is a precious thing.

I loved before I knew
love can come and go
quick as hail
and leave you
somewhere between the prayer
and the answer, feeling like a synonym
for disposable.

Judith Schiele, Brandon, MS, USA
COMMENTS:  The narrator speaks in an original voice with wry and subtle humor.
=====
OTHER POEMS

There is much to be said for the splendor of a spring garden, for each flowerbed holds many beauties.  What follows is a garden of poems.  Each unique, each beautiful in word or idea.
=====
Tete a Tete

I caught your eye as it slipped to where it
Shouldn't be looking and quickly looked away.

I dressed this way for my husband.  A
Reminder of what life was like before Barbies

-- and dance lessons.  When two was a
Perfect number and three had yet to

Open our consciousness to the infinite possibility
That more is somehow better ... definitely

Better.  Better.  Better up.  Can I hear four?
Four?  Four to the Gentleman with the

Gleam in his eye.  Four to the Lady
With the smile on her lips.

Going once.  Going twice.  "Sold"
To the couple full of infinite possibilities.

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Good choice of couplets to structure the poem, and underscore the theme.
==
Threshold Metamorphosis

As the first light of dawn whitens the window
Kelly Edjhy rises, dons impeccable gray flannels
Leaving promptly to be first at the office
To share his wit and wisdom with new arrivals

He spends the day helping others complete tasks
Listens to each person as they explore
The inner oceans of their minds
Their waves of anger, sadness and delight

Everyone is amazed that so much
Warmth, love, vitality and joy in life
Could be embodied in one person.
They envy his family for living with a prince

Mr. Edjhy is the last to leave work
And at the moment of twilight,
Crosses his threshold to become
Mephistopheles in a Brooks Brothers suit

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
==
The Artisan

How are you, my friend across the miles?  What
are you thinking today?  Are you writing, letting
your mind wander through ideas that will inspire you?
What words are even now flying from your hand
as if  you sculpted thoughts with a  feather pen?

Did you escape this morning to the cold and walk
to the mailbox with a knot of larking cats trailing behind
you?  Did you enjoy the view of your lovely woods?
Did you let your mind wander through ideas
that will inspire you?  Do you sing of their magic?

Is anything now happening in your life that will swell
your thoughts until they come splashing forth
from your pen?  Oh, let me hear the crescendo,
as exquisite as your heart.  Has the beauty
of the world imbued your soul like billows of sails?

Your words take on wings of gossamer and pulse before
my wandering mind, making me stop and listen,  fearful
that I will miss a beat of mystery. I gaze at your words
of fragile beauty, waiting, waiting for the silence to steal
softly upon me, so the song you sing will complete itself.

Lynne Craig, Terrell, TX  USA
==
May Manna

Hovering
Under bottlebrush
Moving from bloom to bloom all
Morning
Iridescent blurs swing to thimble-sized
Nest
Gently approaching nude
Babes
Industrious
Ruby Throated Hummingbirds deliver
Dipper of nectar for
Supper

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
==
calla lilies

past the garden gate
they fly like a flock of swans
low across a sky of green

pure with yellow tongues
as if they sip the sun
and sing its praise

when the wind overcome
with white and white and leaves
low across a sky of green

they lift and tilt their heads
for more and more and more again
before the setting

circle stone and land
to watch and wait the rising
low across a sky of green

Avonne Griffin, Greer, SC, USA
==
Semper Fidelis

Harry fought a Japanese general in WWII,
hand-to-hand, to the death, seizing his enemy’s sword.

A delegation from Japan was sent to retrieve it.
They were blunt. “Give us the General’s sword.”
Wrapping his hand around the hilt, Harry said,
“You can have it the same way I got it.”

In the 60’s, Harry worked for the War Department
carried a cane, ‘cause his wounded leg went bad.
One day a gaggle of “long-hairs” chose his turf
as a comfy spot for a sit-in. Harry reminded them
of Semper Fi, of faithful brothers dying in Vietnam.
The chant “make love, not war” answered him.
Harry straightened his back and waded in.

The efficacy of satyagraha was challenged
as the sea of bodies parted and
Harry walked through on dry land.

With cracks that rang like gunshots
the invaders were routed, fleeing in waves
from the ancient warrior with a crippled leg
whose gnarled arms still boasted the swing
that bested a Samurai.

Heather Jensen, Cheyenne, WY, USA
==
A Seasoned Affair

On summer days carefree and temporal,
We danced the passion dart of fireflies.
Tucked safe beneath the arbor of umbral,
Love barely blinks before it chokes and dies.

Yet autumn dawned; you breathed a hue of hope,
Sprinkling my jaded heart a fiery gold.
And to your hinted promises I groped,
Clinging as if one last desperate hold.

Like winter flecks of frosty flakes of snow,
My icy innards stirred then crystallized.
Blinded by the tempting prismic glow,
Too late your deceit finally realized.

As spring unfurls its annual debut,
I too must yet again begin anew.

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA, USA
POET'S NOTE:  Shakespearean Sonnet.
==
Albuquerque-Basketball-NCAA Mania

He walks down ramp, a crowd in awe.
His presence known stops clocks on wall.
The coach for Cards, Kentucky Son,
in Pit we march to madness, fun.

The competition goes ahead
loud yells and jeers do give me dread.
They rain down threes, our team is done,
in Pit we march to madness, fun.

We watch our team fall far behind.
We sit in crowd with cheers unkind.
Tight lips soon fade, our team makes run,
in Pit we march to madness, fun.

Before our eyes the game is tied,
the opposition flows outside.
Our shots fall in by running gun,
in Pit we march to madness, fun.

The game is over, our points more,
mad opponent now stomps through doors.
Their face of blush facades’ whose won.
In Pit we march to madness, fun.

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
POET'S NOTE:  French Kyrille.
==
Life, Like A River

You choose to rush on through years
seeking remnants of summer romances,
playing “Theme From Picnic-Moonglow” medley,
surging swiftly – your way to the sea.

Hearing sighs of lovers alone in the night,
you roll forever beneath summer skies.
First dawn, slower pace, wind tempers your way
through fields and farms flow boundless and free.

Sights and sounds, heard from your bed,
voices of joy, of love, pain and strife,
stories in faces some happy, some sad.
I walk near your banks… to look deep inside.

I rush through summer – like a river, bereft,
through broken streets, deserted – left lorn,
recall our parting – she feigned tears – yet laughed
at love’s raging rapids – lost times unseen.

I roll on alone searching summer days
for hopes and dreams now drowned to rise no more.
A joyful, winding way my heart belies,
as tributaries trap new worlds to snare.

Jeanette Oestermyer,  Roswell, NM,  USA
==
Seed Catalogues

Gurney's comes in January,
she digs through the pages, picks
seeds and perennial flower offers.
Pastiche sunflower, bon bon squash,

royal burgundy beans, and more.
Out goes an order.  During the wait
there's Breck's bulb catalogue.  She
circles wants, writes a poem about

Narcissus poeticus, but can't
find that one particular flower.
Snow melts.  In the mail, Michigan
Bulb and Spring Hill, she doesn't

place any orders.  In comes Gurney's,
seeds first.  When northeast weather
warms the dormant Wilder currant
bush and perennial roots arrive, then

another Breck's with a coupon
on the cover, $25.00 worth free.
There on page 53, that flower.
Now she awaits poet's daffodils.

Kathy Paupore, Kingsford, MI, USA
==
eccentricity of an interior designer

madame observes dwellings' angular ways
moving here placed there hands wave cubed distance
multiple objects retain select stays
rearranging a piece requiring glance
colors rich, antiques reveal haunted tales
she purposed fixtures unveiling their past
majestic oak armoire staged soon entails
portioning drama forming the laid cast
but now fantasy does not become real
positioning sentiment has mute strive
she must face her destiny fate sealed
a waiting china doll postures alive
feeble blind eyes glazed staring outward now
choreographed forms stay dreams somehow

Beth Shipper, Pearland, TX, USA
==
Surrender

Heat's great army
Mid-June's first advance
crumbled all resistance outside.
Ruthless strength-sapping rays
infiltrate the walls
Air conditioner outflanked.

In the window
cat lies comatose
flat as a deflated balloon.
Stretched full length on the sill
motionless in sleep
happy prisoner of war.

Must keep fighting
complete work today
On comes the relentless advance.
Maybe rest just a bit
let guard down this once
Conqueror again prevails.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
==
Biopsy

The doctor's words
popped from his lips like
Bazooka Bubble Gum
slowly expanding...

Then bounced
up and down
the walls
of his office,
a pink Spaldeen,
briefly lodging
in my throat.

Benign... Benignnnnn.
The most beautiful word
in the English language.

"Be nine," said he
and I agreed.
Tag, you're it,
pick up sticks.

Nine again --
Going on ten.
(Whew!)

Marie Delgado Travis, Houston, TX, USA
==
Autism

I used to look into your eyes and feel so helpless
Because I could not help you
At birth, I was not aware
That your life on earth would begin differently than most
I was first in denial that you had special needs
And not out of shame
I was just trying to protect you like fathers do

I love you so much for your strength
The lengths you’ve gone to learn are incredible
We’ve adapted and overcome so many obstacles together
And continue to do everyday
In a way that may seem unorthodox to some
But to us it has become our normality
And sometimes I wouldn’t want it in any other way

Your smile can brighten my darkest days
As your laughter always brings a smile to my face
When you call me daddy
I feel my eyes swelling up with tears
As years go by I can’t wait to be there
To see you achieve
Because nobody has more faith in your ability than I

J. Daniel VanDerbeck Jr., Riverside, CA, USA
==
Hour of Red and Gold

in the bird garden
where bored cats slink away
black sunflower seeds wait
I tiptoe out
pausing between steps
to stand by the far fence
very still
not daring to flinch
barely daring to breathe
first comes a young squirrel
then doves and chickadees
last come birds of red and gold
and bright, bright red
the shutter opens softly then closes
capturing all in light's golden glow

Anna Wilke, Conroe, TX, USA
==

Back to contents
 

FIRST PLACE
WINNER OF A $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

Quarters

As children, we caught June bugs,
Tied threads to their back legs,
Constructed shoebox houses
With living rooms, and bedrooms,
Plus a pantry filled with berries.
At day's end we cut the threads
Setting them free to fly away.

From my nursing home shoebox room,
I watch fat green beetles scale
Fuchsia bougainvillea vines.
As memories flash upon my inward eye
My heart with pleasure fills
And soars like those liberated
June bugs a half century ago.

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA

Redolent Somnolence

Gone are the mellow days of May when gentle colors
ran low across meadows of burgeoning hay, when music
of pastels constantly sang among blue-eyed cornflowers,
stately bluebonnets, and pale pink primroses in their frills;
and spring mixed all their colors in giant whorls.

But June is come and has chased away gentle spring,
so that sweltering blossoms must climb the spreading
branches of crepe myrtles, mimosa, and sweet magnolias
to reach cooling breezes.  Only brown-eyed Susans
and coreopsis still spread their blooms over glowing fields
so that meadows seem blanketed with the drowsy sun.

And the whirr of the air conditioner
is heard throughout the land.

Lynne Craig, Terrell, TX, USA

Summer, timed.

Within each seed, an innate sense of time
ignites as silent roots unwind, uncoil
into the warm wet earth. A hidden vine
embedded in the velvet mole-dark soil
while overhead a potent ocean swells,
in swirls of verdant fuses wildly sowed.
Fulfilled, the secret of the germ compels
the pollen-drowsy swollen heads explode;
to sift the humid breeze with tousled hair
or drink from rains as laden clouds sail by,
to clamor for the favors of the air
and daub gold on a taut blue canvas sky.
Ablaze, a thousand temples stand undone,
thrown open on the summons of the sun.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

Queen Anne's lace lines the way to the church:
roadside royalty with a flaming entourage,
day lilies that ring out the reminder -- today
a wedding, and the bride looks like a princess!

Down the road in a garden, roses poise
well armed against assailants -- the battle ensues.
Beetles with appetites and iridescent armor
march to the beat of insatiable need.

Behind a sprawling oak the swimming hole
awaits children tumbling off the school bus.
Shoes and socks fly; book bags slump unneeded.
"First one in gets the computer after dinner!"

Avonne Griffin, Greer, SC, USA
COMMENTS:  The poem's fresh language and imagery bring a June day to life with a fun, surprising end.
=====
HONORABLE MENTION
Houston Junetime

Longest day of the year is not the hottest
(Would it were--it's hot enough!)
Three holidays little appreciated
(Flag Day, Father's Day, Juneteenth--
few jobs give days off!)
School days are past for a couple of months--
kids keep busy doing nothing
while we drowse all day at work.
Junetime, funtime, strangetime,
time of paradox, time of love,
there is no time like this month,
no time like the center
of the year
when June comes.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  The use of the word "time" unifies the poem and gives it a syncopated rhythm, especially in the second half.
=====
HONORABLE MENTION
June (In my neighbourhood)

A thin bare branch reaches into the sky
Guarding russet leaves as they fade and die,
A winter sentinel of southern lands
Where sap is dormant in drought- stricken sands,
Waiting for the call of the turning season
To give neighbourhood plants good reason
For bursting forth in abundant delight,
Spreading greens and purples, a glorious sight
Changing the barren streets of brown June days
Into a frenzy of colourful ways.

Gillian Beatrice Wilkinson, Saxonwold, RSA
COMMENTS:  A sprite of a poem that sings itself, neatly personifying June as something that is ever-changing, showing how the world spins from the lone bare branch into the gorgeous profusion of color that is summer.
=====
HONORABLE MENTION
Roses

June comes dancing
at your door
dressed in fragrant
summer gold

Fields of berries
ice cream cones
sunlit skies
sandy shores

Riding waves
spitting salt
dancing on
the lawn at dusk

closed books and opened shores
blooms in June
the rose of love

Frances Schiavina, Ardmore, PA, USA
COMMENTS:  Almost breathlessly written, it fairly sings of June's many wonders and delights;  the very style it is written in makes it seem as if everything must be told as quickly as possible lest it be missed.  Delightfully sung.  It's risky writing about roses, but this poem has an innocent, song-like refreshing quality.
=====
OTHER SELECTED ENTRIES
=====
The Broome Property

Carl is riding Mr. Broome’s shiny red lawnmower. He wears a brown baseball cap, white t-shirt, khaki pants, white tennis shoes. His dark skin glistens. He stops the mower, turns it off, takes hedge cutters from the back, and begins to snip at Sago palms planted in front of a cute beige brick pump house, a scale model of the main house, its white-paned windows open to catch the breeze. Carl bends slowly to the task of trimming and filling the wagon. Then he gets back on the mower. I think he is going to another location far off, but he isn’t. He drives ten feet to another side of the structure. He clips, steps back, looks, bends, picks up one branch at a time. The sun is scorching hot. He rides the mower a few more feet away to the shade of an ugly tallow growing on the property’s edge. He stops the engine, lights a cigarette, leans back in the seat, and blows a hopeless little cloud of white smoke into the hot June air.

Carol K. Cotten, Galveston, TX, USA
=====
Dance of the June Bugs

June bugs flick
against my pane
crave the light
dance the night
not long before
days end

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
=====
Summer Show

June showcases birds, bees and bugs
Meadowlarks burst into song
Talking Canada Geese glide onto lake
Bees hum while filling pollen baskets

Meadowlarks burst into song
Gyspy moths sip from gardenia cups
Bees hum while filling pollen baskets
Seas of lightening bugs rise in waves

Gypsy moths sip from gardenia cups
As night arranges herself around the garden
Seas of lightening bugs rise in waves
June showcases birds, bees and bugs

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
=====
June’s Jades

So great is June with sated, jaded joys
for school is over, finished for a spell.
As recess starts, we spring to summer ploys.
The brood will bond, look like a Southern Belle.
When June is fresh, a shower’s mist will fall.
Humidity is dabbed in days awhile.
Night matinees must move inside the wall
cause drizzle drops its dew in outside aisles.
As June matures, the boys of summer soar.
Adults’ day dream ole baseball days through kids,
and Father’s Day comes round like days of yore.
“Best dad around,” and “old cars show,” take bids.

More memories in June mount busy time
like potpourris, mosaic walls in rhyme.

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
=====
June Burst

June crowds summer street,
beans hang from mesquites.
School's out.

Kids invade retreats,
pools to beat the heat
and shout

"Play ball, you athletes,
share the bitter sweets
and pout."

School sets in concretes
and twelve years completes
first bouts.

Yvonne Byrd Nunn, Hermleigh, TX, USA
POET'S NOTE:  This poem was written in the French Lai form.
=====
What is So Rare…?

Euphoria abounds,
there’s magic in the air.
A spell of love is cast around
as roses bloom in colors fair.

The mockingbird mimics sounds
while honeysuckle climb and dare,
and finches search across the town
for building sites to build  their lair.

It’s time to buy that wedding gown,
in June – love flourishes – beware.
Then fall in love with love, newfound,
a time to share this season rare.

Jeanette Oestermyer,  Roswell, NM, USA
=====
June Blooms

At the end of May
fragile trilliums blush pink,
as day lengthens and warms
June is on the brink
of busting out all over.
In cold rain we plant seeds,
and in early heat
come persistent weeds.
First bouquet of dandelions
in a child's innocent grasp,
cherished in a cup of water.
How long will they last?
White puffs of seeds disperse,
they will last all June of course.

Kathy Paupore, Kingsford MI, USA
=====

Back to contents
 
 

---

Home

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

SPONSORSHIP We hate to ask, but providing prizes for our winning poets is an non-ending task.  Over the years we've offered many locking diaries, hundreds of book gift certificates and bookmarks, uncounted books and chapbooks, and even a few picnic baskets!  Less than one-half of our prizes come from Sponsors, and the rest are donated by co-founders Leo F. Waltz and Mary Margaret Carlisle.  Please consider adding your name to the list.  Become a Sol Sponsor.  Write to Sol.Editor@prodigy.net for more information.