www.sol-magazine.org
Summer 2005 Edition
July through September

Sol Magazine, A Poetry Journal:  A ten-year project of an international organization of Members and Volunteers interested in the education of poets.
 

LETTERS Letters may be slightly edited for length.

TO:  Our poets.  You are all in our thoughts, and we do so much appreciate the many contributions you make to Sol Magazine through your writing and the sharing of your lives.  Warmest regards from Sol's Staff.

FROM:  Jeanette Oestermyer ~ I received the certificate, and noticed it was dated 10/21, the day I had foot surgery and have not been on my PC until today.  I am in a wheelchair and on crutches for at least four weeks.  Thank you so much and God Bless.

FROM:  Warner Conarton ~ Thank you for the gift certificate.  Also, the award certificate.  Also the lovely poetry/photo magazine. Also, the fun I have had because of Sol Magazine.  I love you.

FROM:  Avonne Griffin ~ Your package arrived...I was surprised and delighted with the magazines and journals you included for me to read and consider submitting to. I am enjoying them very much. Thank you for such a thoughtful extra!  And of course the Poet's Market is always a delicious addition to any writer's library! I appreciate and have benefited from Sol. If I can be of any help, please do not hesitate to ask.  Sincerely...

FIRST PLACE - Winner of a $10.00 electronic book gift certificate.

Missouri in Late July on a Search for the Joplin Spook Light

We turn wrong and eat our own dust going back the same way we came.
Every mile is rutted and what's supposed to be gravel has worn down
to pebbly bits of chalk.  We follow the sinking sun
and find a spot to park. There's a sad cry.
I mistake a child for the whippoorwill.
Twilight settles into a ring of cigarettes.  I hear a whoosh.
Thank god it's not my tire.  Just a breeze through
the oaks and hickories.  An orange globe steps out of the woods.
Maybe a teen with a flashlight. But it's not.  The figure bobs along
skimming the treetops.  I lose sight of its glow.  It's time to leave
but we're stuck between cars.  We talk about the devil's campsite
and the soldier who's lost his head.
After wearing these out, the spook light returns.
It's trapped here like us.  A bouncing ball
on a lonely ridge of repeat performances.

Cindy Tebo, Catawissa, MO, USA

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EDITOR'S QUARTERLY CHOICE

WINNER OF A $50.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

How we maidens learnt to count to five

I watch as, with his black umbrella,
Dr Ahmid waves the boys
alone to join him in the palm-shade.
Unseen behind the reeds we maidens
hide and dance the numbers they sing;
"One!" I hear them count the sun,
which sails these skies of Bedouin blue,
"Two!" we hop. Our stamping feet
and oil-dark toes, awash with sand.
"Three!" they shout; we twist as fig trees,
"Four!" we stand like minarets.
On "Five!" we raise arms, splay fingers;
spin in dervish pirouettes,
until talcum-fingered Dr Ahmid
chases us, toward the river
to join our countless laughing sisters.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

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NOTE:  This was a "not-haiku" contest, where entrants were asked to send in three untitled lines of exactly 5, 7, 5.  No other rules were required, except to use the word "July" somewhere in the poem.  Many creative results from such a small prompt; some poems ironic, others thoughtful, all expressive.  Look how much you can do with the freedom and constraint of seventeen syllables and just the right words!

FIRST PLACE ~ WINNER OF A  $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

South of Capricorn
a careless July scatters
winter's scalpel blades

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

SECOND PLACE

still embers smolder
beneath a copper-kettled
searing July moon

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA, USA

THIRD PLACE - TIE

Zion lookout gone
thick smoke from wild grass fire
hides July beauty.

Jim Applegate,  Roswell,  NM, USA

THIRD PLACE - TIE

semester goodbye
I long for the warm touch of
seducer July

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, YP, CHN

THIRD PLACE - TIE

July dust devils
doe and fawns drink warily
at swimming pool lip

SuzAnne C. Cole, Houston, TX, USA

HONORABLE MENTION

born in late July
Saturday's child in Cancer
winking at Leo

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN

HONORABLE MENTION

sweat rimed and sleepless
July broils on lobster-faced
thirsts for cooling rain

Celia Lawton-Livingstone, Colchester, EG, GBR

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA

smothering July
wandering through dry creek beds
restless locusts chirr

Lynne Craig, Terrell, TX  USA

dry lightning ignites
mountains around Las Vegas
July wild fires

Neva F. Darbe, Las Vegas, NV, USA

sow sinks in mud hole
lifting snout squeals with relief
escapes July's heat

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA

July flattens cat
Under chaise lounge on red porch
No escape from heat

Mary E. Gray, Newport News, VA, USA

building sandcastles
hot sand in July cooler
if we dig deeper

Deborah P Kolodji, Temple City, CA, USA

calm surface of lake
sudden puff of evening wind
shook up July moon

Marek Kozubek, Zywiec, Silesia, POL

tropical storm blows
fed by hot July waters
takes aim at Gulf coast

June P. LaVernway, Mobile, AL, USA

July sunrays smile
tap dancing like Helios
hip hop hot cement

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA

in July's heat haze
wild berries shrink on brambles
wait for swelling rains

Kathy Paupore,  Kingsford, MI, USA

July thunderstorm
drenches raggedy flowers
passing earth carpet

Eileen Sateriale, Bowie, MD, USA

July lion sun
blistering skin and rooftop
sweat and soda pop

Frances Schiavina, Ardmore, PA, USA

seagulls soaring cry
shadow breezes blowing by
happy kids July

Craig Soderquist, Bend, OR, USA

In scorching July
the hungry heat seeping in
mosquitoes attack

Robin Pelata Stone, Houston, TX, USA

exiting cold store
instant eyeglass steam-over
and July blindness

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA

polished brass and wood
circle in night air's ceiling
cool July island

Gary Wade, Seymour, IA, USA

Bone marrow chilling
July winds freeze iced fingers
In winter sunshine

Gillian Wilkinson, Saxonwold, RSA
 

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FIRST PLACE ~  WINNER OF A $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

Lux Eterna

They sit
in the same two seats
every other Thursday
at the Hollywood Bowl.

As seasons change with Vivaldi
as piano duels fight through Liszt
without cartoon accompaniment
they are there
through Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart
and they never miss Tchaikovsky.

There are no fireworks
at the Bowl on Thursdays
just music
and the steady comfort
of a married couple
in the same two seats
June through August.

Deborah P Kolodji, Temple City, CA, USA

Arpeggio To Largo

Tempo is relentless, August
moments pulse into monotony,
strike with never-ending rhythm
to mark the days,

turn to a quicker motion,
speed up the ticks
and count the minutes
as if to taunt me.

Steps race to match its pace,
a lifetime passes in the blink
of an eye.  Wicked beats strike
faster with a roguish smiles.

Too late to keep stride, my
measured gait slows to a shuffle,
these feet, no longer in sync,
don't march with time.

In speed warp - the music fades
and slows to a largo.
The metronome of life
rushes to a crawl.

Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper, Portland, OR, USA

Lake-effect

Water Harleys
Slicing triumphant Phrygian modes
Into water so thickened by August
Ribbon-wounds sluggishly heal their wakes
Mud Lake Bridge refuses to succumb
Resonating sympathetically
With the Dorian chant of Kubotas
Chewing another mouthful of
Armand Bayou into sapbleedingrubble
Reconfigured beyond recognition
As the Snowy Egrets dance Lydian elegies
In the reeds, in the half-remembered fringes
Of the music of the reeds, the haunted, hunted
Music of the Chorus of the reeds.

Martha Kirby Capo, Taylor Lake Village, TX, USA

On first skipping a light fandango…

’67 it was, I know this because
the years I rarely get wrong;
but was it July or August when I
first heard that fabulous song?
The memorable day when I heard them play
new music, (that is, new to me –
I now know of course the probable source
was J. S. Bach’s one-forty in "D").
What could inspire it? I must acquire it!
For weeks after which I’m afraid
to mother’s disdain that moving refrain
was played! (How that record was played!)
By winter I’m sure it was playing no more,
though I suspect not before time,
yet it must form some part of my musical heart –
I can still recite all of the rhyme.
When I do I recall the thrill of it all,
of younger times, free of facades;
of the waiter’s full tray and of what falls away
when one wanders through strange playing cards.
My tears then rolled free for humanity;
for the lost, for the weak and the frail.
But I wept most, its true, as the girl the boy knew
turned a shade that was whiter than pale.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

The music of August is
The lazy buzz of cicadas.

The music of August is
The purr of combines getting
Ready for the harvest to come.

The music of August is
The county fair carnival rides blaring
And the Fair Queen tossing platinum curls
As she sings “The Star-Spangled Banner,” badly.

The music of August is
Smooth bluegrass floating
Over fescue pressed flat by foot traffic
At a craft festival where weathered men sell
Burnished banjos, tangy mandolins and tambourines.

The music of August is
Fresh-minted kindergarteners
Whining about school supplies while
Their older siblings hastily refresh memories
Of band and chorus to impress the opposite sex
And harried parents waver from lullaby to march to dirge.

The music of August is
The rubbing of wings, cough
Of engines, vibration of voicebox,
Squeal and plunk of sounding chamber,
Soft or stern strumming of family ties that bind,
Every note sharpened by the nostalgia of summer’s end
And the quivering coda of the season’s fingers on heartstrings.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA
COMMENTS:  Stanzas are linked by a repeated line which intensifies the theme as it weaves into a poem of festive movement.
=====
Rainbow Rhythms

From June through August music rebounds
Between historic Ashton Villa and Rosenberg Library
As the Galveston Beach Band led by Frank Incaprera, Jr.
Lifts the spirits of islanders and tourists
Frank and his wife Hazel, drummer and vocalist
Began leading of these concerts in 1962.
This sparkling hometown band is now entertaining
Its seventh generation of families since 1928.
The programs include marches composed by Frank, Sr.,
A frequent guest conductor throughout his life.
Folks sway with the Tarentella dancers
And join flag-waving, marching children
To Sousa's "Stars and Strips Forever."
When the sun, as golden as bee pollen, sets
Maestro Incaprera announces the evening’s finale.
Everyone feels their troubles melt like lemon drops
And soars "Somewhere over the Rainbow."

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Nice remembrance piece that swings us with old rhythms and sounds.
=====
Nuptials

With bated breath
An audience waits
As music fills the air.
Stately stepping children
Fill the aisle with flowers.
Handsomely clothed young men and women
Stand anxiously ahead.
A sob breaks loud and clear.
The heat of August melts the candle
Faster than its flame.
The bride appears in brilliance
Clinging to her father's arm
Al rise in unison as they pass.
The groom steps down to make her his wife.
The wedding now begins.

Shelley Culver, Benton, KS, USA
COMMENTS:  Thoughtfully chosen words create multilayered images that project the right ambience for the poem.
=====
Autographed Poster Found in the Attic

Cooler days of autumn, attic cleaning time
Photos with that out-of-town band
Autographed poster, thick black lines drawn
Somewhere between reality and memory

Hotter than August, cooler than jazz
Bass guitar outside the spotlight
Cast sometimes on drummer John
(love child of Scarecrow and Animal)

But owned by the petite blonde
In three-inch heels kicking high
Playing for people who bragged
About pirating their last album

Small-town patrons tried to dance
Broken glasses and broken jaws
Overshadowed beats - softer
Harmonies trapped on the stage

They opened for the Beach Boys
Once, smiled tightly when someone
Else took home Most Promising
Then whispered one more song

Goodbye.

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN
COMMENTS:  Cleaning out the attic and the mind of old memories results in this nice work.  Great details, good contrasts.  Fine lines take us there, such as "bass guitar outside the spotlight," and "softer harmonies trapped on the stage."  Thanks.
=====
Grand Tour

During our flight from Miami to Berlin
We perused the musical tour itinerary
Escaping Florida's August heat to enjoy
Works by famous composers through Europe
The perfect reward for recently retired siblings.
Our world came alive with the sound of music
Beginning with Wagner's "Lorengrin" in Bayreuth
Followed by "A Little Night Music" and other melodies
By Mozart at the Great Festival Hall in Salzburg.
Refrains of his "The Magic Flute" flowed throughout the bus
As we traveled to enchanting Vienna.
There Maestro Beethoven's presence was felt
As we drifted under the "Fifth Symphony's" spell.
Each event was viewed as a stepping-stone
To our beloved composers - the Strauss family.
We rushed through an Austrian Veal Parmigiana dinner
Leaving a beautiful spuomoni with torte untouched
In order to arrive early in the City Central Park.
Sitting on the front row in eager anticipation
We hummed "The Blue Danube" and Strauss minuets
Until the Master of Ceremonies announced
"Help me welcome our special guests for tonight,
Orlando, Florida's Brass Band from the USA."
Our hearts sank like stones in a cold well.

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
COMMENTS:  Nice use of natural language patterns as the poem progresses through an ironic experience.
=====
Summer’s Tempo

In the hottest days of summer,
students and instructors
fill classrooms that have been empty since May.
Years ago, my spouse was young
like them on football fields.
He played the game then
marched at half-time’s music
show.  With a mean sax, Blueberry Hill,
was his favorite solo part.  Unlike
the banjo of Jerry Garcia and Glenn Campbell,
who played his strings
in Albuquerque’s “The Grave”
and “The Chesterfield Club”...later dated
a girl I worked with.  Nor did Pat’s band
clone the Grateful Dead who held
concerts in arenas’ like Soldier Field,
but one whose mom
and close-knit friends played
their music at weddings
in his hometown.  When August 9, comes around,
the date of Jerry’s passing, it always rings two bells.
That’s the day I get one year older.

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
COMMENTS:  Nice reminder of the past with interesting references.
=====
Summer Memories

The summer we fell in love,
or, perhaps it was early spring;
we met in January.
When August came, we knew it was real.

On Sunday afternoons, we would
attend concerts in the park, listen
to our city band play music, old and new.
We were young and full of zest for life.

The bandstand stood across a road from
Clear Lake, one of five lakes
in our home town.

On one such Sunday afternoon,
we set our wedding date,
three short weeks away.

The tiny diamond solitaire I wore
glistened in the summer sun,
reflecting dreams of future years.

Jeanette Oestermyer, Roswell, NM,  USA
COMMENTS:  "We were young and in love" says it all.  Good details in the solitaire, the bandstand, and the city band.
=====
Fiesta

A peanut shell
few colored foils
unwrapping a tear:
from the dark
streaming in
people
merging into
a crowd
walking under
arches of lights
stepping out
to return
with hands-full
of peanut to shell
and torrone chocolate
heading toward
the square
crowded already
around the band
tuning to start
the music
in their heart
under a starlit
August night

Frances Schiavina, Ardmore, PA, USA
COMMENTS:  Nice rendering of a particular moment in time, this piece brings the reader directly into the moment.  Interesting "skyscraper" formatting forces the eye down the poem.  Tasty writing!
=====
Bluegrass Weekend in Spring, Texas

I arrived early that Saturday morning
(though not as early as those who camped out),
just as they were frying the chuckwagon breakfast,
pancakes sizzling on the grill,
filling the air with a golden smell.
My outdoor appetite went through three plates,
the perfect opening to a day's diet of bluegrass,
country music with that unspoiled taste,
light and cheerful and wholesome.
The August heat seemed to disappear,
all of us lost in the song of the fiddle,
our hearts dancing like the player's feet.
A break for potato salad at lunch--
with hot dogs and fresh-baked cookies--
then we sat down again under the shade trees,
happy as Kentucky hillbillies,
regular doses of water and iced tea
all the air conditioning we needed.
Group after group played song after song,
the day grew cooler and the shadows long,
they barbecued supper as the west grew red,
and contentment swept over us like the evening breeze.
The red turned black overhead,
black as only a country sky can be,
and the fiddler played on under the stars.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, Texas, USA
COMMENTS:  Not like prose, the poem is influenced by implications and meaning, adding to the range of expression marking special occasion.  Many fine details warm readers as we are brought to the table.  Well done!  Serve us more of this memorable writing!
=====
Bagdad Cotillion

Their turbine songs
are the bagpipes of August,
their treads rumble the beat from the street
that gunners punctuate in thunderous syncopation.

Hummers swirl the roundabout
chaperoned by tanks on the boulevard
moving with feigned grace
like heavy women at a prom.

The music rises ructious
as the rolling bands crescendo,
as dusty heat blurs the score,
as reddened singers cry the coda.

Then the stagger-song reprises, but
only Satan really dances.

Gary Wade, Seymour, IA, USA
COMMENTS:  Expressed in such a way that can leave no doubt as to the author's opinion.  Well-written protest work.

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FIRST PLACE ~ WINNER OF A $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

How we maidens learnt to count to five

I watch as, with his black umbrella,
Dr Ahmid waves the boys
alone to join him in the palm-shade.
Unseen behind the reeds we maidens
hide and dance the numbers they sing;
"One!" I hear them count the sun,
which sails these skies of Bedouin blue,
"Two!" we hop. Our stamping feet
and oil-dark toes, awash with sand.
"Three!" they shout; we twist as fig trees,
"Four!" we stand like minarets.
On "Five!" we raise arms, splay fingers;
spin in dervish pirouettes,
until talcum-fingered Dr Ahmid
chases us, toward the river
to join our countless laughing sisters.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

Daniel's Day

Today Miss Benberry said to be thankful for what we
have because in New Orlins the little children can’t go
to school and jus about the time I was thinkin “those
lucky New Orlins kids!” Miss Benberry said how
they don’t have houses enymore or beds to sleep in
or food to eat or even water to drink because
flood waters broke over the levees, and then
she asked did we know what a levee is but
not even Steven Millican who is the smartest
boy in our class had any idea at all.  Then
Miss Benberry cried and I felt bad for not
being thankful and for not knowing what a
levee is or which country New Orlins is so
can I take some of our water for Miss Benberry
to send to the thirsty children in New Orlins?

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA

Invisible Would Be Nice

The rough boys yell
"BOO" in my ear
No one listens

Good report cards
But little notes
Make me look bad

My teacher says
I cry too much
That makes me sad

She says I'm shy
I guess that's wrong
I want to hide

Betty Dobson, Halifax, NS, CAN

Wanted--A Little Relevance

Everyone says
I need an education
to get a good job.
But I see my parents
going to work in suits
while everyone at school wears jeans,
I hear of people who got fired for being late
when all you get at school is a scolding,
I hear working adults
talk about job interviews
and tough bosses
and customer complaints
and being bored with their jobs--
and I wonder,
among algebra and multiple-choice tests,
when is all this covered in school?

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA

Ma

may I have a quarter
to buy a sack lunch
like the blond girl
eats in the lunchroom
with the sandwich
and an orange
it looks so good
I am so sick
of brown rice
and biscuits
in a syrup can

Anna Wilke, Conroe, TX, USA

Kay said, I don’t like school, the girls won’t let me play.
I want to be in Suzanne’s group but she screams, ‘no way.’
Tomorrow, I’m taking jackstones and gonna play by myself
Maybe someone will come join in, as I’ll be having fun.
Now, Glenda and Debbie and I are playing jacks every day.
In class, Mrs. Jeffery told us to list five people we love.
Then she passed the trashcan round four times
We tore off one name and threw it in each pass.
At the end, we held onto the one we loved best
When we read our final choice to the group
I had a big smile cause Glenda saved me last.”

Forty years later:
“Mom, our Katie starts kindergarten today.
I know she’s off to a good start because I tucked
My set of jackstones in her backpack.”

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
=====
Miss Beebe

Don’t get Miss Beebe for eighth grade math.
She’s mean, threatens with letters to parents
if you miss class, don’t do homework, fail tests
and more.  My friend, Sandy claimed the teacher
wanted to give kids a bad time, expected
them to learn and not talk in class.  Of course,
I got her for 2nd period.  I was scared

but not for long.  Miss Beebe taught
with a iron hand but she was fun, especially
if there was any time left before the bell.  Often,
she plied us with math head games, no counting
on fingers, no pencils and paper.
I loved the challenge even though I knew
she’d always be way ahead of me,
now matter how hard and fast I could think.

Margaret Ellis Hill, Wilton, CA, USA
======
My Teacher

For being my teacher, thanks
in place of my far away dad
for telling me, you can,
when no one dared to care.

They thought they reasoned well
from the crazy stock I came
what else can you expect
if not more of the same?

The look on their face still hurts
the shock at my success
and all for my teacher and friend
who told me, yes, you can.

Frances Schiavina, Ardmore, PA, USA
=====

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