www.sol-magazine.org
Winter 2005 Edition
January through March

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.
 

FIRST PLACE - TIE
WINNER OF A  $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

Tsunami Aftermath

The one familiar face
my neighbor's cat
sits by the temple door
still as a Sri Lankan god
his eyes wild and golden
his nose sifting incense
his ears sifting sounds.
Amid the clash
of scent and sound
he hears his name.
With softened eyes
and tabby faith
he runs.

Anna Wilke, Conroe, TX, USA

Waiting for the Tide

In the first colors of the rising sun
I see lonely silhouettes walk the beach
Silent vigils in the wash of the waves
Mothers and fathers waiting for the tide.
I see lonely silhouettes walk the beach
In their quiet, they listen to the breeze
Mothers and father waiting for the tide
For a voice, whimper, some familiar sound.
In their quiet, they listen to the breeze
Beyond the waves tumbling to the sand
For a voice, whimper, some familiar sound
Mothers and fathers waiting for the tide.
Beyond the waves tumbling to the sand
They watch for the children returning home
Mothers and fathers waiting for the tide
From swirling waters that took them away.
They watch for the children returning home
Pray for a miracle, now friendly seas
From swirling waters that took them away
Mothers and fathers waiting for the tide.
Pray for a miracle, now friendly seas
Silent vigils in the wash of the waves
Mothers, fathers still waiting for the tide
In the first colors of another day's sun.

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA

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FIRST PLACE
WINNER OF A $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

winter morning
lone crow casts
long shadow

Janet Parker, Leesburg, FL, USA

SECOND PLACE

saffron clouds gleaming
transfigure clumps moldering
leaves in earth’s cold mire

Lynne Craig, Terrell, TX, USA

THIRD PLACE

rain freezes
willow branches
chatter

Avonne Griffin, Greer, SC, USA

HONORABLE MENTION

snow gums-
scribble
on white

Lynn Harris, Hervey Bay, QLD, AUS
COMMENTS:  This Miku shows that imagery does not have to be sacrificed even when using a minimalist form.

HONORABLE MENTION

winter stream
under hare's traces
muffled ripples

Marek Kozubek, Zywiec, SIL, POL
COMMENTS:  Photographic description puts the reader directly into nature, a well-done aspect of Haiku.

HONORABLE MENTION

cold snow
only mouse trails
visit graves

Kathy Paupore, Kingsford, MI, USA
COMMENTS:  Nice winter imagery.

HONORABLE MENTION

snow flurries
on ancient paths
suddenly new

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  This poem brings more than one sense into play:  vision, the touch of cold, the feeling of movement down a path.  Nicely done.

OTHER POEMS

bawling calf
feathered cracks diverge on
shallow ice

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  The calf born out of season adds to the startling imagery.
--
leaves shrivel
shudder then blacken
naked buds

Sharon Rothenfluch Cooper, Portland, OR, USA
COMMENTS:  The harsh season is reflected in these well-chosen harsh words.  Nicely done.
--
Iced branches
Loud snaps in silence
Ruined trees

Shelley Culver, Benton, KS, USA
COMMENTS:  Direct well-done observational writing.
--
Rose-breasted Grosbeaks
sit on nude hickory limbs
wintertime brightens

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
COMMENTS:  Excellent word choice.
--
snow cascades down
moonlight shines through snow
frozen lake reflects

Jennifer Galvin, Stafford, VA, USA
COMMENTS:  Nice images place the reader at the scene.  Lovely word choice.
--
icicle ensheathed
briar epees hibernate
attack surrendered

Kathy Kehrli, Factoryville, PA, USA
COMMENTS:  Interesting word usage.
--
white socks knee deep
winter wallops region slopes
skiers' field day

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
COMMENTS:  Nicely done Senryu!
--
sun prism rainbows
die in winter warm front thaw
machetes vanish

Yvonne Byrd Nunn, Hermleigh, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Interesting narrative.
--
cold morning
lone hawk
feeds with small birds

Jeanette Oestermyer, Roswell, NM, USA
COMMENTS:  This easy-to-see scene puts us into the moment.
--
sun synergy
slick slush sheen
seeps slowly

Eileen Sateriale, Bowie, MD, USA
--
frigid cloudless sky
stars hang over snowless grass
ice crystal shines

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
--
winter morn
night concealed surprise
tracks in snow

Anna Wilke, Conroe, TX, USA
--

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FIRST PLACE
WINNER OF A $10.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

Triolet for Fishermen

Grey fishermen with silent nets
trawl, deep beneath an autumn moon
and from the shore are silhouettes.
Grey fishermen with silent nets
cast long, to haul while darkness whets
the needle-points that fade too soon.
Grey fishermen with silent nets
trawl deep, beneath an autumn moon.
The swollen heartbeat of the tide
compels the fragile: rise and fall,
while plunder rolls from side to side.
The swollen heartbeat of the tide,
where charcoal sea and sky collide,
stays faithful to the siren’s call.
The swollen heartbeat of the tide
compels the fragile rise and fall.
Ensnared in shawls, they reel them home,
the daughters of the sand and shale.
With wine-dark eyes and salt-stained comb
ensnared in shawls, they reel them home;
these tethered brides of spray and foam.
As shadows form on faces, pale
ensnared in shawls, they reel them home
the daughters of the sand and shale.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

Infinity Will Mark the End

Infinity will mark the end
as it has from the beginning,
for massive stars that make space bend
don't skew the game to gravity's winning.

Stars condensed from the primal flash
then burnt and blown across the void
reform new stars from heavier ash
in galaxy spirals wide-deployed.

Galaxies clump in widespread sheets
that rush toward a strange attractor
but from each others, all recede,
pulled by an unknown, cosmic factor.

And the universe fills with vacancy
as starry gas more widely spread
won't clump to stars as used to be
until galaxies burn down cold and dead.

Burnt and blown across the void,
all from others, all recede
as the universe fills with vacancy -
Infinity will mark the end.

Gary Wade, Seymour, IA, USA

Paratroopers

Late summer, and the meadow
Goes to seed with military precision.
Dandelions, the advance scouts,
Are joined by thick ranks of thistle
And milkweed.  Salsify soldiers
Leap from their stalks to sail away
On the wind.  They hang in
Huge white clouds, brave billows
Of silk descending towards their
Target.  The air is filled with them,
Taking flak from the birds but some
Landing safely to storm the grass.
They advance ever downward,
A few stalwart troops conquering
The earth where they entrench
Themselves to outwait winter’s siege
And hold their ground until
Spring brings relief.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA

“The bathroom’s clean,” he states without looking up from
the book he’s been reading all week. The bathroom’s clean?
she mumbles, picking up the newly arrived Reader’s Digest
and retiring to the throne to digest this information
sitting amidst the porcelain and chrome. She kicks her shoes
off. Glad to be home and out of the rat race where she
generally finishes next-to-last place. The bathroom’s clean?
Well, what of vacuuming? And dust? Someone must clear
cobwebs; cook and freeze a whole week’s worth of lunches
(otherwise he will not eat). The bathroom’s clean, though?
She winces, for there’s sluts wool piled up in the corners
and the mirror’s streaked with grime, but he says the
thing’s clean ­a major contribution she must praise the
whole night long while washing laundry, changing beds,
getting groceries, paying bills. Attending ills like back-stabbing
co-workers and nitpicking bosses who want their papers stapled
at 90 degree angles, she commutes two hours each way.
Monday through Friday. Same old grind but- hey! -he cleaned
a bathroom today while she toiled for pauper’s pay.

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA
=====
Tango at the Crossroads

Standing at the crossroads.
Our choice of where to go.
Is the weather warmer?
Kyoto’s far from here.

So what are we to do?
For it takes two to tango,
and Kyoto’s over there
while we are over here.

All tangoing together,
we may not get much warmer.
But we are over here,
waiting at the crossroads.

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, YP, CHN
=====
Can-Can

At
High tide
The ocean
Lifts her foaming
Petticoats before
Performing a can-can
Along Waikiki beaches
With weaving Hula dancers to
Create Toulouse-Lautrec images
Across sand that sparkles like ground diamonds

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
=====
Electric Rain

under street lamp
rain
falls
gathersinpuddles

dapples pucker
dance tarantella

drops
d
i
v
e
plunge    i n t o    s p r e a d i n g     w a t e r

light flashes
smooth surface sparkles blinds
after-image sizzles

flash is not lightning
but blasting wind
whisking pool clear
pool mirrors lamp light
magnifying dazzle

Lynne Craig, Terrell, TX  USA
COMMENT:  Nice visual effect upon the page.
=====
A Sunflower's Story

A seed was planted in the ground
It sprouted without sight or sound
Slowly roots began to form
And even as the ground grew warm
The growth shot upward toward the sun
Its grand finale not yet begun
The stem grew green and strong and straight
Leaves unfurled at a startling rate
As raindrops fell or morning dew
Moisture fed the growth rate too
Soon a head was seen on top
The petals formed but did not stop
Until a flower had grown there
Making people pause and stare
As Spring and Summer fled toward Fall
The flower stood so proud and tall
With yellow petals, framing black
Tasty seeds hid in the back
Until one day it bowed its head
Gave up its seeds for it was dead
Birds feasted on the sunflower seeds
A cycle fulfilling nature's needs

Shelley Culver, Benton, KS, USA
=====
Anything Goes

With grandchildren anything goes
With grandchildren anything goes

Sadie raised her brood of six by a strict set of rules
With grandchildren anything goes
She allowed absolutely no jumping on bed or couch
With grandchildren anything goes
They turn furniture into trampolines, tents and tree-houses
With grandchildren anything goes

As a mom no dessert appeared until all veggies were eaten
With grandchildren anything goes
One bite of spinach earns a bowl of hot peach cobbler
With grandchildren anything goes
No dishwashing duties - there are fireflies to chase
With grandchildren anything goes

Bedtime lights out always set for half past ten
With grandchildren anything goes
She reads the same stories over and over
With grandchildren anything goes
Before last kiss she guides them out to stargaze
With grandchildren anything goes

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
=====
After a Walk in Swampy Woods

When we returned home, I lay down in grass
beneath bare branches of a peach tree.
It was rare that no one cared, so I pressed
my cheek against the lawn and longed to sleep;
the sun warmed the grass, bare branches, and me.

A scatter of geese flew over, and I ached
for migrating flocks of legend; with my eyes closed
I imagined these were flying point, and the skein
was close behind – though I knew the few
lived on a pond at the edge of Foster's field.
I drifted into reverie,
no longer holding reins or schedules or secrets
for others; no longer a mom, but a bird --
a goose perhaps, but a bird nonetheless. I dreamed
of flying up, past the peach tree, the oak,
even past the sycamore with her bare, white arms reaching
to pull me back. I lifted higher, cleared her fingertips.
Sun-cradled, filled, and bathed in a golden stream, I flew!

I opened my eyes to a line of tiny ants
climbing over blades of grass by my nose.
They accepted me, and I accepted them.
And I held my breath against footsteps.

Avonne Griffin, Greer, SC, USA
COMMENT:  This poet makes the point that we create our own mythology, reaching past this illusion that we call life into another world created by our thoughts.  It is real?  Is it imagination?  Nicely done and very thoughtful piece.
=====
Twice Birthed

My sins lie heavy here upon my bed;
a beadsman fingers through the sacred orbs
and someone comes to tend my brow, absorbs
the last of toil's release to cool the dead.
The cold creeps up my legs and past my waist,
my waist, now tiny as when I was young
and I can feel the numbness flood in haste
around a lobe where breath escapes one lung.
I close my eyes and see a tunnel's mouth
and at the end, a glimmer of white lights.
I see my mother there, to take me home.
She claims my soul from earth's long weary drought
to give to me another birth with rights.
She signs my name in Book of Saints great tome.

Yvonne Byrd Nunn, Hermleigh, TX, USA
POET'S NOTE:  This is an Italian Sonnet.
=====
Stately Sentry

Awake at night, I hear your chimes
alone no more, a sentry stands
to keep me safe from heinous crimes.

You speak the hour, your voice commands,
at mid of night, still time to sleep,
to minutes point with able hands.

A face aglow -- moon dial keeps
all facets of the lunar scape,
and when the tides rise, fall and weep.

Pendulum swings, through glass to gape
and watch, the night's dark secrets, tell
should terror strike, a city raped.

Into the light of dawn you quell
all fear -- your tone so gentle, sweet.
The fleeting hours ring like a bell.

With grace, each hour you patient greet,
no arrogance, no crass conceit.

Jeanette Oestermyer, Roswell, NM, USA
=====
I Give My Love

I give my love freely to you
for all the special things you do.
Our hearts sing like a symphony,
stringed musical instruments in harmony,
playing melodically on cue.

Let’s fly like newborn birdies do,
traveling blind without a clue
in a wind blowing carelessly.

Our secret laughter always new
shines like warm sun in skies of blue.
Our joyful hearts beat fleetingly,
today until eternity,
devoted lovers; always true.
I give my love.

Eileen Sateriale, Bowie, MD, USA
COMMENT:  Sweetly written, a love song not just to a lover, but to the universe.
=====
Austerity

The shutter clicks
just as the sun breaks
and in the flash
dewdrops mimic stars.
A subtle shift in molecules
silhouettes the scene, haze submits
to an ocher fire.  I freeze
and capture it
before shadows cast my path.
Disregarding familiar trails,
I walk a field of thistle--dried gray
and spilling seed.  A final stretch
of lichened pebbles
leads to the lake, I separate
a whorl of algae--lilies lie
just beyond my reach--
wade waist deep, not to gather…
simply to inhale.

Judith Schiele, Brandon, MS, USA
POET'S NOTE:  In the language of flowers, a lily represents return of happiness.
=====
Song of Life

Never had I seen an Easter
where nature so seemed to mock the spirit of the day.
The rain continued through the morning,
the sky gray as death,
my mood growing even darker.

Then a note sounded from the front yard,
a single chirp, repeated over and over,
as if waiting for me to answer.
I peered out--my eyes followed the call
to the water-decked shrub outside--

and there among the glowing green of the leaves,
not ten feet from me,
only the glass between us,
sat a crimson cardinal beautiful as light,
chirping and chirping in the rain.

He looked at me,
called out again and again,
then at last flew away into the gloom.
But he left behind him
the spirit of Easter revived.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
=====
Someone Made A Choice

at her birthday party
they sat the new baby on her lap
look grandma five generations
can you believe you've come this far
the cake they made was good
but not as good as hers
a pleasant day before the cold came back
the worst of all the colds she'd had
the bed grew hard in the corner of the house
where she was always the honored guest
her bones ached
the food lost its taste
she moaned and pushed the spoon away
someone made a choice
in a twilight sleep
she heard the comings and goings
they often talked of her
how hard it was for them
no one offered food or drink
never wanted to be a burden someone said
someone watched a ticking clock
someone marked the days
in the corner of a room she lingered
a guest whose welcome had worn out

Anna Wilke, Conroe, TX, USA
COMMENT:  Well described without descending into pathos or sentimentality, a difficult task with this type of topic.  Nicely done.
=====

Back to contents

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

Pause

Thin flames of mist rise bloodless, stark between
dark inert trees where silence silts in wells
and settles on the shadow-soaked terrain.
While torpor spreads, subverts the meager soil,
small beasts curl under layers of decay;
immobile loops of claw and paw wound tight,
interred by change, chilled by an unseen sun.
As frost draws ragged razors through raw air,
so feral coils slip anchor, set to sail
the drowsy rhythmic tide of earth’s dull pulse.
Adrift, like breath exhaled, they float upon
a spectral sea of life deferred; beyond
grey sleep’s low headland, free, immersed in dreams
awash with sultry memories of spring.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

Seer of Seers

My mama said when I was just a kit
Dear Phil, it is better to be groundhogs
Than our porcine distant cousins for
Although the children never think of us
When naming toes or reading stories told
About the types of houses that we build
We don't end up on breakfast tables as
A sizzling sausage - bacon served with eggs
Or grandpa's crackling bread with buttermilk.
Instead we’re honored right along with Hearts,
The first George W. and Honest Abe.
For people look to us as Seer of Seers
And trust our seasonal predictions more
Than almanacs and weather satellites.
It's not so bad to have our comatose
Hibernation interrupted to trot
Us out prognosticating hoping we
Will ham it up before the cameras
Then returning to our restful snooze
Let’s count our lucky stars for evolution.

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA

The Lady and the Snake

The first crocus transformation brings
Lee tugging dormant plants from basement sleep.
She finds a three foot snakeskin black as pitch.
It circled gently round clay pots until
She stopped and shuddered feeling crawling skin.
For she was harboring her dreaded enemy
Below her bedroom where she cuddled warm
Beneath down quilts with Burpee catalogues
While planting seeds in mental beds for spring.
Lee sees the skin a gift to understand,
Her foolish phobia evaporates.
She realizes hibernating joined
The lady and the snake in lifelong bonds.
As wintry winds whipped around the house
The summer promises the two will meet.
Again, he'll slither throught her gardens,
She will not run or hide, but whisper calm
Extending him a fall invitation
To sleep through next winter sheltered inside.

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
COMMENT:  Nice scene.  Beautifully described.  Interesting use of topic, melding the current winter's hibernation with an age-old enmity.
==========
THIRD PLACE - TIE

Barely There

Before it's spring, they sleep beneath the snow;
the two subsist in one soft ball of fur
with dimpled eyes, and noses that won't twitch
until they sniff and stretch their sturdy legs.

The world, a gray and granite cave of grace
that fosters dreams until young faith is sight,
will keep the cold a distant, howling song
that only serves to lull a quickened heart.

A warm and quiet mountain, temporal love,
will sleep between the ball of fur and harm,
then lead her cubs into a world of light
where berries, black and juicy, fill the woods.

The daystar rises slowly in the east;
each morning shadows feed a warmer climb.

Avonne Griffin, Greer, SC, USA
COMMENT:  Beautiful scene, as if cut directly from the fabric of the wilderness.  Nice pun in the title and the final word; excellent for younger readers, for it's so easy to read!  Fine use of form.  Very well done.
==========
OTHER POEMS
==========
Chicken Snakes

Inverted igloo carved within the earth
holds nest of slender bodies twirled, entwined
this head-to-tail-to-head of sleeping snakes
wakes not to fear the tool held in his hand

Awake, they bear him no amount of ill
yet he, the king of genocide, bears them
on barbed wire fence posts drying in the sun
stark testimony to a battle song

Sung solo -- as they slept, about them slung
a hoe to head … to head … to head, until all
were but a bloodied pulp within the lair
and could he, he would do the deed again

“Live and let live” … such thoughts he can’t embrace
From father/son -- to son-- the lesson taught
while eggs are revenue, alas the snakes
are but a blight the farmer tries to expunge

SJ Baldock, Lancaster, TX, USA
========
Bearclaws

When winter’s coat of snow begins to shed
And sunbeams run like honey from the sky,
I lift my head, and sniff the air, and stir.
The bears are waking – so am I – it’s time
To blink away the blur of dreams and see
The buds that climb and open to the air.
With just such glee as bears emerge from caves,
My fingers flair from mittens, stretch and curl.
For something in them craves the kiss of spring –
The winds that twirl, the sky that rains, the earth
That seems to sing.  My hands aren’t human hands
But paws of massive girth that shake the ground.
They seek the land’s renewal, dig for roots,
And pound the stumps of last year’s failing trees.
Yet gentle on the shoots, they touch new life
The season frees, and turn the mud for more.
My pruning knife and shears become my claws.
The sycamore and thimbleberry yield.
In spring they never pause, but months wind down …
In autumn’s field, my bear paws seek their rest.

Elizabeth Barrette, Charleston, IL, USA
=========
Morning Hibernation

Snuggle deep cocoon of softness, sweetness
Refracted life, a haziness of being
Push away the outside dig deep, stay deep
Ignore the light that calls from high above
Burrow in settle, settle, settle in
Ignore the birds that call you from outside
Shift, moan, shift, groan, sink into the bedding
Coldness waits, high stepping on the hardwood
The world waits, deadlines, demands, reprimands
Draw close the comfort, cover, let it wait

Tiffany Caldwell, Morton, PA, USA
=========
This Cave is too Snug

If I were young again and lithe
of heart and limb as I was long ago,
this morning mist would call to me to tramp
abroad among the trees dew-dripped with chill,
the fruit of sudden spring-soft rains that dropped
from leaden skies that hid the struggling sun.

But now I choose a fire that warms the knees
and hibernate among the quilts that keep
away the cold of one more stubborn front -
to dream of ending winter’s long estate.

Lynne Craig, Terrell, TX, USA
========
Hibernation Becomes Action’s Buzz

Like verdure’s peaks of floral greens wine down,
and bears that sleep through winter’s chill away
from life of action’s buzz, they drowse for months
in dormant state and age while resting there.

The bears grow hungry.  They will covet food.
The hidden shelter, cave, or lair restricts
their chow.  When they awake, their appetites
and belly howls react as famish dearth,

yet those around supply the bears in grubs
and eats.  Their season’s nap and rest inflates
the spasm jerks with brutal pangs from lack
of food.  Likewise, the mortals want them fed.

For months they lay quiescent, calm, and still;
with stomach full, the bears become quid-nunc
and on the prowl to probe the time they’ve lost.
Now action’s buzz will help them add new pounds.

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
==========
And With the Dawn

Night approaches, my eyes heavy with grief,
my soul weary, divine rest my desire.
Escape the world into darkness of dusk,
oblivious to those who hurt, who cry.

Though I am blessed, yet small in status, weak,
the need to serve the hopeless lost persists.
So from the throes of pain I exit now
in dormancy, asleep through hidden days.

Within my hibernation, shall I dream,
where I may see a road that leads me back?
Sweet peace, lost hope, dear love – greatest of all,
that tells me to return – this dream is real.

Then will I rise again to see the dawn,
the morning sun a lamp of golden light?
And will I forge my way to strands unknown,
all earth so bright, a lantern’s fiery glow?

Jeanette Oestermyer, Roswell, NM, USA
========
Just Like Them

When days grow shorter and the air grows cool,
So many creatures go to bed for months.
But first they stuff themselves to build up strength--
While autumn skies are still so blue and bright,
How do these creatures know they must prepare?

When days are short and nights are biting cold,
The creatures snuggle in their winter dens;
There being little left to do outside,
They only venture forth on scattered days
Of fleeting warmth beneath a cloudless sky.

We also share the wish to hibernate,
We humans who, on frigid winter days,
Eat rich and filling foods before we sleep
And snuggle under covers when we wake
As if we hope no chores will call us forth.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
========
Hibernation

We sleep and dream of other days when we
as heroes fought for life and peace and home;
now dreams possess our minds and hearts in whole.

We study not the rug our leaders weave.
Obsessed by colors bright we don't inspect
the trueness of the warp and weft cartooned.

We take the rag straight from the oaken loom
regardless of the lack of finish shear and wrap
ourselves in ruddy dreams and hibernate.

Gary Wade, Seymour, IA, USA
========

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WINNER OF A $50.00 ELECTRONIC BOOK GIFT CERTIFICATE

Pause

Thin flames of mist rise bloodless, stark between
dark inert trees where silence silts in wells
and settles on the shadow-soaked terrain.
While torpor spreads, subverts the meager soil,
small beasts curl under layers of decay;
immobile loops of claw and paw wound tight,
interred by change, chilled by an unseen sun.
As frost draws ragged razors through raw air,
so feral coils slip anchor, set to sail
the drowsy rhythmic tide of earth’s dull pulse.
Adrift, like breath exhaled, they float upon
a spectral sea of life deferred; beyond
grey sleep’s low headland, free, immersed in dreams
awash with sultry memories of spring.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

At the end of 2005, the winners of each quarter's Editor's Choice will be entered in the Favorite Poem of 2005 Competition, judged by our members.

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