Spring 2006 Edition
April through June
Sol Magazine, A Quarterly Poetry Journal.  2006: The eighth year of a ten-year project of volunteers interested in the education of poets.
 © 2006 Sol Magazine
We dedicate this issue to those who strive to communicate big ideas in few words, including Donald Hall, United States Poet Laureate, 2006-2007. 

Poetry Works "EDITORS:  
Got Carpel Tunnel Syndrome 
from Writing Rejection Letters?"
As Flowers Bloom: Unrhymed Quatrain
Sights and Scents of Spring: Unrhymed Quatrain
Lyric Poem
Epigraph or Series
"Smelly Doufu is Cooking in 
Yunnan’s City of Eternal Spring"
Contact info


"EDITORS:  Got Carpel Tunnel Syndrome from Writing Rejection Letters? "
by Mary Margaret Carlisle
(link takes you to Poetry Works page)


APRIL -- AS FLOWERS BLOOM -- Unrhymed Quatrain

In honor of National Poetry Month, poets were asked to write a poem or series of poems about the ephemeral quality of flowers.  We awarded two first places, one for Series of Poems, one for Single Poem.  We received so many entries that we were only able to include the winners and a few other selected poems.  Thank you for your submissions.

As Flowers Bloom

1. Variations on a theme by autumn: White

The mute cry of an arum’s lolling tongue;
provocatively flared; stung raw by blows
of flogging sunlight. Closing like an eye,
unseen, ingesting the infections of the unstoppable morning.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

2. Variations on a theme by autumn: Yellow

Premature, magnolias, arisen like belief,
detonate immaculate perfumes upon the liquid air.
Unnoticed, leaving a bare mellow absence;
a fragrant shadow blended into my insecure memory.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

3.  Variations on a theme by autumn: Red

Dark roses shake in ash-dry cerise fists,
victims of a lost day’s slow arc and dull decay.
Clogging, blooms of canker tan, consume;
until each empty heart tumbles unheard, like my mourning silence.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

4.  Variations on a theme by autumn: Violet

Trapped in life’s flux of growth and soft decay,
fuchsias, mauled by conspiracies of corruption, sprawl.
Alone I hear, in the star-freighted dark, their rustle of regrets
before comforts of leaf fall in autumn’s necessary sadness.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

I Fear Crocuses

It's difficult to dare more than those blossoms
each spring, your memory so fresh and pure
that I fear crocuses - the color of fingertips
gently on skin, so quickly fading, unnoticed.

James M. Thompson, Baytown, TX, USA

As Flowers Bloom

1.  Lotus

Lotus flower
your perfect beauty
springs from muddy water
that soon must take you back.

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, Yunnan Province, CHN

2.  Poppy

You now stand naked in the field
your petals lost and gone.
And what the world can do with you,
might make you shed a tear.

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, Yunnan Province, CHN

3.  Snowdrop

Pretty little snowdrop,
show off while you can.
Beneath the melting snow
the bluebells wait in line.

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, Yunnan Province, CHN

4.  Rose

Proud beauty,
perfect rose.
In summer
winter waits.

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, Yunnan Province, CHN

A Final Drink

Drops of pearls refresh its skin a final rain trickles down
barely reaching, a withering cup
lilts quietly in breeze’s dull sounds
color pale with vivid thoughts sweeps gently to the dust.

Linda Balboni, Franklin, MA, USA

White Camellias

Camellia petals fall like snow
and rot like brown slush. Unsightly.
But between the glossy leaves,
tiny green fruits peep out.

Tiel Aisha Ansari, Portland, OR, USA
Blue-Bottle Watercolor

Sweet starry flowers of bluebottle weed
Painted with dust of blossoms past
Fingers bruise closely held petals, together
We wind to a path I know will end at the white gate.

Carmen Bashore, Los Angeles, CA, USA

Rainbow plumeria leis bobble above the battleship.
At sunset, fading gold and pink blossoms
Shrivel and join the harbor of pearls
Whose futures slipped below the surface.

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
My Grandmother Weeding Her Flowerbed

When the sun crosses the vernal equinox,
The memory of my Grandmother returns,
She kneels among variegated blossoms,
Pulling fingers of crabgrass.

Neva F. Darbe, Las Vegas, NV, USA
Day on Stage

Silky poppy petals as sheer as butterfly wings sway in
Spring breezes for a day, wither then flutter onto
Black loam signaling sunflower seedlings to shoot up
Pale green leaves marking their transient debut

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
Lady’s Slipper Orchids Weep

I’m saddened to see the orchids fade.
They pale in color in cooler climates.
Such delicate, purple showy flowers ebb when
transported, and like Cinderella’s slippers, are lost.

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, NM, USA
May Day's New Dress

Small yellow daisies dot the prairie's hills
repeating growth from last year's wind-strewn seeds
and in their bobbing through the skipping breeze
leave next year's seeds dispersed by grains of sand.

Yvonne Byrd Nunn, Hermleigh, TX, USA
Painting A Trillium

Petals open, turn the woodland floor white,
blush and soon leave, hundreds of stems empty.
Alone, one remnant wildflower lingers,
a mauve sun hanging in early June heat.

Kathy Paupore, Iron Mountain, MI, USA
For the Orchid on the Sill

Was it only last spring you bloomed?
Pale purple petals too soon dry on the stalk.
Water and fresh soil, the sound of wind chimes
and my voice. . .when will you flower again?

Terrie Leigh Relf, San Diego, CA, USA
Cycles of Color

Silver rain soaked the lawn this weekend,
a rainbow of wildflowers sprang up by Monday.
Today is Friday and green grass rules again,
more rain predicted for Sunday afternoon.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA

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Poets were asked to emulate a form created by Chinese poet, Guian Xiu.  Most who entered captured the spirit of that poet.


Smelly Doufu is Cooking in Yunnan’s City of Eternal Spring

Haigeng Park comes alive. Kites reach far into Kunming sky.
Children are shouting at play. Winter clothes stay at home.
Boats go far out on Dianchi Lake. A fish splashes on the line.
Smelly doufu is cooking. The world warms, south of the clouds.

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, Yunnan Province, CHN

Swansea Bay as Spring Catches the Morning Tide

The old world sleeps. Water kisses the waiting shore.
Salt stings the tongue. Smoke sails through rippled mudflats.
Oystercatchers dance. Spring surfs in on a breaking wave.
Seaweed and fresh bread. See how a new world rises.

Caroline Gill, Swansea, Wales, GBR

Poem Written Near the Creek's Edge in Early Spring

Hush of cold morning rain.  Flow of water over stones.
Pooling of white froth.  A pair of mallards flap and splash.
Wet leaf mold, moss, and mud.  The first bloodroot buds.
A poet takes out her notebook.  A wildflower blossoms.

Kathy Paupore, Iron Mountain, MI, USA

Contemplations of an 80-Year-Old Sitting on Patio at Daybreak

Coffee aroma curls from cup. Tea olive scents tickle my nose.
Sheer sheets of fog slide across lake. Fish slap surface.
Towhee trills coaxing song. Feathered balls tumble from nest.
Spring envelops me. Will I see these miracles next year?

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA

Early Spring at Ruby Marsh from the Front Seat of a Truck

The cold is overcast all day. Tules display shades of drab.
A coyote lopes down the dike road. Cranes rattle and dance.
A snowfall clears the stage. The melt shapes a layer of smells.
I wipe dust from the dashboard. A meadowlark restarts the marsh.

Mike McCulley, Montesano, WA, USA

Poem Concerning A Lawnmower And A Small Bird

I'm mowing the yard. Hot sun and sticky sweat.
An empty nest in the hedge. Wings flutter below.
The lawnmower howls. The bird's cries go unheard.
Red splatters the green. I smell cut grass.

Tiel Aisha Ansari, Portland, OR, USA
Migrating Formosan Termites Discover Ideal Abode in Springtime

Swarming on diaphanous wings. We spy your Victorian home.
Begin rapping tapping on your chamber door. There's no answer.
Our Kamikaze-like soldiers invade.  Takes a heap of chewing.
To make your house our musty hollowed home. Don't call Terminix.

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
When the Sun Breaks Through, Everyone Comes to Play in the Garden

Dandelion mingles with crabgrass.  Raindrop splashes on a pebble.
God-light streaks through dull clouds.  Gusts twirl pollen dots.
Fuchsia tulip peeks through mulch.  Daffodils gaily wave at them.
Little girl proudly shows off grass stains.  Her brother giggles.

RJ Clarken, Hillsborough, NJ, USA
Regarding the Way in which the New Equinox Welcomes Lost Birds

Tilted, a world thunders. Short rains herald certain rebirth.
Skies absorb dissolved clouds. Raw shoots pierce yielding soils.
Tresses of blooms tumble from arced bows. Perfumed, airs swell.
Color exceeds meaning. So summonsed, the forgotten birds return.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA
Early Spring Showcases the Canyon’s Wall and its Activities

Quiet on the canyon’s rim.  A chilling howl at midnight.
Cactuses’ bloom at dawn.  Toads rustle in brier mounds.
Rains sprinkle cracked prairies.  Thistles pop underfoot.
Rabbits hop to rhythm’s tunes.  The wolf’s whelp wails now.

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, New Mexico, USA
Depression Resturants Smoke Free for Working Noon Diners

Depression photo survives the thirties.  Paint flecks dot walls.
Smokers stand outside.  Tulips nod to Prince Albert's rolls.
Inside, cook spoons beans into plate.  Tops with onion slice.
Decades pass.  Coughs curl salad bars and Nicotine fogs greens.

Yvonne Byrd Nunn,  Hermleigh, TX, USA
Thoughts on Gathering Fallen Eggshells Beneath a Water Oak

Emerald anole flashes ruby throat. Cardinal calls crimson notes.
Bluejays heckle sleeping cat. Grackles cackle at private jokes.
Eggshell shards look like mushroom caps. Tragic remainders?
Unfounded fears. Nesting doves above have new mouths to feed.

John E. Rice, Houston, TX, USA
If Eliot had only Composed in Southern Arabia during April 1921

Lilacs don’t bloom here. Verdant scents are drowned by dust.
Sand, rocks choke life from the earth. It’s unwanting ground.
The sun sits in your lap. Heat reclines in a fat tyrant’s repose.
Spend some time here, T.S. You’d realize the cruelty of spring.

Brady Riddle, Muscat, Sultanate of Oman
Written on the Texas Coast at the Height of Warbler Migration

Something moves in the treetop. Shadows flit through the leaves.
Neck and eyes strain to follow. A flash of gold, a blaze of blue.
Tiny wings, never still. Tiny beaks, probing for insects.
Building their energy. Miles north, a new generation will hatch.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
The Playfulness of Spring Covers an Gleeful Spread

When the eggshell cracks, it is spring.  New life leaps forth.
Friends visit while grills sizzle.  Rose scents fill the air.
Ice cycles and snow melt.  Streams gush sparkling water.
Children play baseball.  The ladies adorn with new frocks.

Troyce L. Tollison, Anderson, SC, USA
In our Scheme

Moving sunshine draws so near
And a petal flies, like a forgotton kiss
Cool air as breeze sets, where earth flows
Spring shares in our scheme, as one

Pavlino Vera Cruz, Abilene, TX, USA

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Poets were asked both follow the structural example of the Chinese poet, He Qifang, in his poem, "In the Moonlight," using three clear comparisons about the moon.

Midnight’s Subtleties

Hand-borne pen, paper eyes look to the moon—
silhouetted breast cupped against the night sky
illuminated pool that slakes seeking minds
island oasis amidst a spanning black sea;
Mother womb, primordial image of dreams.

Brady Riddle, Muscat, Sultanate of Oman

COMMENTS:  Unique imagery opens the imagination of the reader.  Precise word choices bring structure to this fine free verse.
Oyster Moon

The moon falls into the sea--
white oyster
pearl within oyster
grain of stone within pearl.
I dive for it.

Tiel Aisha Ansari, Portland, OR, USA

COMMENTS:  This poem presents three sparse comparisons in a delicate way that allows the reader to "fill in" the beauty of the moment.  No unnecessary words were used.  This poem is simple, elegant, and beautiful, and it develops the topic in stages from large to small in the same way that Matryoshka dolls nest, one within the other.
Winter Moon: Shadows and Dust

Diminished, day returns to ash
beneath the moon; the oyster's shell,
a fractured opal, scared and flawed
which drifts, a single pearl on pitch,
before the tungsten breath of night.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

COMMENTS:  Very clear imagery that carries the thoughts of the poet to the reader gently, like a drifting cloud.
Shiver Silver Moon

Cold floating thin silver edged upside down fingernail
Shy smile of an Eskimo girl's first snowy lipped kiss
Frozen pearl flavored rind of Honeydew Melon
Half halo lit perch stage for the singing Nightingale
Illuminated ice carved cradle for two baby stars

Yvonne Maria Londres, San Antonio, TX, USA

COMMENTS:  Original and lovely, this poem immediately captures the interest of the reader.
Hidden Moonbeams

This night I will know these secrets--
the corona of the ipomoea alba,
the pyres of paper birch in deep woods,
and the opalescence of albite
as it whispers in the motion of the waves.

Kathy Paupore, Iron Mountain, MI, USA

COMMENTS:  Some readers may not know the precise meaning of these images, but the tone and feeling of the poem is unmistakably romantic.  The kind of work that brings "ahhh" to mind and tongue.
EDITOR’S NOTE:  Albite is a common white feldspar composed of a silicate of alumna and soda.
Light Lender

Moon lends her light to my room
Like a night-blooming cereus unfurled
Like Caspian Terns riding thermal breezes
Like disk dosinia shells drifting to shore
Mesmerizes me until I turn toward sleep.

Lois Lay Castiglioni, Galveston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Nicely written piece that takes the reader into the scene, a kind of "catch and release" program, that sends the reader on with a sigh.
My Show

Luna shyly begins twenty-eight day trek in western sky
Like a silver sliver, a sly crocodile smile
Like a lucious orange sliced in half by mid-month
Like a yellow pumpkin etched with old lady's face when full
Disappears a few nights leaves me waiting for repeat show

Kay Lay Earnest, Smyrna, GA, USA
COMMENTS:  Well told in the form of the example poem, with wonderful comparisons.

A coracle sailed through the sky
Like a sea-washed star on a stormy night
Like a streamlined cat with a captain’s eye
Like a submarine in a shaft of light
when it disappeared like a swan in flight.

Caroline Gill, Swansea, Wales, GBR
COMMENTS:  Good imagery and comparisons tell a succinct story.  Interesting word choices and metaphors.
Frog, on the Moon

A sliver moon grips the dark
like a talon wiped clean
like a hooked beak with black eyes
like silent night screams
without wrinkling the pool.

Mike McCulley, Montesano, WA, USA
COMMENTS:  Good story-telling with gripping imagery.
Moonlight Serenade

Tonight I’m sure of a lullaby,
a blend of the night owl’s screech
with a timber wolf’s howl to his young,
over the cactus buds shimmering reds,
from canyons’ rim to the valley’s floor.

Carol Dee Meeks, Artesia, New Mexico, USA
COMMENTS:  This musical medley that speaks of the voices of wild critters is very well written, allowing the reader to just catch sight of the moon in the title.
A Winter Moon

Lunar rays move through the dark in dance
Like agile desert maids in flimsy weave
Like milk weed shadows in a gentle breeze
Like white caps ripple through the cove
and burst on desert night

Yvonne Nunn, Hermleigh, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  This poet's unusual moon similies are structured beautifully, for while each carries its own meaning, each in turn also seems to be compared to the one following.  Very well done.
Koi Pond by Moonlight

A single lotus unfurls its petals into the
night sky, its leaves hidden in shadow, its roots
in murky depths.  Koi rise to the surface, the
crescent arc of their tails, a soft silver. . .
so lovely beneath the pale agate orb.

Terrie Leigh Relf, San Diego, CA, USA
COMMENTS:  The changing topics of this poem float well in perfect balance as Koi rise and lotus unfurls.
Watching the Summer Moon

Shy at first, from beneath her midnight-blue veil she shows
only a nacreous thumbnail, a shard of shell. Even full-faced,
a pocked pearl, she flirts from behind flying clouds. Her
late-night lantern lays a lighted ladder across the loon's lake
until she turns away, beneath the veil once more.

John E. Rice, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  This poem is a wondrous box packed with the poetic tools of expressive language, careful word placement, intentional alliteration, and metaphor.  Well written!
Half Moon in the Country

It glows in an endless field of stars,
Golden as a daffodil at grass level,
Rippled as the water on the lake
Where it glistens like a hovering dragonfly
And smiles back at itself.

Katherine Swarts, Houston, TX, USA
COMMENTS:  Fine descriptions add to the lovely lyrical language of the poem.

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Poetry Month Challenge -- ABOUT POETRY -- EPIGRAPH OR SERIES

Leo F. Waltz (Webster, TX),
Monica Martino (Plano, TX),
Lois Lay Castiglioni (Galveston, TX),
Kay Lay Earnest (Smyrna, GA).

To celebrate Poetry Month, poets were invited to write several poems that use epigraphs, or create a series of poems under a series title.  We received so many entries that we could only publish a portion of those submitted for consideration.  Our thanks to all those who participated.

Katherine Swartz, a longtime contributor to Sol Magazine, suggests this source may be inspirational to those interested in the practice of writing with epigraphs:  http://www.quotegarden.com/writing.html
FIRST PLACE ~ Winner of a $50.00 book gift certificate from Barnes & Noble

Hearing Voices
"The poet doesn't invent.  He listens."  ~Jean Cocteau

Listen: what do you hear?
I hear a dead tree weeping in the rain,
sorrow hangs from her naked branches.
In the deep ocean, salmon sing of the return home.
Leaves whisper in the wind's tongue.
I hear cicadas in their strident triumph,
seventeen years of darkness ended at last.
Like a seashell lamenting the distant sea,
I empty myself and echo the world's voices
and call it poetry.

Tiel Aisha Ansari, Portland, OR, USA

Speaking in Tongues
"This poetry. I never know what I am going to say." ~Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

I swear I didn't write this--
this vision in a shattered mirror
this symphony for train-whistle, accordion and zither
this feast of knucklebones and armadillo chili,
speech fit only for Harlequin's painted mouth.
Poem? It's more like a blueprint on a crumpled napkin--
for a cathedral designed by Escher and John Cage!
I'm far too sane for that. Someone stole my pen,
scribbled these lines when I wasn't looking,
and signed my name.

Tiel Aisha Ansari, Portland, OR, USA

COMMENTS:  These poems speak for themselves in the loud ringing tones of excellent metaphor, assured style, restrained alliteration, understated nuance, as well as word play, wit, content, and so much more than can be enumerated here.  Very well done, indeed.

"Poetry is what gets lost in translation." ~Robert Frost

My brain interprets
reverberating whispers
from dendrite to axon.

My spirit weeps
when the sweet phrases it whispered
become mutated stanzas
in the journal of my desire.

Neva F. Darbe, Las Vegas, NV, USA

"A poem is never finished, only abandoned." ~Paul Valéry

My onyx blade slices
through words and phrases,
through metaphors and similes,
until stanzas are transformed into lines
and lines are transmuted into syllables.

Afraid of permanent disfigurement,
I acquiesce to wisdom
and forsake
my pursuit of perfection.

Neva F. Darbe, Las Vegas, NV, USA

COMMENTS:  This poet chose two succinct epigraphs, then deveoped the themes presented.  A nice balance between famous sayings from well-known poets, and the richness of language and ideas of the poems.  Nicely done.
O, then I must a lover be…
"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact." ~ William Shakespeare, Mid-Summer Night's Dream

'twas pyrrhic, when the spondee came
all strophe-strophe to my cell;
and with his volta dactyl slew
that tercet, wrenched-rhyme villanelle.
Pantoum! Pantoum! There was no stress,
just haiku, when with assonance,
inverted he his measured feet
and bid we canto, in a dance.
Then, over ode along diphthong
we troped heroic couplets; we
sang kyrielles a meter long
and swam, like ictus in the sea.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

Rhyme and Reason
"Poetry consists of a rhyming dictionary and things" ~ Gertrude Stein

Will Shakespeare, Keats and Eliot would always choose to rhyme,
why, even Dylan Thomas, liked a rhyme, from time to time.
Spender wrote them as did Pound and while Whitman explored ‘em,
if Ted Hughes didn’t always use, well Auden just adored ‘em.
So why most modern poets turn their backs upon this style
and write unformed, unrhymed free verse, strikes me as
being a bit of a puzzle, really
…when I think about it.

Phill Doran, Johannesburg, RSA

COMMENTS:  These poems are great fun.  Light attitude and wordplay bring attention to both the inspiration for the work, and the development of the work, a tricky tightrope to walk in poetry.  The langugage of each poem corresponds to that of its epigraph.  Nicely done.
Hand Me Down
"I have the failing of my tribe. I believe in the sacred rites of conversation even when it is a monologue." ~ Gertrude Stein

Look at her hands then and now look at her hands.
If nouns are a thing and a thing is passed generation
from generation past then these pointers were pointed
and possibly pointless at some point, yet here
they are there they were and are amiable and amiably
masculine with mannishly muscular features folded
into themselves are both all ours and her own strong
mannerism is our characteristic characteristically
handed hand to hand both male and female equally
able to ably do as capably or as capable handedness
from one to another which is or is not always.

Karen L. Monahan, Hubbard, TX, USA

"So I began to translate and before I knew it a very strange thing had happened." ~ Gertrude Stein

There is not a name for this this attraction that is not attractive
not attractive at all to me the attraction the attraction that there is not a name.
Not that I am not attractive I am attractive to the thing without a name which is not attractive not attractive not attractive to me but to some its attractiveness is there but not to me the attraction. A fly to a fly is attractive and is not the attraction without a name the noun without a name is a thing that is carried with the skill of a spy and I am the attractive code to break the attractive gem worth stealing the noun's attractive noun the thing's person in a place often used as a thing by the person in a place that is not a thing.

Karen L. Monahan, Hubbard, TX, USA

COMMENTS:  Stream of consciousness poems are difficult to pull off, but this poet managages nicely, developing the thematic material of the chosen quotes without remaining bound by their limitations.  Each experiments with language and the development of thought, and in the piling up of words and ideas builds a strong mood.  Well-written, interesting works.
It's lily Time Again

1.  The Call of Spring

Swelled bulbs
in winter warmth
respond in fetal kicks
when primary roots sip from straws
of life.

Yvonne Byrd Nunn, Hermleigh, TX, USA

2.  The Breaking of Ground

Soil cracks,
tiny fissures
form pinked crevice vee cuts
before resurrected orb shoots
reach light.

Yvonne Byrd Nunn, Hermleigh, TX, USA

3.  Behold a Bud

It springs
from buried corms
when rugged trees leaf out
to shield fragile blooms with vague scents
of birth.

Yvonne Byrd Nunn, Hermleigh, TX, USA

COMMENTS:  Beautifully developed series on a single theme.  Succinct, lilting language shows an elegance of simplicty that allows the material to shine.
She Just Can’t Stop Writing
"Writing is the best way to talk without being interrupted."  ~Jules Renard

Blasting so fast until
present is future
zip-zagging through obstacles
no matter the weather no
stopping for red lights or
oncoming traffic with horn
blaring hair flying thoughts
flinging off of her mind

Terrie Leigh Relf, San Diego, CA, USA

This Woman’s Work
"Writing is the only thing that, when I do it, I don't feel I should be doing something else."  ~  Gloria Stenem

Before words, thoughts;
before pen to paper,
fingers to keys, a cascade
of dishes and laundry:
froth of lemon soap,
sound of water sloshing.
But there are better ways
to remove stains, to wring
dirt from a poem…
scented fresh from the
printer, it’s been through
multiple cycles in my mind.

Terrie Leigh Relf, San Diego, CA, USA

COMMENTS:  To remain poetic while describing a process is difficult, but this poet not only retains the cadence and feel of poetry in these works, but also fulfills the sequential details of process promised by each epigraph.  Very well done!

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Each quarter, we choose one poem to honor with the title of EDITOR'S CHOICE.  This quarter, we've chosen this fine poem written in the style of Chinese poet, Guian Xiu.

Smelly Doufu is Cooking in Yunnan’s City of Eternal Spring

Haigeng Park comes alive. Kites reach far into Kunming sky.
Children are shouting at play. Winter clothes stay at home.
Boats go far out on Dianchi Lake. A fish splashes on the line.
Smelly doufu is cooking. The world warms, south of the clouds.

Colin William Campbell, Kunming, Yunnan Province, CHN

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Ampersand Poetry Journalhttp://sol-magazine-projects.org/prodigy/sol.arts.editor/
Summer Edition now online.  Read both journal and guidelines before submitting work.

Aplomado Falcon Literary News Online:  Writing events from anywhere in Texas! Houston, Dallas, Austin, The Woodlands, the Bay Area, etc.  If you wish your poetry or writing event posted at our website, send a complete event blurb with contact information to: Sol.Events@prodigy.net

Aplomado Falcon Literary News via E-Mail:  Bay Area writing & poetry events (Webster, Seabrook, Nassau Bay, Clear Lake City, Kemah, League City, Galveston).  If you wish to e-mail news of Bay Area events to local poets, send a very brief event blurb (who what when where) with total contact information to: Sol.Editor@prodigy.net

Texas Poetry Events:  http://www.sol-magazine.org/events.htm

Mary Margaret Carlisle, Executive Director
Leo F. Waltz, Event & Web Manager

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