Sol Magazine
April 2000 Edition

Sol Magazine © 2000

APRIL POETRY EDITION
PART ONE - The Business of Poetry

    CONTENTS
WELCOME
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
APRIL IN THE WOODS
POETRY WORKS
RANDOM WINNERS
GLOSSARY
ON THE WEB
SPOTLIGHT

APRIL PART TWO - WRITING POETRY
(Part Two follows Part One; you can click on this note to go to it from here)



APRIL'S JUDGE:  KATHY KEHRLI
APRIL'S SPONSORS:  MARTHA KIRBY CAPO, DON CASTIGLIONI

Sol Magazine sponsored Nerinx Hall High School's Waltz Poetry Competition 2000, and annual Carlisle Writing Awards.  The poetry was gathered into an Anthology, which is published both on our website and in a softcover edition.  Contact the Managing Editor for purchase information.


Twice a month, Sol Magazine sponsors poetry contests.  From the results, we produce an electronic poetry magazine.  It is published on or near the last day of each month.  The winners are posted to our website at:

http://pages.prodigy.com/sol_magazine

Our topics touch on a variety of subjects about nature and the nature of humanity.  Our purpose is to educate poets, and to foster the reading and writing of short poetry.  We are not a vanity press.  Not every poem submitted will be published.


WELCOME:  Linda Harvey, M.E. Hough, Duane Locke, Virginia Raiteri, Adrienne Schmidt, Bill Silver, and Kate Strickland.

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR

News from Roberta Bowman - Lena Norman, of the Fort Worth Poetry Society of Texas, is gravely ill.  Please include her in your prayers.
 

News from Galveston:  Professor John Gorman broke his elbow in a fall from a ladder.  Mending well, he hopes to be at Galveston Poets Roundtable in May.

Dear Sol:  I collaborated with a nature photographer a couple of years ago, and won 1st place in a Prose and Poetry Competition. Cliff Meinhardt hadn't mentioned he was entering the work, so I was surprised to find out how well it had done. TAACCL's June issue will feature results of the competition.  Martha Kirby Capo, Houston, TX. (TAACCL = The Arts Alliance Council of Clear Lake.)



ALPHA POETS - APRIL IN THE WOODS

Awakening
 

Stretching, yawning, seedlings rise
Pushing lifeless leaves away
Heeding the silent call of Spring
This sunny April day.
 

In the woods, creatures stir
Slowly opening their eyes
To an earth all draped in green
Dressed in its Spring disguise.
 

Lynne Remick, Nesconset, NY

COMMENTS FROM OUR POETS, JUDGES, EDITORS: The rhyme pattern adds a lilting quality, slowly coaxing the reader along just like spring coaxes nature awake.  Almost fairylike in its envisioning of the awakening of plants and creatures, showing the mystery of new life as if from behind the scenes.  The dramatic quality is reinforced by the final word, "disguise," lending strangeness to the gentle drama and reminds us that spring itself is change.  Rhyme used so effectively as to be almost unnoticed. A wonderful sense of Spring's dawning and its affect on all living things.  Love the movement of the words - "stretching, yawning," "pushing lifeless leaves away", "creatures stir....opening their eyes."  Enjoyed the unfolding saga of all awakening to a green "spring disguise."  Much in few words.  A verbal, vernal energy bar.  Good use of meter and subtle external rhyme.  Allows us to witness spring's approach.  Effective use of action words throughout.  Simple, yet so appealing.  I'm there and I'd love for the poet to take us back for a return visit!  What April creates in all of us.  Graphic imagery with smooth-flowing cadence. Made me want to dig in my garden.  This poem captures the true essence of "April in the Woods," and paints a vivid image of its revitalization.



POETRY WORKS
April's Judge Speaks
by Kathy Kehrli

Working as a poetry judge can be very exacting.  First, look to see that the author has carefully followed all instructions.  Line limits, word limits, syllable counts and rhyme specifications must all be followed.  Next, look for advanced use of poetic devices. Alliteration, consonance and assonance add to the flow of a poem.  Metaphors and similes lend interesting comparisons.  If rhyme is used, natural and unforced is to be preferred.  Attention to detail shows a poet has studied the craft and is serious about writing.  The final step is narrowing down the remaining poems to those that best exemplify the given topic.  A fresh, unique, comical or original approach to a theme can make any entry a standout and a clear cut winner.

More from Kathy Kehrli, Contributing Editor Suite 101's "Books You May Have Missed," at http://www.suite101.com/welcome.cfm/books_missed


RANDOM WINNERS

DIANE DAVIS and BONNIE WILLIAMS:  You are each a winner!  We drew your names at random from among those who sent us information about what was happening in your area during National Poetry Month.  Contact us with address confirmation, and you will receive a $5.00 gift certificate from Barnes & Noble.



GLOSSARY
Establishing Tone
by Betty Ann Whitney, Assistant Editor
http://pages.prodigy.com/dandelionsoup

Glossary -- TONE

In one word, TONE may be defined as attitude.  If, for instance, a friend says, "The cardinal's returned," the facts are clear, but the emotional meaning may vary.   Our friend's attitude will be discovered in the voice, whether it be an excitement of pleasure or a tone of disturbance.  Poetry differs from the spoken language in that we do not have the speaker's voice to guide us at the time we read the poem.  The poet's tone calls for more involvement than does spoken language. Tenderness, sadness, toughness, anger, wit or humor may move across a poem through images, language, sentence structure, metaphors, rhythm, music, punctuation, line length and other characteristics.  All of the elements of poetry work together to form the tone of a poem.
 

Example:
 

Ninety-four Days or More
 

For ninety-four days or more
Where do you take your wing each spring
Leaving your ritual behind...where again
Bright feathers will spread
Dropping down to the mirror your red crested head.
Season and season you flit about
Your robe at our door, chanting your Psalms
With a voice, a voice, like the chorus of flutes.
From your homeage, little cardinal, who begs you off?
 

Betty Ann Whitney, Wesley Chapel, Fl.


 

ON THE WEB - 
Visit the Academy of American Poets Web Site!
by Craig Tigerman, Assistant Editor
http://sol-magazine-projects.org/prodigy/craig_tigerman

The Academy of American Poets:  http://www.poets.org
 

This is an inspiring and ambitious web site.  In addition to April's extensive "National Poetry Month" section, the Academy maintains regular pages for Awards and Programs (including highlights from past issues of the Academy's quarterly journal, "American Poet"), discussion forums, extensive literary links, "Poetry Exhibits" (including a "listening booth" and ten topical presentations, both historical and thematic), a national Calendar of Events, and more.
 

The "Find a Poet" link will take you to an alphabetical listing of about 200 poets, with more being added all the time.  Click on Sylvia Plath and go to a page with biographical notes, selected bibliography, links to Plath exhibits within the Academy's web pages, and a generous list of links to other Plath sites on the Web.
 

Go back and click on one of the thematic Exhibits, "Serious Play:  Reading Poetry with Children." It is an informative article "intended to offer...ideas on how to help your children to join America's vibrant poetry community."  This is followed by links for ideas on teaching poetry to children.
 

Check out one of the historical exhibits, "Influences from the British Isles," and be treated to a well-written article presenting 20th century British poets from Yeats to Seamus Heaney.
 

Bookmark www.poets.org as a primary source of quality information for poetry in America.  We commend the Academy of American Poets for making such fine use of the Internet to promote our literary craft.
 


 

SPOTLIGHT: 
"Creatures of Love," an interview with Craig Tigerman
by Paula Marie White, Assistant Editor of Sol Magazine 
To read more of Paula's work, go to: http://www.geocities.com/Paris/Cafe/1773

Craig Tigerman has a very busy life.  He is a composer of songs and poems, and the Lead Editor of Sol Magazine.  When we caught up with him, he candidly approached the topic of "beginnings" by responding with a memorable reflection.
 

"When I was 15 years old, in the mid-1960s, I played drums in a band called the Consecutive Odd Integers, and wrote "protest songs."  My first song was, 'The Taller Tree Casts the Longer Shadow.'  I felt very satisfied with it, not only for having churned out the lyrics but also for creating the tune."
 

Craig Tigerman's concentration on not just lyrics but also tune reveals a craftsman's heart in his work.  He feels poetry is an art-form, that the poet is effectively a craftsperson, taking raw materials of words and ideas and fashioning them into works of art.  He says, "The artist's primary responsibility in creating works of art is to learn and employ the best tools to facilitate artistic expression, to create works of beauty."
 

He also feels poets should write from the heart and read as much published poetry as possible.  "The benefits include much enjoyment, increased vocabulary and understanding of poetic techniques, insights into the minds and hearts of great literary artists, and inspiration to write from one's own heart."  Craig fondly remembers that he started with a paperback anthology of modern verse in high school and has not stopped reading since.
 

Craig's favorite poet is Delmore Schwartz.  "His poetry moves me most of all because he expresses in words so many things I have felt but could not find the words to describe.  He writes in a way that is analogous to how F. Scott Fitzgerald could express details and nuances of interpersonal relationships so keenly in his short stories."
 

Craig says his motivation for writing is that he finds it to be the most effective way of communicating with others, and the easiest way to create a permanent record of his thoughts and feelings to look back upon.  Reflective once again, Craig comments that Delmore Schwartz influenced his writing by inspiring him to express what he cherishes most in life.  He quotes from his favorite Schwartz poem, "For Rhoda":
 

                "May memory restore again and again
                The smallest color of the smallest day.
                Time is the school in which we learn
                That time is the fire in which we burn."
 

With an emphatically soft tenor to his wording, Craig says, "I believe we are best equipped to be creatures of love in each new in-breaking moment when we remember how love has triumphed and carried our hearts through past days."
 

From Craig's collection of poems:
============
Troubled Child
 

And you, my little one, I'd gladly hold
Against the world's Iscariots, lies told,
Betraying you for silver while you pray,
And unto demons dragging you away.
 

So you, my broken one, on Friday's cross
Hang tortured and derided, counted loss;
The darkness, lightning, blood and Roman spears
Engulf you till your last breath disappears.
 

Then you, my precious one, with three days past,
Shall rise above the rotting tombs at last
And we shall dance, rejoice with tear-bright eyes,
Reflections of a love that never dies.
============
A Sirius Re-Quest
 

Milky-white star-river sky-sliding by
Lazy, look down on our frown-ridden way,
Pleiades pleading, so Sirius cry,
Tell Taurus-tales, Orion-array.
 

Red beacon Betelgeuse, bend to our need,
Blue-white-hot Rigel, remind us how vast,
Far-flung, you Dippers, you nebulae, speed
Healing awareness of timelessness past.
 

Milky-white star-river lighting night sky,
Vega, Arcturus, now capture our gaze,
Wandering weary, we wither and die:
Bring back our child-like wonderstruck ways.
============
Seconds
 

Seconds counting, my life races
Through mortal portals fleetly,
Singing a heart-song whose beat outpaces
Troubles' drummers sweetly.
 

With seven year-weeks now crowned,
Supped sumptuous, sated and through
With many a banquet, yet I'm found
Asking seconds in feast with you.
 

In love's castled hall, my dwelling,
Time jesters the strangely thrown,
As your smile seconds my dream, telling
Tales to this heart you own.

We thank Craig Tigerman for his time and thoughtful answers, and wish him the best with his writing and future endeavors.  To read more of Craig Tigerman's poetry, see: http://sol-magazine-projects.org/prodigy/craig_tigerman



APRIL PART TWO - WRITING POETRY


WRITING POETRY
===========
Comet's Orb - The Poet Within
 

It navigates a course
isolated, frozen, numb
in a vacuum absent awareness.
Fires draw it close
forces spin and pull
the dark confinement ends.
Mists, vents and geysers
write across the heavens
as an inconspicuous traveler
expresses himself in blood
then resumes a frozen repose.
Again in the dark
secure in its space
the comet slumbers
the poet sleeps.
 

Ron Blanton, Salt Lake City, UT

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Beautiful use of language listing words that compare the writing process to an astrophysical event.  Wonderful writing.
===========

FIRST PLACE - Winner of a $50.00 Book Gift Certificate
 

After the Words Find Their Way in Through the Back Door
 

You ask if I have been writing lately: I reply, "No."
Seems I chased the Words out the front door some time ago,
Some time ago when the pain was excruciating
and the suffering refused to contain Words,
or red Geraniums, or any other colored thing.
Poor, forgotten Words, staring from the outside in,
watching my life stories erode, crumble, wash away
into an apartment and visitation Wednesdays,
every other weekend and assorted holidays,
into what am I doing, or who am I anyway?
Sometimes I hear the Words, at the back door they tap,
Like today when I opened it, warily peeked out
and they swiftly slipped in through the apprehensive crack
and I am not really sure what will happen now,
now that the Words have returned, in through the back door.
 

Lynette M. Bowen, League City, TX

JUDGE'S COMMENTS:  The personal heart-felt nature of this poem has a nice conversational tone.  Exemplifies the healing process.
===========
Your Timing Is Awesome
 

With premonition (and hope) of a visit
I clear the desk, put pens in place, stack paper
and listen for your arrival after breakfast,
after lunch, before bedtime, but you tarry.
Not one poetic hint rustles as I fall asleep.
Around midnight you fly in with ideas for poems
like flocks of birds twittering on the lawn.
I grope for light and pen to snare the songs
else you'll zoom away with them for poets
on the other side of the world.  I wish you'd visit
after breakfast, lunch, or dinner, before bedtime.
 

Roberta Pipes Bowman, Fort Worth, TX
EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Nice comparison of birds to ideas.  How does one put out seed for the Muse?
===========
Reality Check
 

Chops and rice in fifteen,
Crescent rolls in ten, peas in two;
Basketball rims backboard,
Smacks the driveway, is
Recaptured by the other team.
Catflap slaps: Einstein has
Returned, while Gauntlet Legends
Weaves Nintendo sorceries from
Two rooms back. Insistent paw taps lightly
On my shoulder, telephone once more erupts in song,
Doorbell warbles, kitchen buzzer's shrieking, yet
Through it all I'm pecking at my keyboard, probing pages in my
Reference books, hunting like a modern-day Diana, oblivious to all
Except the poem...(until, that is, my children ask for dinner,
Recalling me abruptly to my home.)
 

Martha Kirby Capo, Houston TX
EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Great rhythm and cadence mark this poet's external journey through the day with smells, and sights, sounds and feelings, while "Diana" roams on the poetic quest.
===========
Roustabout
 

Just at the edge of my vision--Bozo behind the tent flap
they wait.  It's time to step into the Big Top, to catch
the thin bar of words, float out under a billow of canvas.
I have to do it, have to believe that sonnets are a bareback
rider's rosin, that villanelles can jingle on my bridle.
It's that simple.  But when the spot swings out
to me, I freeze.  My palms go slick.  I'll never canter,
never sway over the center ring.  How can I hustle
the elephant of language forward?  My prod is gone.
No matter how I love the trick, the beast tipped
forward on one big foot, I'm caught
in the second when the pachyderm's allegiance slips,
I stand in the light and the poems are those clowns
who have refilled their Volkswagen and rolled off.

Wendy Taylor Carlisle,  Texarkana, TX

JUDGE'S COMMENTS:  The extended metaphor is sustained beautifully throughout.
EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Love this metaphoric circus.  The last two lines are so wonderful, they can almost stand on their own.
===========
Bewitched
 

Unexpected fascination, near total preoccupation these poetic forms
invade my mind's concentrated efforts to work or drift to sleep.
Strings of words dance, whirl in iambic feet and pentameter,
resonate their sensual, lyrical force in throbbing persistence.
They surge and emerge, a ribbon of rhythm and rhyme on the
periphery of consciousness, seeking my attention, demanding my attention.  I capitulate, intoxicated and enthralled with my newfound friend.

Helen David, Stamford, CT

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Listen to the words and forms dance and whirl.  Excellent rhythm, great assonance and alliteration lend a hypnotic cadence to these lines.
===========
HONORABLE MENTION
Willow Street Grade School Poetry Collection, 1935
 

Obviously, Miss May thought kindergartners didn't qualify as poets,
frowned when I raised my hand, inquired dubiously, but notebook poised
"You really have a poem? - What? - About your cat?"
 

I told her my poem.
 

She obviously wasn't into free verse and stream-of-consciousness yet.
"That's it?  My Cat. I said scat and away ran the cat?"
(Her own terribly-abbreviated version, not mine.)
 

Later, my older cousin, possibly 5th grade even, remarked,
"I expected more from a cousin than that!"
She would surely have enjoyed my real poem.
Appreciation, as a poet, comes hard, I learned early-on.
Now, 65 years later, I find it still true.
 

Warner D. Conarton, Zephyrhills, FL

JUDGE'S COMMENTS:  This vivid memory is an example of narrative poetry.
===========
Recess
 

I play with words
like I played in the schoolyard
a little jump here
a hop, then a leap--
balancing on the burm
of rhyming schemes.
I never know what I want to write
or what will end up
on my paper.
But it's always fun.

Diane M. Davis, Chelmsford, MA

JUDGE'S COMMENTS:  This poet knows well how scattered our minds can be on at any given opportunity.
===========
The Big Smile
 

So often a demure possession of my open soul
Lends acute meaning
Teetering, almost fleeting insights
Mingled gently for good nor evil
Headwaters that babble and sing
Push and pull or pool in quiet reflection
Penned in a splash of life
Ah, the capricious inebriation of words is worth
Its shared delight!
 

Roz Garay, Whittier CA
JUDGE'S COMMENTS:  The rhythm is overpowering, these words sing off the page.
===========

SECOND PLACE
Under My Hair
 

There are considerably thick words
engraved upon my scalp, bordered with barbed wire
which state in no uncertain terms: "Contents Under Pressure."
 

These words do not move. From the corners of my eyes
words run down my foolish face like a sunset gone berserk.
They drip between my breasts, in great globs of obscene color,
crawl into my lap and bite my belly down.
I scratch at them, pluck them off one by one
and fling them onto the dried yellow pulp
of blue-lined highway. I wait under the soft glow
of a lamp post each night to see which direction they'll take.
Should I follow.

Maryann Hazen-Stearns, Ellenville, NY

JUDGE'S COMMENTS:  Possessed by Words, can't we all relate?  Excellent simile use.  Weaving in of city street images is inspired.
===========
Clarity
 

Clear into glass and mind, tequila
Releases poems from bent fingers
Hovering over yellow lined pages.
Morning-after reason reshapes
Stanzas, tightens phrases and
Enlivens imagery until expressions
Flow smoothly from idea of night
Into rhyme and reason of dawn.
Crumpled rewrites litter stained
Tile floors as final truth
Flows as molten poetic lava,
And I celebrate with salt,
Tequila and a moon's sliver
Until beginning again.

Susie H. LaForge, Fort Worth, TX

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Flowing with ideas and feelings, this poem shows how this poet finds the truth.
===========
Water Barrel Brain
 

Sometimes my brain reminds me of a water barrel
Filled with thoughts like rain from an April flood.
The storm of thoughts keeps me awake at night
Until I find a place, a lake of paper to put them on.
After the storm I become like a tranquil pool
Only other poets seem to really understand.
Families try but only fear the thoughts like a storm.
A few are published and some want to be
But I hide them there in a cover or a computer
Until they become ripe with age and better to read
Waiting for their time to surface in the whirlwind
Like musical words on the tin roof of my mind
Opening my soul for others to hear the words
That came like rain thoughts on an April night.

Julia Jarmusz (Spirit Cloud), Fort Worth, TX

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Nice use of water words help flow the reader from one end of this poem to the other.
===========
Words Of Life
 

I write to live.
it's the only way I know how
to make sense of things.
when the morning's black
and the night never ends,
where can I turn
except to these words
to find even a minute of light,
a solitary moment of peace?
certain only that tomorrow
these will only be just that - words
scrawled fragile across a paper
that can so easily tear and burn,
fading like smoke that fills
an already smoky sky.

Christopher D. Johnson, Framingham, MA

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  To make sense of the world...how often we each feel this as we put pen to paper, or type at the computer...to make sense.  Lovely last lines, as fragile as the meaning of the words.
===========
Release
 

Emotion guides me, the engine that pushes...
I'm angry, frustrated, feeling stress,
or I'm happy, glad, filled with joy...
I take pen in hand and the words just flow,
they come from a frazzle, or mind at ease,
to land on paper through fingers that ooze
passions, affections of heart and soul,
sentiments that harbor within my breast
thoughts and feelings, noble and tender,
or those sparked by a flash of anger
that is only of the moment, and then clears the air...
I feel euphoric, energized, cleansed with release
of all that was, now over and gone.

Elinor Burger Kapsar, Hazelwood, MO

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Strong emotional writing.  Words spill out in this poem, just as described by the poem itself.  Well done.
===========
Sung Song
 

Poetry on paper
is just a poor translation
of the harmonious song
in my heart, soul, and mind.
 

Jennifer Camille Manganello, Boca Raton, FL
EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Succinct description and tight writing make this poem memorable.
===========
I Am
 

I am tired, oh so tired
of this my daily life.
Filled with love, I often find
it's also torn with strife.
No one sees who I am.
No one hears my voice.
Stuck here in this limbo,
is this my lot? Was this my choice?
Somedays in my dark despair,
I find it hard to cope.
A child's bright smile, a lover's kiss,
fills me with much needed hope.
I love my family, adore them all,
but the poet in me strives
to look beyond today you see,
and keep my dreams alive.
If no one ever reads my words
and no one ever sees.
They're written from my deepest heart,
a place known to only me.

M H Moore, Rapid City, SD

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  See the poet dreaming beneath the weight of a blanket of visions of loved ones, hiding in the deepest heart of a poet.
===========
Empty Mailbox Blues
 

Wading in the waters of self-doubt
and concerned and islanded expectation
over poetry submitted--
thoughts of rejection slips threaten
and I sit at evening's end
like a blank page, as words slip by
like the wail of a lonely train
burrowing boxcars
through the blistered abandon of a concrete city.
 

Banish small town ideas
into big city receptacles of wasted dreams,
let's begin another page
for only old words live in what was left behind
and not in the dropping lid of an empty mailbox.

Tommie Ortega, Austin, TX

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Wonderful line - "...words slip by ... the wail of a lonely train burrowing boxcars through the ... abandon of a ...city."  Fine writing.  Wonderful words to read aloud.
===========
No Claim to Fame
 

I love words...
I love to cover blank pages with words
let them flow to make their own paths
find their own way...
I love the way they group
to make their own little stories
in rhyme, or verse, or prose...
the way they link together
to say something profound
or something utterly senseless
to become something...anything...
on their own...
I love when they find a reader
who will admire or scoff...
I love words.

Janet Parker, Leesburg, FL

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  The poets using clear language to describe words and that process that produces words in a wonderfully written way.
===========
Now I Just Take Pictures
 

Once upon a time
each poem I wrote
floated
on a wispy, feathery belief
that from any scene
mean, or grand
I could understand, extract
communicate
a greater meaning.
Now cozy encapsulations
burst, bleed into messy puddles
or turn into fuzzy, inexplicable splotches on paper.
Now, I write snapshots
with only an occasional mystical caption.

Sarah Quigley, Galveston, TX

JUDGE'S COMMENTS:  Great internal rhyme.  Wonderful fairytale quality.
===========
I Did It!
 

I did it!  This time when the words in my head
became my heart on paper,
This time when the feelings of longing
just to have my lonely hand held,
what it would mean,
were put to paper,
I did it!
Couldn't share my secrets, I was unsure.
This time I did it! and
I'm not as lonely as before.

Virginia Raiteri, Stamford, CT

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Emotional description is difficult to achieve.  Well said.  Well written.  Well done.
===========
Pondering Poesy
 

At night as I lay dreaming
poetry fills the dark---inspired
perhaps by a shadow or a shining star's soft spark
 

As the dawn approaches
like rays of inspiration---I
embrace the daylight and bask in its sensation
 

When the day breaks into night
lighting the sky with fires---I
render into poetry the words that it inspires
 

All day and all the night
my mind wanders free---discovering
and pondering, poesy.

Lynne Remick, Nesconset, New York

EDITOR'S COMMENT:  Poesy dreams, embracing day and night, and pondering the process of writing poetry well described in this beautifully-formed poem.
===========
Musing Poetic
 

Difficult as it seems, the body of this poet is on a banker's schedule
from nine to five each day there are classes to attend.
Between sketching phrases of poetic ideas,
there are lessons to learn and students to tutor.
Homework is interrupted repeatedly with
short poems, longer essays, haiku moments
that simply must be caught like a Kodak moment.
Then bed. Ah! to sleep, let it all absorb.
But no, the Muse insists that three am is the only time
this particular poem can be crafted.  So in the darkness,
by the light of a light screen, the poet must
by touch of a key stroke pacify the crying child that is
her muse.  Rocking the words back and forth, until her muse finally
falls into an exhausted slumber, and the poet stumbles back
to the bed and naps for another two hours until the alarm screams.

Brenda Roberts, Sherman, TX

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Good description of what many of us suffer through.
===========
Beamish
 

Now started, my word practice makes me shout in my
car. Muscles twitch and jerk me on sheets where
I rest. Friends listen.  It's 15 pounds lost since
I began this a month and a half ago and made
me a miracle - A hero of the poem I once
called MY life.  Spirit child awakens.  Talks to me through my keyboard, pencil, pen.  I scratch-tap her word shapes and
Her lines.  Once we wrote a poem that made me sick in the grass next
to my car.  What does she say
to me?  Where did I once store the lines that make me ill and
now alive?  Teeth grind, sinews strum and these
words make my sister cry.
All I say is oh
frabjous day! This word-light now
shines in my pores.

Adelaide Socki, Houston, TX

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  On the beach with the oyster and Alice!  Great title and reference to Lewis Carroll.
===========
THIRD PLACE
Creation
 

The sweat hung tenaciously on her brow
The soft murmured groans spoke her pain.
"Harder," the voice whispered, "it's worth it you know,
Endure until the end, work, don't complain."
 

On she struggled to bring forth the child
Agonies of spirit at each shudder cried
The birthing of a creation anew
The process as ancient as maternity's bedside.
 

"Just a bit more, and its finished you see
Clutch on tightly, a last effort exiled."
With a sigh of relief, the last breath exhaled
She put down the pen and parchment born brainchild.

Marsha Rose Steed, Citrus Heights, CA

JUDGE'S COMMENTS:  A creative metaphor to childbirth.
EDITOR'S COMMENTS:   Visual, visceral view into the writing process.
============
Learning
 

I've come with my words written in the quiet night.
Walking as an unknown among the knowing.
I reach into a wealth of living to bring myself to you at open mics.
to shout and declare,
cry and laugh,
whisper and plead,
quest and demand,
coo and woo,
I've come to dramatize!
You, as critic, will rave and expound my glory with accolade,
with analytical precision, will denote and denounce my claim
to fame.
I leave here, no longer a nobody.
You have listened to me and that makes me Somebody.

Jeannette L. Strother,  Mansfield, Tx.

EDITOR'S COMMENT:  Nice listing of phrases.  Work meant to be read aloud in performance style.
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Creative Arbitration
 

Peering at the black and white realm,
I seek a quick glimpse of genius.
The outer edges echo with clarity
Worded in poetic madness.

Jade Walker, New York, NY

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  It only takes a few words to say it all!
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Held Within Four Right Angles
 

In 15 lines I speak of years of poetry.
If I divided my effective age by fifteen
I could write just about four and even
Have eleven left to write a life's story.
Suffice it to say that the written word
Has carried me when all others failed
When others doubted?  Or ridiculed?
It was pen & paper that gave escape.
Solaces sought on 8 &1/2  by eleven
Inch sheets.  Better there than a bed.
A youth takes a red lead-filled barrel,
Makes a mark & begins an entire life
Of marking up paper in self-discovery.
Fifteen lines of myself wrapped up in
A rectangle and intermeshed shapes.

Claiborne Schley Walsh, Montrose, AL

JUDGE'S COMMENTS:  This mathematical computation of life is uniquely broken into concepts like a geometric proof.
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My Life as a Poet
 

Seeker of sounds
inventor of images
evoking emotions
I tarry in twilight
Wishing for words to sing my soft songs
settling for silly
when left too alone
I run on relentlessly
wagering for words
begging a bounty from morning's musings
seeking a sign
from evening's evolutions
praying piteously when lost and lamenting
working for wonders
to ensparkle our eyes...

Bonnie Williams, Deptford, NJ

EDITOR'S COMMENTS:  Poetry pours from the pen of this passionate poet in a rhythmic emotional alliteration of words meant to be said or sung aloud.



Sol Magazine will mail no book prizes to poets outside the United States of America.  Book gift certificates from Barnes & Noble will be substituted.  No exceptions.
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Sol Magazine
P.O. Box 580037, Houston, TX  77258-0037
Phone number:  (281)316-2255 weekdays 8-5.

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All poetry remains the property of the poet, except Sol Magazine reserves the right to publish all poems (once) at a future date, and/or to post them to a web page.  NONE may be reproduced without permission of Sol Magazine.  Electronic forwarding is permitted as long as no portion of this magazine is changed and all credits are given.
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DO NOT SEND US:  We do not accept entries that make use of graphic or sexually explicit language, touch on partisan politics, support particular religious views, or mention fitures out of any holy book unless we ask for them.  Archaic words, such as "Tis," "Til," "Thine," and "Thou," will probably not appear in Sol Magazine except in articles or essays.  Mixed case entries only.
 

We do allow poems about God, mythological gods or goddesses.  See our contest website or last contest for current guidelines.
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We may correct grammar, tense, spelling errors or change punctuation without asking for permission or forgiveness.
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Sponsors in 2000:  Martha Kirby Capo, Don Castiglioni, Lois Lay Castiglioni, James Lay.
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Angels in 2000:  Leo F. Waltz.
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Book donors in 2000:  Sharon Goodwin, Carlyn Luke Reding, Kathleen Elizabeth Schaefer, San Antonio Poets Association.  Corporate book donors:  Flying Cow Productions, Bookstop.  New sponsors and angels always welcomed.  Thanks for your support.




Sol Magazine, P.O. Box 580037, Houston, TX  77258-0037
Phone number:  281-316-2255       Call weekdays 8-5.
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