—Ann Privateer, Davis
Broken glass confetti
gleams in gravel
along the railroad tracks
a persistent whistle
the tumbling sound
of wheels far off
remind me of a man
I knew whose fantasy
was to make love
in the underpass
as a train sped
overhead.
The Doppler effect
the rise, crescendo, and fall
screeches past.
My English teacher said,
end your story with a train
wreck; me, I like smashed glass.
STORM BIRDS
The clouds use their own language, speaking down
to Blackbird peck-pecking at scraps from street
to gutter. First-rain splatters on the town,
sets tin-roof crows to flying. Drops repeat
on ripple-sidewalk, multiplying feet
running for shelter. Images transform
with every shudder of ionic storm,
and then lightning leaves just one sudden trace
that brightens into clearing. Sun-rays swarm,
Blackbird so briefly rainbow-touched with grace.
Stephen Dean Holsapple
[Click/pic to enlarge]
—Olga Blu Browne, Sacramento
How long is a moment?
How far away is time?
Distance is the soul of
forgiveness.
Where memories are vague
and soft as the night's breeze.
____________________
LOST IN WORDS
—Olga Blu Browne
Love does not remember me,
locked in time, lost in words.
Told of shadows and the shape
of death...
Memory is the key to a soul
that dwells in yesterday.
____________________
DELIBERATE
Merely another memory, etched
in pen.
Deliberate thoughts, deliberate
poetry.
Softly whispered into the
universe.
Silence broken, breath is the
sacrifice. SHsssss.
(first pub. in Brevities)
___________________
Stephen Dean Holsapple