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        SIJO BLOSSOMS 
 

                                                                                 (February 2001 edition)
 
 

an’ya:
 
 

on our Slavic calendar its almost Saint Nikola Day
even now summer lingers in this calm space between my ears
for the slowness of old age did I miss my golden autumn ?

winter wind where have you been where will you blow tomorrow
please bring for me poetic muse remembrances of one more snowstorm
in case I leave this earthly world fore the daffodowndillies bloom


 

NECA STOLLER:
 
 

I love her light fingers, her soft lap, the deep woman rankness.
Aroused by her scent, I rub again, anywhere against her.
She groans as my claws dig and blood beads a red bracelet of love.

Hardly a breath of air, yet willow branches rise limply.
Birds soar in this breathing like the caged beauty of grass behind dew.
Alone in those heights, they fly for us to build the sky anew.

Sunset paints his mistress, its radiance braiding her hair.
The bridge of her face falls fully inside light's softening point.
Her mouth tilts down in new quiet that threads slowly around his grave.


 

SANDRA MORGAN:
 
 

Remember that September day so long ago, maple?
The lover's knife plunged deep within a heart with two initials.
Your sap ran free to wash the wound  the seasons helped the healing.

you must have stories you can tell o stately white birch tree
lovers lost and lively children seeking shelter in a storm
your pleading cries fall on deaf ears above the chainsaw's roar

oh how bright the gold moonglow on this whitecapped river's journey
on tree limbs birds in silhouette wait patiently their feeding time
break of dawn will then reveal garbage thrown by careless hands


 

kirsty karkow:
 
 


flotsam jetsam from the beach he shapes into a sailing ship 
fishline rigging paper sails, he floats it gently on salty waves 
in a blink masts rake the sky--a full-sized vessel standing by 
                - after reading “The Construction of the Rachel” in Light Action in the Caribbean
                        stories by Barry Lopez – Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 2000
 

suddenly I feel again that summer's shimmering heat 
love-struck we roamed the scented fields and sultry slopes alive with bees 
just found,  in this high school yearbook--a faded daisy chain 
 

I stretch into another dawn, rise through hazy drifts of dreams 
slowly I notice gold-rimmed clouds mourning doves warm scented sheets 
there again the mind clicks on creating endless lists and schemes 


 

ELIZABETH ST JACQUES:
 

Sitting at her window now she stares through cool darkness
Oh all those moons and brilliant stars enjoyed almost a century
Blind eyes reach beyond the dark  her vision steeped in memories

The labrador retriever runs through his dreams most every night;
side by side they romp and play through lands of merry make-believe. 
The old monk sighs and shuffles back into dawn's reality. 

Countless miles upon this path paved with dreams for a lifetime;
so many shadows and sunspots, so many mountains and valleys.
Our candle-flame still holds strong as we draw near full light, my Love. 

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