(December 2001 Edition)
SANFORD GOLDSTEIN:
what I most enjoyed,
the bard once wrote, now contented least and so my own condition tumbling, tumbling down bewildered
tanka muse,
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THELMA MARIANO:
I search for you
by the pool where we stood in the moonlight seeing for the first time the debris in its depths first leaves underfoot
like the winged seeds
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PAMELA A. BABUSCI:
news of her death...
i am like a broken reed floating down a stream both sides lined with blue flags (In Memory of Sue Stapleton-Tkach
her long tresses
i cannot make promises
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JANE REICHHOLD:
flower faces
a small child smiles a woman's own priest-craft of magic fragrant and perfectly equal winter
mother and child
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MARJORIE A. BUETTNER:
will it ever end
this yearning that I harbor for those I have lost father, child, lover and now mother's eyes clouded with stars lake mirroring dusk
first cup of tea
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JEANNE JORGENSEN:
the Century Plant
blossoming later in life— so, too, this couple time-etched faces aglow as their mototbikes pass by in a small hamlet
this winter
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TOM CLAUSEN:
tiny bluets
all around me and over there a couple, very much in love this pounding rain
my letters
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LARRY KIMMEL:
their names gone
but i'll never forget that afternoon in kitzbuehel - the giggling two of them teaching me essential german evenings find me sorting
across the river
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MARIA STEYN:
night breezes
whisper in blossom trees our dreams drifting past the Milky Way into timelessness and back if only we could
a summer kite
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CINDY TEBO:
that's the way it was
with Walter Cronkite on the evening news one day he retired while I moved away from childhood visions of snow
If I kept
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DONNA FERRELL:
In the gloaming,
The sliver of a moon— A small spark. . . That this heart would move as lightly As the rising firefly! Only the whistle
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KIRSTY KARKOW:
acorns
drum on fallen leaves soft staccato of a heart responding to this bejeweled path the sadness
more than
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ELIZABETH ST JACQUES:
horrific news
from new york in autumn air the slow-motion drift of red rose petals heavy clouds
cold dark day
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