Indran Amirthanayagam, The Runner’s Almanac
Runner
You are running
out of the mountain,
across the bridge,
into the park,
running, wrapped
in a shawl,
protecting passing
walkers, birds, trees,
clearing muddied
thoughts, focusing
on ten thousand
steps, perfect
pitch. running
in my heart
beating in step.
my mind
composing
these lines.
Diane Elayne Dees, I Can’t Recall Exactly When I Died
Playing Tennis with My Ex
The wind keeps shifting, putting me off
balance. The sun obscures my view
on the deuce side, and I cannot see
the ball as I toss it. My serve, already weak,
is based more on hope than competence.
We cannot find a rhythm; we look like fools,
unable to keep the ball inside the lines,
powerless to hold on to an advantage.
He aces me, I pass him. I hit drop shots
because I know him: he will not ever move
forward. We break each other again and again;
he loses his sole, but goes on with the game.
He defeats me. We pack our belongings
and go our separate ways, not even bothering
to calculate our impressive collection of faults.
Robin Houghton, The Mayday Diaries
My sister's wheelchair
it backs into lifts with ease smooth as a penknife
into its handle mercurial it shapes to her skin
is nothing but slip of titanium mesh and feather
it runs to the tune of her mind and always knows
where the speed cameras are my sister's chariot
opens doors with magnets or magic her breathing
fuels its wheels which never creak or wheeze
it moves her between bed and commode it breaks
her fall when someone is looking the other way or
keeping relatives at bay it takes her to Marrakech
or church or wherever she wants to go it answers
all her dangerous dreams it says today is a breeze
and we will not be defeated it bonds well with bone
it woos even her sullen cells it's always waiting
at the door with flowers ready to bring her home
Brenda Kay Ledford, The Persistent Trillium
The Rock
After Mary Oliver’s “The Summer Day”
What if this rock could talk?
What would it tell me?
Would it scream with pain
when tires, toys, or trains
run over her bones?
This rock, the one thrown
into the stream, would
she gaze with wild eyes,
snap her jaws like a turtle,
or lift her arms and wash
her face, then float away?
I don’t know how a rock
feels when cast aside,
or ground into gravel.
I can only pick up a rock,
hold it to the light,
and wish it were a ring.
Does everything feel pain?
Tell me, can a heart of stone
become a living flesh?
Beate Sigriddaughter, Circus Dancer
She talks to him on the telephone from outside the library with a prairie dog concert in the background. She sees a small bird on a branch. Its chest vibrates like that of an opera singer and a red autumn leaf drifts down onto the grass at her feet, just missing the stream. They discuss the slice of a rainbow he saw the night before. She mentions the red leaf. Before he hangs up, he mentions he will dream her many times later that night. With a quiver of anticipation, she feels like a swan taking off from water. All her life she has wanted to love. She has practiced and hopes she can now get it right.
J. R. Solonche, Barren Road
Elegy For Victoria Age 27
Victoria, how serious you were.
I never had such a serious student as you,
covered now by these years of this serious earth.
That time you saw me from the bus and crossed
over the Green, you wore such a serious smile,
right away I knew how it would have to be.
I would have to be serious, too, if I let it go on,
allowing my own serious smiles to grow into
love too serious for their casual campus
adulteries. No one would, no one could, possibly
understand. My colleagues? Never. They
rated their conquests, counted the coeds
enjoyed in their offices, under their desks.
No, Victoria, that wasn’t me, and
how could it ever be you that way? Never.
Angry? I hope you are not angry with me,
resting now over these serious years,
resting as you will forever be resting.
I will love you, seriously, oh, seriously,
sweet Victoria, who I most seriously of all, sing for.
Unfortunately I have just spent the last seven days in hospital
after an injury, and haven't been able to process the September issue and will have to move it back to October. Sorry about this. I may not respond to your emails in the usual time as I am on strong meds.
It's not easy getting a book or pamphlet accepted for review these days. So in addition to the regular review section, the One Poem Review feature will allow more poets' to reach a wider audience - one poem featured from a new book/pamphlet along with a cover JPG and a link to the publisher's website. Contact the editor if you have released a book/pamphlet in the last twelve months or expect to have one published. Details here
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