Cezanne's CarrotBy Kevin Murphy
“The day is coming when a single carrot, freshly observed, will set off a revolution” ~Paul Cezanne you look at the carrot, the carrot looks at you you zoom in, zoom out you rotate the carrot ninety degrees, one-eighty, three-sixty then you spin like a dervish while the carrot remains still you grate the carrot, sauté the carrot cut the carrot into matchsticks, burn down the house you bite the carrot, chew, suck the pulp, swallow the juice, describe the experience in your notebook in terms of chocolate and cabernet in terms of shoe leather and burnt sugar you bite the carrot, note that the carrot does not bite you back maybe it’s because the carrot is a vegetarian maybe you’re a vegetarian but that doesn’t really help the carrot you arrange a hundred carrots in a wheel, a mandala every carrot pointing at the darkness at the center of the wheel you meditate on that darkness, lose yourself in it you look at the paintings of cezanne you see guys playing cards, a woman looking over her shoulder, spindly fingers lifting a hat you see wine bottles, plums and apples, a pile of skulls but no carrots the day is coming says paul cezanne but cezanne has been dead for over a hundred years what’s the story, paul cezanne, are we on the right track? is that day coming still or did it come and go without our noticing? "Cezanne's Carrot" received first prize in our Second Quarter Poetry Contest. Congratulations Kevin Murphy!
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Strength in Ageby Linda Conroy
Watch the body hold itself upright its muscles tight, flesh held firm by first delight, till softening seeps, a shock, as if the body could compete with rock, and ask can I compete with rust, the slide of iron in the crack of rock, the red and bronze of age, the body holds the clasp of time. I watch. "Strength in Age" received an honorable mention in our Second Quarter Poetry Contest. Congratulations Linda Conroy! WerifestireaBy Gary Wade
Let me walk searching green twilight listening to silence knowing there is something unseen of the forest in the forest unknown something of old there a still new mystery waiting for me. "Werifestirea" received an honorable mention in our Second Quarter Poetry Contest. Congratulations Gary Wade! Artichoke by Rachel Mehl
Blushed purple fist, globe like, high as my throat, black ants are trailing each other's pheromones up your ribbed stalk. They've trained their young to tap aphids, to beat the sweet honeydew from sticky bodies that cling to the base of your fruit. The aphids walk too, on delicate legs, the green of lime, or love when it's gone. A red ladybug, with three black spots lands and swallows an ant, head first, legs still kicking. She swallows his alitrunk, petiole, and gaster. I've got a knife. I could cut your head, steam it, dip your hearts in butter, but how can I take you when you are so many's world? "Artichoke" received an honorable mention in our Third Quarter Poetry Contest. Congratulations Rachel Mehl! |