Fates of Autumn by Luther Allen
swirling mosaic of leaves crimson spotted yellow fat salmon and lambs, bled and gutted for winter stew curled essential bronze browns so true it roots restless flight right back into the earth and painful lustful reds drawing blood to the throat, hearts to the sky all under the naked blue of the very very precious last days tossed and tossed into the air by the sooth-saying winds until they finally fall in exact accordance with the way it will be Luther Allen's poem won first prize in our 2019 Fall Poem Booth Contest. Congratulations!
0 Comments
Dear Almost Harveyby Harvey Schwartz
Make sure you’re born on May 8! Do not rush out the day before. Repeat: NOT THE DAY BEFORE!! That’s a good little boy…just cozy in and relax. May 8 is a great day this year…three years after the Nazi’s surrendered to end the war. The week the state of Israel will be formed - spurred on by an article in The Nation on May 8. You’ve been dodging genetic bullets for a long time. Great grandfather murdered in a Pogrom. Grandfather escaped the Czar, alone as a teen. Parents faced death and certainly no you if hitler had won and taken over America. So just cozy in and surf that wave that rolls you out on May 8th , child of mother May. Because May 7 is a Vietnam Draft Lottery death warrant…as are the 10th and 11th! If you are born any of those days you will get drafted, way off in 1969. So just stay clam and enjoy floating the pond. Your ancestors have been through enough war and hatred. You need to grow up in Philly and randomly go to Woodstock. Then join a hippie commune to give you the idea of hitchin’ out west. So you can leave on a summer vacation and never come back. Rather than worry about that dirty ol’ Draft. So chill out Harvey…it’s more important than you know! Just chill… Harvey Schwartz received an honorable mention in our 2019 Fall Poetry Contest. Go Harvey, go! Nonresidentby Sarah Brownsberger
This is no longer my home. At customs they ask why I’ve come. The exits have changed; newfangled flowers shine in the beds. The places where I lived all have new paint and on the stoops loll strangers, who never knew anyone I loved. I have to buy a hotel night I can’t afford and there dream of setting my mother’s table with so many places there is no room for me. I fly back to where I now live and soon my daughter comes to visit; I cook her long and cumbersome dishes because, years ago, my flesh was her home. Sarah Brownsberger received an honorable mention in our Fall Poetry Contest. Beautiful work! The Crescent-Yet-Ever-Full Moonby Betty Scott
When skies fall ash-laden gray, when your heart breaks and grieves, picture the orange-webbed feet of the mallard’s mottled family. Paddle your pond through the night tuned to the bright beyond, though Earth swaddled, Earth entombed, swim terra-tuned toward slivers of light. Betty Scott received an honorable mention in our 2019 Fall Poetry Contest. Congratulations Betty! |