Weekend Pass

When the sun reappears

on the weekend, even late Sunday

The cover comes off the BBQ

Quick hurry-trips to the store

Bricks, Beer, Burgers  and Brats

Top the list

Chips, and dip, and salsa

carrots and celery, Tomatoes and onions

for the fresh breasts

grapes dangling from bunches 

firm between the thumb and forefinger

sweet to the tongue

Early watermelon and whole-freezer corn

don’t forget the foil, the butter

the paper plates

the ice

Faces change for many

from work-week-desperation

to frantic-anticipation

All are desperate broken down

a weekend respite—rejuvenation

away from the tedia

Weather changes plans

and all are confronted with each other’s malaise

dammed to indoors with no sports-summus

When the sun reappears

the race to the store is on

a weekend pass

The Storyteller

Can you hear me?

Do my words have meanings?

do they manifest  insight,

as you hear them,

by the fire?

Or do you just hear the sounds

weaving together,

without the meanings?

“There, I’m done

I heard every word.”

What do you know,

then,

about me?

What insights have you gleaned?

from the stories I have told?

I am more than a set

of symbolic sounds crucially placed

next to other collections.

With each word, each sentence

I paint a picture for your mind

Futures not remembered,

pasts revealed, visions of the present

meanings live between the words

I ask only that you take

what is freely given

I am keeper of the oral history

past, future, and present

I am storyteller, knower of signs and omens

I am spoken

I am poem

Poetry Workshop's Poetry Month Competition

WINNERS & HONORABLE MENTIONS - Poetry Works Workshops –

Mary Margret Carlisle, Director

2014 National Poetry Month Competition

May 15, 2014 at 10:39am

Thanks to the many poets who submitted poems and helped to judge the work of other poets, and many thanks to the final judge (a poetry editor from Missouri) who wishes to remain anonymous.  In celebration of National Poetry Month (April, 2014), Sol Magazine Projects - Poetry Works Workshops awards four Barnes & Noble gift certificates, and one book award in the 2014 National Poetry Month Competition.  Congratulations to the winners:  Nelda Curtiss, Rebecca Jackson, Gary Wade, John Salacan, Harold Rodinsky.  Honorable Mentions follow prize winning poems.  If you are a prize winner, please MESSAGE me privately (do not post your address publicly) with your full mailing address so I can send out your prize.

CATEGORY: NONE

AWARDED AT RANDOM

Barnes & Noble Gift Card

Nelda Curtiss

CATEGORY:  JUDGE

AWARDED AT RANDOM

Barnes & Noble Gift Card

Rebecca Jackson

CATEGORY:  HAIKU  

PRIZE FOR FIRST PLACE

Barnes & Noble Gift Card

Violets are thick

in that part of the forest

Jack was scattered there.

~Gary Wade

CATEGORY:  CREATIVITY AWARD

PRIZE FOR FIRST PLACE

A COPY OF S.A.L.V.A.G.E by Phill Doran

 eBOOK

and what do you have?

a blip in the night

a gaggle of gawking electrons

you pay for a wink

a chink in the dike

that keeps the words in place

& where will the used ebookshops be?

& what pages will scent the air as you flip…flip what?

(& who will be changing the banned into right?)

it took an army for qin shi huang

to bury the scholars (books no longer needed)

now it takes but a flick of the snake’s tongue

~John Salacan

CATEGORY:  GENERAL

PRIZE FOR FIRST PLACE

Barnes & Noble Gift Card

FIRST PLACE

Then, Now and In-between~Harold Rodinsky

The mind tantalizes with assorted images of then and now

growing up at the ocean’s edge tide pools to explore

boy’s life dungeness crab, razor clams, fishing from the rock jetty

smell the salt air, feel the fresh cold ocean spray on your face

when the waves throw themselves on the beach

another time walking the streets that Rexroth walked, when he was 20

riding the orange line train past the old stockyards, see faces of workingmen

mark the corner where the Haymarket Riot took place

Rexroth stood over there, a boy really, watching soldiers shoot civilians

Waiting to go to jail, for a month, a suspected sympathizer

looking out at a garden, buds summoned by the warmth of the sun

early bees setting up housekeeping for the summer

birds signing while building their nests, dodging the cats with ease

lemon and pomegranate trees survived the winter

and the chilipequin is leafing out nicely, next to the still sleeping lantana

where will I live today?

HONORABLE MENTION POEMS

FIRST HONORABLE MENTION

white fire of daytime

brings forth the cricket’s wing

and night’s chill song

~John Salacan

SECOND HONORABLE MENTION

Home Made Bread

I can smell it in my sleep

A sour dough dream come true

Bread kneaded by arthritic hands

Rising early to meet the day

We wait in the kitchen

Like expectant fathers

Pacing, drinking hot coffee

Counting down the arrival of the prize

Setting out butter and may haw jelly

My mother feeds us loaves of love

~Diana Meade

THIRD HONORABLE MENTION  

Bastard Cabbage reigns

Where once Blue Bonnets flourished

Diversity lost

~Rebecca Jackson

ALL OTHER HONORABLE MENTION

Howling winds, dust clouds

pranksters to Cavaliers

halt highway mayhem

~Nelda Curtiss

warm thundering rain

dark limbs sprout tiny green buds

pink of dawn clears clouds

~Julia Tanner

The End of Keystroking

Ladybug lays claim to my desk

As her personal gymnasium.

Tiny legs tickling computer screen,

She awakens its touchiness.

~Kathy Kehrli

the empty of blue

stretches over the green pine

one black bird looks down

~David E. Cowen  

silver rain shifting

something sudden from the sky

rainbow hued sunlight

~BettyAnn Whitney

Friday~Harold Rodinsky

like an adoring groom waiting for his lover to arrive

she promises to come but only on the appointed day, at the appointed hour

the grains of sand move slowly in the glass

Helios appears chained in the east, his transit a snail’s pace

Friday night at sundown the queen arrives

each Saturday, at sunset, she leaves and the longing begins anew

each passing day is filled with hard hands and sweat stained clothes

sunrise to sunset the substance of toil never ending

but in mindful of her, relief comes marking off the days

until she returns again

Lady Luck

Luck won’t be a lady; it’s just not her thing.

She is fickle, flirtatious – with many a king

gracing coins in her pockets; from fountains that spring

up: hope! – love! – desire! Eternal, but fading.

Like a gambler who lines extra Aces-of-Spading

inside his jacket, Luck does the same thing,

with too many chances that never took wing.

Maybe you’ll see her, one fortunate day,
when her bright fickle eyes may just look your way.

~Lois Mintah

Top of Form

Housekeeping

People, fill up locations in memory: picture and lists

habitually disconnected images, but with purpose and effort, eventually associated, 

or at least, connected in  imagination

looking with effort, through many albums, and old phone books

‘nice to see you again…’ causing a puzzled look, frequently followed by ‘don’t you remember?’

thinking, “No.” But pretending, for the sake of kindness, head-nods in agreement,

“Yes, Yes I do.”

more space is needed,  new faces without names, new names without faces,  arriving everyday

more head-nods, the utility of politeness,  taking up space

housekeeping is commanded, throw out the old,  the fictitious, the pointless.

heartless housekeeping eliminate the casual, expel the pointless

memories that give no comfort,  

that don’t temper the relentless winds of loneliness and regret , that come in the darkest hours

sweep the dust from the corners, along the passages, between the stacks,

make space for  new faces, new names,  new purpose,    useful memories, 

like lamps in the hallway when the clouds obscure the moon

The Fisherman

the kid went to the far side of the bridge avoiding the stares and jeers from the locals

put his pole up against the guard rail, and opened his tackle bag

he took a hook tied to a leader and a small weight, and tied this to the line from his reel.

He fished around and found an old sandy clam neck and impaled it on the hook

he drop his line into the heavy tide-current in the river and watched it drift downstream

the weight he put on wasn’t heavy enough.  he didn’t have another

he only had stuff he stole from his dad or found on the bridge

all of sudden, BAM wham, a fish,  the fish grabbed the clam neck and raced down stream

Political Correctness ?

Is it politically correct,

In the realm of social media

    (Where you are right now!)

Not to point out typo’s,

or incorrect word choice,

or punctuation errors?

On the other hand

Is it appropriate for citizens of  this virtual community

to point out fallacies, inconsistencies, and untruths

of their fellow citizen’s  politics?

To criticize their neighbor’s religious beliefs

To defend their religious beliefs

To argue ad nauseum behind seemingly anonymous ‘screen names’ ?

Or Perhaps

to voice what will not,

or can not

Be voiced in the other reality?

It takes some time

to practice and learn political correctness,

it is not easy

to tweeze apart:  There, from Their, or They’re

or see John the Baptist with a water board