Fabulous Finds - 2001
Night enters The ears; The brain Dives like A nighthawk To touch The bare shoulders Of a Disappearing Star.
Copyright © 2001 Duane Locke
HeroinThe eyes on the back of your head couldn't have possibly prepared you for the departure curtains-closed fate that smacked you silly ignorance is bliss they say but that bliss ignorantly blinded you to what they say counterpoint is knowledge is power the needle dangling from your arm smoke curling in the air from a final smoke your body in silent stance eyes skyward
Copyright © 2001 Jesse Auchter
Janet I. Buck
The Weed PatchClouds hover in gray peace. We hurry a bit to stay a tiny stride ahead of storm. You lower me to waiting earth, arrange my tools on piles of rocks, and digging's ceremony starts. These circuses, complaining bones, shrieking like a wounded dog you'll pet when night descends again. You know my core, respect its meat, fastidious in argument with poor, poor draws of body cards. A treasure chest that begs to be an open trunk even when it's tough to lift. You leave me chopping at the roots, afraid a thorn will pierce a glove, uneven earth will press a nerve. Tomorrow's pain, a pay day on the calendar. You know my core, fastidious in argument for motion's blessing even in its oxen rites, its habit dragging, dropping grace, stooping, stretching muscled fire. I turn around and see your eyes-- daisy wheels that never lose their ivory slats. Puffs release their tiny bullets drumming on our sweaty skin. You stand me up and brush me off. Dirt in clumps like chocolate chips in cookie dough the sun will bake when Summer's here. Weeds are things we pull together even when the rain begins. Health is such a short parade. Its blush a tulip in my hand.
Copyright © 2001 Janet I. Buck
The Poetry of Janet I. Buck
Along the CutbankI see your visage in the rock where you spied some birds to add to your Life List and then spent an hour trying to identify the common jay. I shut up and squatted and picked my nose. I roll a rock into the river. A new moon shines on all that has vanished. Itís all here including the hole in my shadow.
Copyright © 2001 Richard Denner