- HOME PAGE
- B&YDog Book Shop
- Al Ortolani
- Keith Moul
- Eleanor Bennett
- Emily Treakle-Chase
- Richard Kostelanetz
- Wayne Mason
- Carol Alexander
- Felino A. Soriano
- Mike Berger
- Ben Rasnic
- Corey Mesler
- Jay Passer
- Scott Keeney
- Stephen Gilchrist
- Steve Minchin
- Michelle Reale
- Lin Powell
- Amanda Clare Krueger
- B W Archer
- Barbara Young
- Julia Ciesielska
- Jason Gordon
- Lewis Gesner
- Linda Crate
- Mihir Chitre
- Rachel Kearney
- Tracie Morell
- Walter Ruhlmann
- William Keckler
- Bios
- SPRING ISSUE #1 2010
- SUMMER FALL ISSUE #2 2010
- WINTER ISSUE #3 2010
- SPRING ISSUE #4 2011
- SUMMER ISSUE #5 2011
- FALL ISSUE #6 2011
- WINTER ISSUE #7 2012
- SPRING ISSUE #8 2012
- SUMMER ISSUE #9 2012
- Links
- Donations
TAKING A CHANCE ENCOUNTER
They agreed she was no thief
but surely she had taken
a chance encounter,
a minute taste,
and made it her single sustenance.
She breakfasted and dined on love
she lunched in private rooms
of joy; she never
missed a meal of him,
fixing each with special care.
Pulse far above normal,
she went to fat on faith,
succumbed to the heart beating
to a beat that once attacked
gives no second chance.
"Yakima," published as “Taking 6,” No.4, undated, p.68.
TAKING HEART
They agreed he was no thief
but surely he had taken
heart and other living tissue
in his hands more than once,
held them cautiously
as though in preparation
for dissection,
the surgical removal
of their failing parts.
These heart attacks
occurred in her brain
mostly at singular moments
when sun burst at her
through the still-falling,
redoubtable rain.
Why
her heart, out of context,
she wondered,
beating for his eye only,
in a dish?
"Colorado State Review," N.S. Vol. X, No. 1, Fall, 1982, p.53.
TAKING HER TIME
They agreed she was no thief
but surely she had taken
her time,
early into each season
before the flowers or birds
had gone, or come,
according to natural urge.
The future was the past.
Yet in the mind lasted an unseasonable
heat, thought beneficial
to the seeds of presentiment
sprouting there
where tossed carelessly.
Found so often in the warming rain
she lost what grew into her hands
until it died
then grew again.
"Colorado State Review," N.S. Vol. X, No. 1, Fall, 1982, p.52.
TAKING HIS TIME
They agreed he was no thief
but surely he had taken
his time:
hiding it in public places
that fired him secretly;
playing with it
as though entirely his pet;
then boasting at her
how the flame of privacy
burned persistently
without his adding fuel.
The willow and the pear go dormant.
Paint peels, a solid house
goes old for another winter.
The will to move stays
closeted in screaming rooms
tied to distant places
by humming wires
of the telephone.
"Colorado State Review," N.S. Vol. X, No. 1, Fall, 1982, p.51.
TAKING LEAVES
They agreed he was no thief
but surely he had taken
leaves:
from local, sacred trees
and arranged them lovingly
in wreathes about her bed.
The ceremony mocked her sleep.
The alder alters,
the willow, maples
shake themselves apart
in wind.
"Colorado State Review," published as “Taking 11,” N.S. Vol.IX, No.1, Spring 1982, p.34.
They agreed she was no thief
but surely she had taken
a chance encounter,
a minute taste,
and made it her single sustenance.
She breakfasted and dined on love
she lunched in private rooms
of joy; she never
missed a meal of him,
fixing each with special care.
Pulse far above normal,
she went to fat on faith,
succumbed to the heart beating
to a beat that once attacked
gives no second chance.
"Yakima," published as “Taking 6,” No.4, undated, p.68.
TAKING HEART
They agreed he was no thief
but surely he had taken
heart and other living tissue
in his hands more than once,
held them cautiously
as though in preparation
for dissection,
the surgical removal
of their failing parts.
These heart attacks
occurred in her brain
mostly at singular moments
when sun burst at her
through the still-falling,
redoubtable rain.
Why
her heart, out of context,
she wondered,
beating for his eye only,
in a dish?
"Colorado State Review," N.S. Vol. X, No. 1, Fall, 1982, p.53.
TAKING HER TIME
They agreed she was no thief
but surely she had taken
her time,
early into each season
before the flowers or birds
had gone, or come,
according to natural urge.
The future was the past.
Yet in the mind lasted an unseasonable
heat, thought beneficial
to the seeds of presentiment
sprouting there
where tossed carelessly.
Found so often in the warming rain
she lost what grew into her hands
until it died
then grew again.
"Colorado State Review," N.S. Vol. X, No. 1, Fall, 1982, p.52.
TAKING HIS TIME
They agreed he was no thief
but surely he had taken
his time:
hiding it in public places
that fired him secretly;
playing with it
as though entirely his pet;
then boasting at her
how the flame of privacy
burned persistently
without his adding fuel.
The willow and the pear go dormant.
Paint peels, a solid house
goes old for another winter.
The will to move stays
closeted in screaming rooms
tied to distant places
by humming wires
of the telephone.
"Colorado State Review," N.S. Vol. X, No. 1, Fall, 1982, p.51.
TAKING LEAVES
They agreed he was no thief
but surely he had taken
leaves:
from local, sacred trees
and arranged them lovingly
in wreathes about her bed.
The ceremony mocked her sleep.
The alder alters,
the willow, maples
shake themselves apart
in wind.
"Colorado State Review," published as “Taking 11,” N.S. Vol.IX, No.1, Spring 1982, p.34.