R A Ruadh

I am Crann Bethadh

I am a tiny green bud on a branch

Unfurling a little too early

There is concern I might not grow up

That I will shrivel and fall

Somehow I hang on in the face of frost

I open a leaf seeking the sun

My shape and size unlike the others

Who look down from on high

Blocking the sun from my hiding place

I am stronger than I know

Comes the summer of my life

Battering storms and drought

Threaten to tear me leaf from limb

I shelter flowers and a tiny fruit

I will not let her fall

My little one grows and takes flight

Instead of crashing down she stands

Sturdy trunk and protective branch

Planting seeds of her own

We are joined at the roots

Now in my autumn years

I am bright and unafraid

On fire and weathered as I am

Still good for more seasons to come

Fall is not winter yet

I watch the ground below

As my elders fall layer by layer

One day I will drift down with the snow

Joining them as one connection

Endless springs of rising sap

Crann Bethadh is the Celtic term for the tree of Life

Coco

White Rabbit

It’s 

been 

a 

long 

way 

down 

this rabbit hole 

I’ve chased you into 

If only I had heeded 

the warnings 

The muddy excuses,

all the broken branch truths – 

tearing my dress of trust 

before going through the looking glass

cut by mirror shards of unfaithfulness 

Before I took the leap

into this dank hole 

I so hastily followed you into 

Before I took the fall

of disillusioned desire

Before I took the journey 

into your wonderland

Truly risked it all…

and for what…

covered in cobwebbed longing 

Hart Island

They keep laying body’s down 

One on top of the other 

like a layered cake 

nothing except dirt between them 

It’s called Hart Island 

The land of unknown souls 

Unclaimed body’s from the overfilling morgues

This plague, this virus, this morphing disease…

Its claiming countless lives day after day 

Body’s falling down on the streets

Collapsing faster than dominos 

No one to catch them afraid of contraction 

Collected like unwanted trash alongside highways

Toxic waste that belongs in a landfill 

Triple gloved, Hazmat suited hands heave them –

Into their final “resting place” with no one to mourn

It’s called it Hart Island 

The land of unknown souls 

I often wonder why they call it that

Did they purposefully remove the E for empathy?

How many people actually cried for them?

Did someone pray the Rosary?

Was there a group that Danced for the Dead?

Were flowers or lanterns sent out to sea?

This is where we ship the unwanted

It made no difference that they were sons and daughters

No efforts made to try and discover their stories 

Time is to precious a gift to waste on vagrants 

It’s called Hart Island 

The land of unknown souls 

Resurrected in the 19th Century 

A tribute to AID’s victims undesirables 

What a comforting thought to the privileged 

Their cemeteries are clean 

One can never be too safe from egregious bones

Maybe that’s why they removed the E…

“Smiles are clear in coalition with the

Now — I forget how to be

Anything but — here”

– Joshua Corwin

Listening to you;

­⸺

wow that last line

really hits home...

 

Hurts a little,

like microscopic

shards of glass dust

in my feet.

 

I tumble and fall

each time I try

to walk your

straight-line poetics.

 

Quicksand emotions

pull me closer

to the center of

my darkness.

 

In this upside-down where,

stranger things are

normal screams of

agony I carry in my smile

 

Yes means no,

and no means go;

but where can I go to

escape my love for you?

I

place it

on top of

my pain,

my ever growing

Eiffel towered grief.

 

My sturdy,

dependable heartache –  

where no matter which path –  

I choose to take…

           

 

none of them,

lead me,

to

you.

Stephane Logan

 

Sixty                                                                 

Brings the fall of life                                   

Counting down the years until                                   

The sun finely sets

        

  

 

Don Kingfisher Campbell

I'm a Product of Suburbia

35 years later I do listen

to some of the same bands

I just dig them, must be my culture

to shop at the chain supermarket

drive the major maker car

and watch the Lakers on cable TV

as I munch on prepackaged snacks

downed with corporation soda

then I'm off to wipe with Scott

pull up my famous label jeans

walk on wearing designer basketball

shoes cushioned by six pack socks

sometimes I pace to my Saturn

to go buy used compact discs

but now I prefer to company download

my old favorites which still rock

in the good ol’ United States

even though they're from Britain

likely my heritage to listen

to English words matched to

name brand instruments while

I put on a few pounds along

with my imported wife who

only had to cross one border

to be a part of my American life

in a global economic system in

which I ended up becoming a poet

--now that's odd

Sub Urban Summer

no school July and August mornings

my two houses down friend John

knocks on our door every day at 9am

he says his parents want him

out of the house all day we play

first indoors Legos Hot Wheels

then lunch chili and spaghettios

my mom makes from two cans after

chowing quickly drinking up whole

milk we run outside to join friends

afternoon forming football game or

baseball between sidewalks out of

bounds parked cars first downs street

lamp goal lines throwing the vinyl

skin or hitting tennis ball fouls

sometimes home runs into neighbors

front yards maybe one gets lost

in ivy or ice plant so we search

like rescuers to resume the half

or inning when the lights come on

it's time to go home but not without

memories pretending we're our heroes

Roman Gabriel heaving a pass Jack

Snow catches Steve Garvey hits

another homer Davey Lopes rounding

the curb until we become old enough

to drive cars leaving childhood summers

behind forever like abandoned toys

Oh Yeah, There's a God

elderly Arcadia couple beaten and robbed in their own driveway

oh yeah, there's a God

North Carolina 5 year old girl sold into prostitution by her mother

oh yeah, there's a God

Waltham middle school students attempt to poison their teacher

oh yeah, there's a God

four family members found dead in Chicago after frantic 911 call

oh yeah, there's a God

man killed fleeing across 710 freeway after hit and run accident

oh yeah, there's a God

charred remains found at Blue Jay Way home of missing Hemet teen

oh yeah, there's a God

Irvington, New Jersey mail carrier charged with stealing gift cards

oh yeah, there's a God

Downtown L.A. subway fake photographer preys on aspiring models

oh yeah, there's a God

infant kidnapped from idling car outside North Charleston post office

oh yeah, there's a God

North Naples students suspended for taking part in Kick A Jew Day

oh yeah, there's a God

San Fernando nun robbed putting groceries in trunk at Food 4 Less parking lot

oh yeah, there's a God

Cathouse reality star shot and stabbed multiple times in Oklahoma City

oh yeah, there's a God

Franklin dad left 5 year old son sleeping in truck outside strip club

oh yeah, there's a God

seven attacks on red haired Calabasas students in Kick A Ginger Day

oh yeah, there's a God

Placerville 15 year old girl to be tried as adult in mother's murder

oh yeah, there's a God

Riverside chihuahuas tossed into canal with mouths taped

oh yeah, there's a God

Cleveland teacher accused of sex with Special Ed student

oh yeah, there's a God

one dead in Dinwiddie, Virginia Miley Cyrus tour bus crash

oh yeah, there's a God

Iran seizes rights lawyer's Nobel Peace Prize medal

oh yeah, there's a God

couple slips through security, crashes White House state dinner

oh yeah, there's a God

drunken gunman arrested after 7 hour North Hollywood standoff       oh yeah, there's a God

Statesboro bank robbery suspect eats paper evidence

oh yeah, there's a God

Jennifer Lopez falls on stage at American Music Awards

oh yeah, there's a God

Adam Lambert dropped from Good Morning America after raunchy performance

oh yeah, there's a God

Roman Polanski moving from jail to 1.6 million Swiss chalet

oh yeah, there's a God

L.A. disc jockey claims Charles Manson is his dad

oh yeah, there's a God

Washington website releases thousands of messages from 9/11

oh yeah, there's a God

Port St. Lucia mom and birth daughter reunite on Facebook

oh yeah, there's a God

boy accused of setting classmate on fire says attack was not planned

oh yeah, there's a God

Shaquille O'Neal pays for North Carolina prostituted girl's funeral

oh yeah, there's a God

Fred Jordan mission makes thousands of Thanksgiving dinners

oh yeah, there's a God

children fighting cancer enjoy carefree Malibu beach day

oh yeah, there's a God

Google apologizes for racist image of Michelle Obama

oh yeah, there's a God

Phoenix 2 year old drags infant cousin from burning home

oh yeah, there's a God

Anaheim Hills brush fire fully contained

oh yeah, there's a God

two Sunland children saved in fatal family car crash

oh yeah, there's a God

alleged Fort Hood gunman may plead insanity

oh yeah, there's a God

Toyota to replace 3.8 million gas pedals

oh yeah, there's a God

Stork Craft recalls 2.1 million cribs

oh yeah, there's a God

Muppets sing Bohemian Rhapsody

oh yeah, there's a God

President Obama pardons a turkey named Courage

oh yeah, there's a God

Black Friday deals and shopping tips

oh yeah, there's a God

Governor Schwarzenegger calls red zone parking a mistake

oh yeah, there's a God

Woman loses benefits over Facebook photo

oh yeah, there's a God

Rose-Parade-Grand-Marshall-to-be hero pilot enjoying rock star sex

oh yeah, there's a God

Cleveland kittens survive long trip wrapped in plastic

oh yeah, there's a God

Swine Flu vaccine pulled in Canada

oh yeah, there's a God

London man who killed wife in his sleep found not guilty

oh yeah, there's a God

alleged Indianapolis burglar warms up bottle for crying baby

oh yeah, there's a God

Ozark cop suspended after using taser on a 10 year old girl

oh yeah, there's a God

bizarre new sea creatures discovered

oh yeah, there's a God

and he/she's in your head deciding between doing go(o)d or (d)evil

G.T. Foster

Falling Down

Under Moon Race

Rusted London bridges are falling down like 

Ignored global warming’s melting glacial pack

Lost dignity of man, glow from freedom’s light

Wounded birds in flight

Swank but faulty seaside condominiums 

Thoroughbreds on the Santa Anita dirt track

Individual protections, women’s rights

Returned satellites

Burnt old growth timbers and slumping shot-gun shacks

Unopposed vie Bill Gates or Bezo’s billions

Yet pending on trust that the poor must abide

What rich cannot hide

Nigh soon American egotist high noon 

Thanks to Bezo’s capsule and his friends, Bill Gates

And Musk –in a private space ticket thrill ride

Paid by moneyed pride

From a three-ring outer space circus on high

The pigs will jump over the pre-harvest moon

Of course, funds depend on divorce rate, fate 

And commercial boon

Christopher Askew

When there were stars

Long ago, when there were stars at night

the dark diminished by their gentle light

at times my then-forever friend and I

down upon the wide and welcome beach would lie

while bats from palms nearby eyed our delight.

Those late October eves were cold and bright

I'd touch her trembling hand, then hold it tight

and we would soar beyond that hope-swept sky

where there were stars.

I'm grounded now, in time. Despite

a life of length, and breadth, and height

to envy, what I wouldn’t give to ply

once more that cosmos, soar again that shimmering sky

where dark was overcome by sparkling light 

when there were stars.

This poem is a rondeau, a lyric form, often melancholic, from 13th century France, typically adhering to the structure aabba aabR aabbaR, where R is a refrain taken from the first line.  cf. In Flanders Fields

Mira N Mataric

Snow Fall

 

The first snow fell

in my native Novi Sad.

Something I had not seen

during my thirty years in California.

Now visiting my native land

where I lived long ago.

I see and feel a new snow,

snow I had not touched

since my youth.

 

A small smile

and many memories

of all the snowmen we had made

in our yard, a yard that no longer exist.

The street, our street remains

but everything is different

A new building replaced the one

in which I grew up.

Our mother had created a family garden,

a Garden of Eden with bright flowers

basking under lush fruit trees.

It is not hard to bask in the memories

of oleanders white, yellow, and pink

and their shared celestial aroma

set back into my dreams

as well the rest of our small street

so close to the Danube.

 

Many new people live there now

with no memory of that icy winter

and the atrocities of 1942.

 

My Danube, are you the same river,

where my brother and I rowed

our sport boat under blue skies?

The sun still rises from that river

and drowns again in the evening.

Children play in the shallows and row boats,

but I have moved far away,

across the Ocean.

 

 

Poetry Falls

Poems, like rose petals,

and the leaves of autumn,

fall off me whenever

there is an internal fluttering,

a trembling, shaking or

external wind or storm.

It is a natural growth,

like a snake shedding

outlived skin for the new.

Any emotion, any thought,

awe with nature and beauty,

may cause it.

 

I remember writing my first poem,

after seeing the Adriatic Sea

the first time during a school trip,

at age thirteen.

I published it

and dared to write more

and shared it widely at age eighteen.

In both cases, my parents, and teachers

offered strong loving support

and encouragement.

 

I have always enjoyed nature

and sang in various forms

from the beginning of life

before it steadily poured out

in the form of poetry.

 

I was exposed to the beauty and wisdom

of poetry by my father early in life.

He walked through our home reciting poetry

and quoting sayings of wisdom.

My mother did the same.

 

Lori Wall-Holloway

I Remember …

I remember…

  September 11, 2001 

the morning my son fearfully

phoned to let me know 

we were under attack

I recall… 

   the shock I felt when I turned 

on the TV and saw a Boeing 767

purposely fly into the Twin Towers 

after another airliner had flown 

into the high rise fifteen 

minutes earlier

I was glued…

   to the television wherever 

I went to get reports of what

was happening in New York

Once the buildings began

to collapse, reporters joined 

others running to escape debris 

falling down around them  

Choking dust created an ash 

filled darkness

I devoured…

 live broadcasts and eye witness

accounts of rescues and bravery

I wanted to learn of survival stories 

not only from those in the Big 

Apple but from Washington D.C. 

where the Pentagon was struck

Unable to help, all I could do 

was pray

I consumed…

 tales of courage, like Flight 93 

when passengers prevented 

hijackers from using the plane 

as a bomb

It cost them their lives when 

they crashed into an empty field 

They were true heroes

Twenty Years Later…

   

I still want to hear… 

   about miracles straight 

from survivors’ mouths 

People who were rescued

after being pinned beneath 

the concrete rubble 

The ones who crawled 

through mazes of mangled 

metal and broken cement

to find the light of day

I grieve…

   with those who still mourn

Several courageous men 

and women sacrificed their 

lives for others at that time

and their stories should not

be forgotten

I am reminded…

  how patriotism erupted

when I see a magazine cover

from that time display three 

firemen who raised the United 

States flag above Ground Zero

A photo taken at a candlelight

vigil illustrated how the American

Spirit burst forth

The picture shows a young girl 

sitting atop her father’s shoulders

holding a U.S. flag high above

her head

We filled churches and prayed

We rallied around those

 in need and the world came 

to our aid

I will never forget…

   how united we were

and how we showed evil 

they did not win that day

Joan McNerney

Falling

Down through blackness

into dusty subterraneous

passages where trains raced. 

 

Silver rods sped through dream

stations transforming tunnels

with bolts of blue white sparks. 

 

Falling

 

On a steel car looking out the

window. How many times have

I seen my train reeling off track?

 

How many times have I ridden

the dark horse called nightmare? 

In air off track tumbling down falling. 

Falling 

Dangling on thick utility cables

on edge, through trees into lights,

crashing fast against buildings. 

 

Now flying through space.

Careening in pitch black night,

my silver train shattering glass.

 

Dream Blue

Deep blue midnight blue.

Once in a blue moon.

 

Driving a long blue van

through a deep blue sea.

 

The steering wheel pops

out in my hand, this long

blue van crashing crashing.

 

Cold cold everything cold

Water cold icy cold.

 

Falling in icy cold water.  

Once in a blue moon. 

 

Diving between the devil

and deep blue sea.

 

Driving through waves.

in dream blue.

 

 

Falling Asleep

Curling into a question mark

                eyes shuttered

                         lips pursed

                               hands empty.

Dropping through

long dusty shafts

down into dank cellars.

Leaving behind faded day.

 

That last cup of sunlight

pouring from fingertips.

Lulled by rattling trains,

                sighs of motors.

 

Bringing nothing but

memory into night.

Now I will     untie knots

                   tear off wrappings

opening wide bundles of dreams.

Rick Leddy

Click on to enlarge

Why?

Why the pill, he asked

A Serotonin Jesus to save you

Why is the world so afraid of sadness?

Do you know sadness?

Have you fallen down that razor wire lined rabbit hole, 

slippery with viscous hopelessness

Fingers flayed and bloodied

Trying to grasp the edge 

of a bottomless well

The mirror a black hole 

Sucking marrow from the light

Have you touched sadness?

Dreams filled with thrumming paralysis

Buried alive beneath the weight of failure

Your bed a tomb you cannot rise from

Sleep become life’s antidote

Fearful of waking up

To the nightmare of the new day

Have you seen sadness?

The hollow place where you used to be

Hoping the world will miss you

But convinced it won’t

Existence so meaningless

Ebb has replaced flow 

Filling over the mistake you once occupied

Do you understand sadness?

Is it just weakness

A genuflection away from cure

Is it bucking up and moving on

Ignoring the squatter in your soul

Ripping out the cancer with blunt instruments of abuse

Getting over it 

Snapping out of it

Thinking positively

Or is it finding solace in friends

Who ask you

Why the pill?

Lynda V.E. Crawford

Glimpsed

On Los Feliz near Wayne

I touch my hand to the smooth dash

of my silver-gray symbol car 

wary of the 3pm crush.

My thoughts shift outside

remark the scene: a falldown

head, elbows, heels—flat to the sidewalk

male, white, wiry-dark hair strands

fire red engine, ambulance

men thumping, defibrillating, shocking. 

Carl Stilwell AKA CaLokie

I Ain’t Gonna Waste No Poem on You

Read your poem in Spectrum 28

Thought you were a poetry slammer

Soon found out you were nothing

but a fucking scammer

You!re all take and no give

Next to you, woman

or is it, man

a parasite is altruistic

But I ain!t gonna waste no poem on you, baby

Hell! You ain!t even worth a goddamned ditty

You!re callous, evil woman or man

You!re frozen rock hard

No global warming gonna melt

your cold, cold heart

You laugh when elders fall down

and break a hip

You have stolen their money

and don’t give a shit

But I ain!t gonna waste no poem on you, baby

Hell! You ain!t even worth a goddamned ditty

I wasted time on you, I’ll never get back

I let you rob me of my dignity

and would have let you

take all my money as well

But the thrill is gone,

wicked baby

my son rescued his prodigal father

and broke your spell

But I ain!t gonna waste no poem on you, baby

Hell! You ain!t even worth a goddamned ditty

So long, Cynthia, Cedric,

Connie, Conrad, or whatever

demon you are

It ain’t been good to know you

If you were a bard

you should have known

Never fuck with a poet

no matter how old they are

But I ain!t gonna waste no poem on you, baby

Hell! You ain!t even worth a goddamned ditty

Charles Harmon

All Fall Down

Even pockets full of posies will not protect you

from the plague, evil spirits are in the air,c

oughed and sneezed, your ashes will all fall down

just as forests now burning burn homes and habitats

of humans and woodland creatures alike, destroy life

because of our hubris building in the land of smokes

that the indigenous were wise to avoid or occupy.

 

But their land was stolen and occupied nevertheless,

Manhattan Island was traded for handfuls of glass beads

and a fortified wall built across to keep out the heathen

while drilling into granite bedrock made great foundations

for towers of steel and glass reaching high toward heaven.

Years later two of the tallest were destroyed by fanatics

using as weapons the creative produce of the new world—

airplanes, computers, internet, telephones, refined jet fuel—

launching wars on terrorism that bled the West for 20 years

and trillions of dollars and millions of lives, the towers fell,

metal melting from the intense heat and some choose to jump,

falling a thousand feet to their deaths rather than be burned alive,

from the fall of man to the falling man, all fall down.

 

Now the almighty dollar is falling, we are printing without end

trying to pay for all this, no one looks back into history, remembers

this ends in disaster, catastrophic inflation and economic collapse

such as ended many prior civilizations and their empires.

Those who refuse to learn from the past will repeat those mistakes,

the fall of Saigon is followed by the fall of Afghanistan then…

Taiwan? Korea? The good old USA? The rest of the world? 

Yet surely as the burning hotter-than-hell Summer is followed

by Autumn with its colorful falling leaves and cold Winter,

melting snow and falling Spring rains will make the world reborn.

All it takes is a little water, light, soil, weeding, and care.

We all fall down sometimes, so get off our butts and get going again.

Thom Garzone

In Memory of 9/11

America awakens.  Two jets slam into the Twin Towers.  A frenzy of city dwellers

below, scatter under ashes, floating down on what would've been an idyllic morning,

now a surreal scene. Sirens scream, EMTs race toward the burning infrastructure in

turmoil. In this moment we only wonder why, or why it took so long to comprehend

its extent when terrorists assaulted these weeping children of America, subjecting our

country to now be under siege. That morning I turned on the news. Reporters still didn't

what know to make of it until the second plane hit. Our lives twirled about on that Tuesday

morning.  Shortly, another plane crashes into the Pentagon, and yet one more overtaken by its

passengers aimed at The Capitol or The White House. Meanwhile Manhattan spews

an ugly smoke, choking from fear. Firefighters buried in tragic chaos.  As New Yorkers

wait for this to end and grasp the disaster's magnitude, the South Tower descends.  So we

sift through rubble and malice, through remains of companions, family, and fallen civil

servants. Often their photo sits in remembrance behind a candle flame. There in this

pyre of debris a mound among strong spirits is gathered for those who fought through

the horror of September 11th, who resisted and endured for countless generations ahead,

who shall recall how the structures crumbled and the screams of agony, or how each denizen

coughed up blood and sorrow for in that memory lies an auspicious future.

 

Samuel and the Lost District

I come to the day shelter to volunteer on Tuesdays and see Samuel, one of the brothers from Peru, whose younger sibling drowns himself in cheap rum and drains his soul within chemical release

Samuel had fallen asleep in the snowbanks on Americana Boulevard, only for him to awaken in the OR without half of one leg

Samuel’s now bound in a wheelchair, the sounds of his native tongue buried below science books sought and whispering in the soil, his soul sacrificed for an industrialized society

His amputated leg embodies a defeat of an indigenous culture, overran by conquistadors, lands surged over in highways and overcome by the great ships of alien gods

A humble fellow vagrant wheels and pushes Samuel around, to the mountains of his mind, to oceans abound upon his continent

I notice him moving to the counter, realizing the soup I serve for him is poison, and grasping the branches of his family tree fallen in silent rain forests, his women ravaged, kingdoms and temples plundered

But here the canoe that transports Samuel results in an irony embedding his amber skin, his lost culture, and I only can continue to clean dishes and think of his Americanized name, the firewater his brother washes down in mantras to the Great Spirit, or shaman who shall never guide him to an eternal Mother Earth

Later, I leave for next door to monitor the computer lab, and doubting how my service may or may not impact Samuel’s lost leg, that perhaps the bio-tech era will cure diabetes, frostbite, and a sickened society spilling its insane scenarios upon an innocent tribe

The Vast Wasteland

Sitcoms impede my brain's activity

spewing fantasies on youth's frailty

with unreal idiosyncratic narratives.

Reality TV redundancies

crowd visions of humanity into conflict.

Morning news irrelevance

sheds external falsehood

as innocent pawns awaken.

Game shows and soap operas

weep the blood of time

dragging onward past frozen audiences.

Late night insomniacs

deceived by the transparency of production.

Crime and medical dramas

whisper immortality

and we adjust the volume up or down,

regulating our right to choose,

these viewers who switch

the power button on and off.

Patricia Murphy

Fallen Down

I have watched the fallen down 

from September 11, 2001 

and its deeply disturbing.  

I was at work the day it happened.  

I was on the phone with a 

detective handling my domestic 

violence case with an ex-boyfriend.  

The detective was advising me 

on what to do.  

He mentioned Kobe Bryant 

who had been allegedly 

accused of rape. 

I had been to the World Trade  

Center in New York City 

earlier in my business career.  

I had ridden up the long elevator 

and had lunch there with friends.  

I never imagined anything so 

tragic would happen later 

on in my life, with so many 

lives lost, and people torn apart.  

I was sent home from my legal 

career job on September 11th.  

So I returned home and 

watched it on my T.V.  

The next day I didn't go to work.  

I watched some more on my 

T.V. at home.  

I returned to my job the day 

after and continued with my 

domestic violence case.  

My ex-boyfriend who is wealthy, 

has deep pockets and connections 

didn't want me to file any 

charges against him.  

However, abuse is never acceptable. 

He threatened to kill me.  

His words were:  "I'm going to kill Patricia 

and bury her under the deck in my backyard."  

He has a very large house and a one acre lot. 

I did press charges.  

The victims are always the ones who lose.  

There were many victims at the 

World Trade Center.  

I pray for the people who've lost someone 

dear to them.  

 Fallen

I have fallen down, 

but gotten back up again.  

Life is too short.  

It's important to remember the 

ones who've left us.  

To be with the ones who remain.  

If you're down, pick yourself up, 

dust yourself off and start all over again.  

We need to believe in ourselves 

in order to succeed.  

For if we heed the call of life, 

there will be no strife.  

A life of greatness 

Is on the horizon.  

We can blossom if we choose.  

And never lose.

   

Shih-Fang Wang

The Other Side

 

Across the table

They sit on the other side

Quietly he listens

As they voice their desires

But he bears a different thought

That meets their objections

 

Like here in the meeting room

He faces the east and

sees the darkening of the sky

They face the west and

see the splendor of the sunset

 

They try to halt her dying

And want her floating soul

To be tied down to her inoperable body

They ask him to secure her life

with lines and tubes

 

It is their belief these artifacts

will bring miracles

But he deems these efforts futile

With his expertise he knows

How tattered her body is

How weak her flicker of life

 

Still, he yields to their requests

Rooted in their guilty feeling of

insufficient care for her

And he, with a guilty sense, executes 

Those pointless treatments equivalent to

Dehumanizing torture

Joe Grieco

The Fallen

I started to keep a journal of dreams

Jam-packed full of cherubs and liars

Between the panic and the laughter

Angels are flying above us all night

Twice each hour, at 20-of and 20-after they fall down

They sound

Like feathers landing in a public fountain

At 20-of and 20-after

Angels shout, “Hey, you okay?”

Please stop laughing in your sleep

I’m trying to listen for feathers

I’m trying not to panic 

Their Lords bind them

To remind us to pray

No more words than one can say in a single breath

If we can’t hear them 

We must be the ones fallen away

Jackie Chou

Synonyms for Falling

Fall is coming

A maple leaf descends

anonymous

like a soul baring itself

on public forums

identified only by a username

and the ironic grin

of a cartoon avatar

plummeting into 

the abyss of cyberspace

as night approaches

Fear of Heights

Do not invite me for a magic carpet ride

No intricately embroidered Oriental rug

or Egyptian prince

would pique my interest to partake in such a feat

I’d shut my eyes tight

sweaty hands gripping tasseled fringes

I'd have a heart attack

before a glimpse of the view below

So if you have tickets for two

Count me out of it

Find another princess-to-be

Jeffry Michael Jensen

Falling Down for Fun and Profit 

The virtual psycho elephant in the room lost his nerve

playing pin-the-tail on the cranky Valley politician.

I kept egging him on to go for the jugular,

but the elephant really got the 3D shakes and couldn’t

follow through with any pure animal focus.

As it appeared to all of us surround-sound fanatics,

the whole nerve thing was just another ruse

to take our eyes off all the greasy fingers

flipping fun and profit left and right before sunup.

While I’ve had trouble not getting distracted

by the frolic intensity of my two-bit jazz membrane

as it bleaches beer and saltines to keep my two left feet

from giving way to some Bukowski lowlife instinct,

I still relish the bizarro Chateau Marmont encounter

living large once my head hit the eternal grainy pillow.

Yet, I’m still ahead of the curve by being on the in

with an army of bungalow cats too cool for school.

So maybe I should pull the proverbial plug

on the shady side of the long-lost family fishing trip

and leave all this falling down Rimbaud impulse

to the Westside suckers waiting for mommy leave home

in order to sign up for the cat infantry before the next

tortured elephant I meet can redirect the up escalator

into the blur made by the toxic tilt of fun and profit.  

Mark A Fisher

rabbithole

down

through warrens

dug out history

bunker mentality

squirreled away

like emails

under subpoena

there are memos

cached away

like nuts

or hay

for the winter

of discontent

but the elephant

in the room

stomps bunnies

torrent

startled awake from that dream of falling

through purple moonlit clouds

devised in the forges of my fancy

the eastern sky remains still dark

breezing through an open window

startled awake from that dream of falling

the yellow eyed owl looks at me

as perhaps do astronomers of Mars

through purple moonlit clouds

clinging to the remnants of my trance

bubbling in my occupied mind

devised in the forges of my fancy

Dean Okamura

A song of ephemeral waterfalls when raindrops fall down

   

I wish that my weight would fall down 

at least forty pounds. 

I fear that my house may fall down 

in a big earthquake. 

I hope that I do not fall down 

a cliff on a hike. 

How did silly Alice fall down 

a deep rabbit hole? 

Why do sandcastles fall down 

by morning tide? 

When will raindrops fall down 

on my head? 

Down fall 

Alice, 

Sandcastles, 

Raindrops. 

Down fall 

I, 

My house, 

My weight. 

Feel 

A 

Little 

Loose 

& I 

Do 

Odd, 

Weird, 

Nervous… 

Things 

in the middle 

of ephemeral 

waterfalls 

when raindrops 

fall down. 

The center 

of the world. 

The creation 

of living things. 

Wow, what am I doing down 

here? 

Thank God, I stopped fall- 

ing! 

Somewhere in the fallen forest

   

Somewhere amidst the fallen trunks 

stands my trusted friend 

who works the earth 

to plant the trees 

for future groves of forest. 

I could not see the fresh growth 

when people scattered round 

plastic pots 

they liked so much 

the forest disappeared. 

We no longer miss the forest 

because we see the trees. 

We do not see the forest 

but a dumping ground for friends. 

They fall down into her web

   

How many more times must they fall down? 

Collapse weak as ones who 

fade in virility. 

Caught in webs spun by fiery, thin-legged 

Black Widows who would not 

consume their heads for sport. 

Left to contemplate shortcomings, 

torture far beyond any 

lost love or betrayal. 

Why do they fall prey to fierce deceit? 

Trapped in addictive games, 

sexy, seductive lies. 

Wild lure of multiple sex partners 

proves too hard to resist, 

downfall of male spiders. 

Lawrence Berger

Traveling through

In 1985 the world looked small

 I was going to move to Los Angeles 

Become a Chef

Carry on the tradition of my grandfather

A master Baker at Quality

Follow in my father’s footsteps and

Learn to keep the candy fountain fresh.

In 1990 

I was crossing the street

A car turned in and hit me.

My fifth near fatal accident

The accident left me alive but with a smashed left knee

I still fall down a lot.

In 1991 I got a job selling shares in Oilwells over the phone.

In 1993 I was hospitalized for suicidal depression

In 1994 I was back with my first book

In 1996 I read my first poem

In 2021 I wrote this one. 

Jesse Rey Tovar

Kingdom Fall Down

based on a true story

The following occurred 

at Pastor Chuck's office 

months after Pastor Chuck 

was spotted at a liquor store.

I.

Pastor Chuck: What are you guys doing here? I know what this is. It's an intervention.

Leadership Pastor 1: It's Men's conference, right?

PC: Okay, is this about me getting spicy tomato juice at the liquor store?

LP 2: Clamato?

PC: You know what, you have done enough talking behind my back. It's my turn to talk. What I buy at any store is my issue, so screw you, screw you, screw you, screw you, screw you, screw you, and screw this intervention!

LP 3: This is not an intervention.  We're just reading this doc here because it's hot out.

PC: What does it say?

LP 4: It says you're a big freaking alcoholic!

PC: Well you know what? I own the name, I own your campus buildings, so if you want to play games, none of you are welcome here ever again!

LP5: If this is ok, then I'm in the sunset.

The following occurred 

the day after at 

the megachurch.

II.

Pastor Chuck tells the congregation,

"Silver Vodka was in the bag for his son TJ

to administer to his cancerous mother." 

(TJ once said, "This is for my grandmother.")

Because PC used his admission to pull heartstrings, 

Pastor Darrell viciously called out PC with the (former) leadership pastor's

encouragement to handle it. Ushers, Obed and Ted, 

escorted Darrell out of church, pushed his wife, Hasley, 

and Darrell pushed Ted. Obed pushed Darrell. 

Churchgoers cried in shock and rage. 

PC hasn't stepped down, but he 

kicked out Darrell and Hasley.

On this day, a megachurch

has fallen.

Note: I. was adapted from Mike Tyson Mysteries.

Robert Fleming

fifth-day and after-seventh-day collisions

At 17,659’ above Mount Kilimanjaro

a Boeing 737 lands on a Ruppell's griffon vulture’s beak

At 4,032’ above Mount Everest

a crane perches on an Airbus A320 wing

At 124’ above Mount Gangkhar Puensum

a bar-headed goose perches on a Russian MiG 21 Fishbed’s tail

Fall Haiku

if someone wants blows

i am still moon jab punching

the boxing ring wind

among the maple leaf

will it or will it not branch fall?

wind blower ready

 

U blow away what’s left

last to take but give nothing

U blew off the last leaf

on the weeping willow tree

U blew away my dog

& now he has no bone

the farmers pray when you wind

U wind off the last soil

no topsoil for seeds to take to

i’m weary of your return

but bless you each time

you remove

what i wouldn’t 

Kogarashi

Radomir Vojtech Luza

Cradle of Cadavers (In Ten Parts)

I  A normal Tuesday morning

   I am getting out of bed in Jersey City, NJ

   Across the river from Manhattan

II  My ex-wife Monica calling about

    A small plane hitting World Trade Center Building One

III  I turn on the television to dash and disarray

     Ash and misery

     Sirens Screaming

     New Yorkers torn from dreaming

IV  People jumping from Building One

     What were they thinking about on the way down?

     Potential to porridge

     Possibility to pain

     Phone-calling to falling

V   The 300 firemen perishing when Building Two falls

      What were they doing there?

      Duty to dust

      Rambo to rust

VI  The gray smoke covering my benched soul

      Our country molested

      A planet at war

      A universe at stake

VII  My marriage crumbling after two years

       Soon I am homeless, without medication and

       Going through a bitter divorce on the long and wide piranha streets of Los Angeles

 

VIII  September 11th, 2001

        Breaking my unbreakable bond to the anti-blonde

IX     The arc towards the end

         Beginning with a deep bend

         Lying on the floor

         Begging for a door

X       End of the beginning

         Beginning of the end

         Carnival of corpses

         Victims without a friend

         Humanity with nothing to lend        

When The Twins Fell Down

Photographs on fences

Business cards without lenses

Sketches drawn with no senses

Brothers looking for sisters

Mothers searching for sons

God finding a city

Wrapped in tears

Floating in blood

Somehow locating love

Ash-covered ville

Suits sprinting

Policemen pointing

Angels anointing

Town no longer dreaming

Terrorists scheming

Mayor leading

Ground Zero conspiracies creaming

Twenty years of pain

America never the same

My life forever changed

A new angle of refrain

Under a sky made of rain