September 2012: 1st, 2nd, & 3rd Selections

the paper bag
warming in the sun
retains the fragrance
of moss. . .
the fir forest

--Brian Howlett

I beg, Brother Owl,

to make room for ease,
for the wise,
for peace beneath the moon

and room as well
for the wide eyes,

for madness, and your leave to howl.

--Birrell Walsh

In Alexandria

My friend and I stand in the crowd
on the cornice watching the high-born
battle for the harbor.  Beyond,
the ancient library goes up in smoke,
the stink of ages blackening the sky,
all and maybe nothing essential
lost.  Bored standing around
sweat-soaked in the blazing sun
we leave and go to find a drink.

--Patrick Mizelle

Fourth September Selection 2012

Poseidon's Horses

At the end of summer

always the wind

watched by the horses

stoutly forward facing it

heads bowed against

the surf of green pastures

as clouds glide overhead.

And always the wind.

Storms blunder in

from the North Atlantic

day turns gunmetal gray

approaching walls of rain

on the road to Vík

all color is smothered

from the world.

Then come

the running cloud-breaks of sun

that stampede over the fields

where the horses are still waiting

and windows of light

race up basalt cliffs

illuminating the glacier fingers

that clutch this island.

Ahead

torrents of a river unravel

on a flood plane

lava sand

the thread of the road

leads to a causeway bridge.

Droves of horses gallop

out of the brightness on the bridge

mounted horsemen follow

the fences of the road

channeling

the currents of the herd

they spread around my car

blowing panting

not quite touching it.

Beyond the river

storm fronts trample the landscape

hoof beats of air

as waterfalls

launch themselves from cliffs

white-streamered

blown sideways in the rain.

And always there is the wind.

Poseidon's horses run free

on lava sand beaches

breaching the luster

of the broken surf

foam dissolving

and the sea becomes night

dark as basalt.

--Wulf Losee

Fifth September Selection 2012

It’s probably just as well that I fell into a coma

as I came dangerously close

to entering the classroom 

and teaching by example

which means that I'd walk through the door chanting

singing

reciting

dancing

inciting

invoking

proceed to the black board

and commence writing until

blackboards ran out and into walls

walls ran out and into doors

doors met floors

until hopefully others would join in 

to rewrite reality 

until the period was over

or

until our time ran out

Of course it’s possible someone would play God

and fire me first

But I'm pretty confident that someone else would go crazy

and pick up where we left off

--Richard Velez