the sun is sparkling, the rain rumbling, and we badly need some poetry...

Wednesday, 25 April 2012

Sanju Unjore - 1 Poem

A Call to My Brothers

The setting sun rising
the mood for a warm evening.
Beckoning the chilled elixir
in a discrete corner of the tavern.
Brothers scattered
in the everyday chores of livelihood.
Calling for a reunion
to recount the tales of the past and the present
while dreaming the future.
The chilled elixir regroups
the old warriors
that came through thick and cold
with an abundance
of laughter and jokes.
Boring monologues of some.
Silence of others.
Teases of mine.
Reminiscing the days
when we used to study
weird theories
and multi-veiled doppelgangers.
When we used to quarrel discussions
and planned adventurous escapades.
To the lake without ducks.
Near the old-bridge
and the remote playground
under the masking mango tree.
Treasuring these rare unforgettable moments
of brotherhood around the chilled elixir...

Biography: Sanju Unjore, from Mauritius is a researcher and English language teacher. He writes occasionally depending on his mood, inspired and influenced by his entourage and his teasing Muse.

Monday, 16 April 2012

Donal Mahoney - 1 Poem

Unintelligent Design

An hour a day, 
sometimes more,
I chipped away 
with mallet and chisel
on a block of marble 
I found in Carrara
and shipped to New York 
on the deck of a trawler.

I offered the marble 
to a famous sculptor 
who told me he works
in granite only 
so I grabbed his beret 
and one of his smocks 
and said I'd sculpt 
the block myself 
with whittling skills
picked up as a kid 
from a drunken uncle 
named Whittling Sid.

Several weeks later, 
to my surprise, 
I finished the bust 
of a chimpanzee  
simply by wielding 
mallet and chisel 
the way I wield 
pencil and eraser 
when hewing a poem.

Working with marble 
or working with words, 
a sculptor or poet
proves less is more 
by chipping away
until something emerges
upright and walking
with a soul of its own. 

BIOGRAPHY: Donal Mahoney has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. He has had poems published in The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, Commonweal, The Christian Science Monitor and a number of online publications.

Wednesday, 11 April 2012

Richard Hartwell - 1 Poem


One can seem alone in a garden, but
never lonely, for company abounds:
birds bantering, snails sauntering,
lizards lounging on the back wall.
All these keep me company and
provide ample distraction from
my own thoughts turned inward.
There are dashes of color which
dance across my field of vision
as I turn my range of focus.
Sounds, sights, smells abound.
Each of these bursts perfumes
its own sense receptors, creating
a cordant harmony during my
brief sojourn to the backyard.

BIOGRAPHY: Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school English teacher living in Southern California with his wife of thirty-five years (poor soul; her, not him), their disabled daughter, one of their sons and his ex-wife and their two children, and eleven cats.  Yes, eleven!  When not writing he wishes he were still pushing plywood in Coquille, Oregon.

A.J. Huffman - 3 poems

Stone Desire

At the liquid edge
of the dark.
I began
to understand.
That even the simplest movement
contains a world
of life.
And I was alive.
With that knowledge.
Set free.
In that instant’s discovery.
I was delighted
to accept its light
on my back.
But these dream-wings
were more than I expected.
Heavy and hot.
I could not shake
their desire for the sun.
Too close.
I burned.
And they broke.
And we crashed --
heart-first --
into a wall.
in the bloody shades
of reality.
And spiteful delight.
From Quinine Whiteness

I crawl
from underneath your shadow.
A child
to blindness.
I was meant to finish your form.
But something in our mixture got lost.
I believe it was me.
Or maybe just my mind.
Though the results are the same.
Just a different shade of chain.
For a different shape of beast.
Sane or not sane.
You will break me.
Bind me.
And bone me.
As I am owned.
By you.
My home.

Not Silent Or Silenced

And if the door opens.
Wake up the world.
To your rage.
They will see it.
A flame.
To fell the sky.
If you try
to focus it
on me.
It will prove
you are a fool.
For I am the only star left.
You need me.
To see.
I am your target.
I can set your pain.
If I decide
to accept.
The kiss.
Of your shadow’s stare.

BIOGRAPHY: A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has previously published three collections of poetry: The Difference Between Shadows and Stars, Carrying Yesterday, and Cognitive Distortion.  She has also published her work in national and international literary journals such as Avon Literary Intelligencer, Writer's Gazette, and The Penwood Review.  Find more about A.J. Huffman, including additional information and links to her work at and!/poetess222