Thursday, April 10, 2014

He Said She Said


He wrote, she wrote
I wrote, they said:

I have been besieged for too long.

I said, she said
They wrote, he said:

Why am I no longer a victim?

They wrote, I said
She said, he wrote:

How is this not about me?

I said, I wrote,
I tried, I cried:

Why can't anyone see me?

I bleed my life
on paper with pen
to people with words.

It's only a certainty
my brand leaves me sober
knowing my story
is half of the battle.

I said, she said,
they said, he said:

I have taken my place
at the chair,
at the table.

I have to stop you
from taking me over.

He wrote, she wrote,
I wrote, they said,
They said, he said,
he wrote, she wrote:

My joy is a fable,
my friends are untruthful.
Can you please help me?
I need a moment.

He said, she said,
she wrote, he wrote,
they said, we said,
I wrote, I said:

Things might get crazy up ahead;
so I've taken my place at the chair,
at the table.

He said, she said,
He wrote, she wrote,
I tried, I cried:

I am a lie
and so are you.




by Owen Loscar

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Snow Passing


There's an entrance to these woods I call my own
that no passer-by has ever been shown
where leaves exceed and flow over the trail.

Under these white December skies
as shadows form above my eyes
I find myself wandering the dreamless snow
though I know my steps will lead me back
to where I was before.

I'd much rather be lost in snow
and never see another soul
where the lamp lights cross over pastured fields
and no sullen eye wakes from midnight drear.

Beyond the trees far off from here
an endless field of blanketed white
where I find no word but silence still

I find my clarity in the snow
where seldom travelers ever go.



by Joseph Ostapiuk
Something About You


Keeps me waking
from oblong nights to morn.

It's not those worshiped pleasantries
traversed between yours and mine,
or the halls of untouched volumes
that occupy your mind.

It's not the gowns
that you have worn,
or the countenances that have adorned
the mantel of your eyes.

It's something deep within those eyes
that lie upon your cheeks,
a false memory, perhaps
of what was there that lied,

a place not unfamiliar
to angels, when they sigh,
a home I know, but scarcely go,
and where would gladly die.

And if, perchance, I should fill
your heaven-sent eyes with mine,
I scarcely know if I should go
beyond those eyes again.


by John Montana

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

                                                                                                Byzantium


Why hide behind your philosophy

As if it were a knight's shield?

Hate is always a fallacy,

Especially behind your cold veil.



Love is all you need?

If that be true,

Then how come you smoke weed?

Why do you glue yourself

To computers, to phones, to TV?



Why don't you just go see her?



Look, look with your feeble eyes:

We sail to Byzantium

Only to grow bored.

We sail to Byzantium

Only to grow old.

Byzantium is a place

Where the young grow careless.

Byzantium is a place

Where the free become trapped.

Byzantium is a place where your emotions cease,

And Byzantium is not a place anymore.



by Owen Loscar

Monday, March 31, 2014

     Letters to Jay

Do you remember the moment your heart grew cold?
Was it because you were forced to watch your life unfold
When you were taken from your father at five years-old
And your mother's time had already been borrowed and sold?
Or the time that you had no one to confide,
So you swallowed your pride
And implied
That you needed no one by your side.
Not only had your love for life died,
You were dying inside.
But still you tried...
I remember: it was the day you said you HATED ME.
But you couldn't pretend
That I wasn't your friend.
And in the end,
I knew you didn't intend
To overextend
The helping hand I tried to lend.
I pray
That one day
You won't push me away.
All of them, they led you astray,
But trust me when I say
I won't treat you that way!
No, please don't walk away.
Just this once Jay
Please...please stay.


by Fatima Livan

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Tanager
 
I spy you in April's newleaf green,
living scarlet, animate jewel,
living proof of love's sheer descent
from glorious onesong unity
to fearsome threefold life.
 
Fluttering, fragile,
you've conquered the day in your brilliance.
Let me look deeply;
give me the glory of your clear
bright image
to flash upon the silent heart
in darkest winter's dreams. 
 
 
 
by Richard Trant
 
 
 
*** previously published in The Sweet Annie & Sweet Peas Review, 2002 



Thursday, May 30, 2013

Cherry Blossoms

She was tall enough
to reach their boughs,
bending; her golden locks
flowing earthward,
each pale silken petal
a canvas to her eyes
and a gentle face to caress.
All seemed motionless 
when she stopped to paint
their blossoms,
as if heaven had held its breath
and no birds sang,
and not a breath stirred through the trees
when she lifted her fingers
towards their leaves
so that not one would fall
from its branch.

And in her eyes I can see
the spring that once filled mine
and remember the arms
where not a joy or love
would ever be lost or forgotten.


       by Joseph Ostapiuk