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Halcyon Days - 2021 Issue 23 | 1

Halcyon Days 2021—Issue 23

Founder, Monique Berry | Hamilton On Canada

Cover Image by cecilia—stock.adobe.com; Inside photo is Susan Vineyard—stock.adobe.com

Halcyon Days Magazine

ISSN: 2291-0255

Frequency: Quarterly

Contact Info

http://halcyondaysmagazine.blogspot.ca

Twitter: @1websurfer

Special Notices

Halcyon Days has one time rights.

See website for subscription details.


Inside

Bios

Alan Cohen

Monterey Morning .......................................................... 13

Home .............................................................................. 13

Bruce Levine

The River of Time ............................................................. 6

A Harmonious Day ........................................................... 7

Waiting for Fall ................................................................ 7

A Fall Reflection ............................................................... 8

Carol Barrett

Daisy 4

Crabapple Medley ............................................................ 5

Sky Harbor Haiku ............................................................. 8

Leaving My House for a Wooded Retreat ....................... 10

Carolyn Chilton Casas

A Desire to be Coffee Beans ........................................... 24

This Poem ....................................................................... 25

Words ............................................................................. 30

Gaiyle J. Connolly

Breakfast Close-Up......................................................... 14

Bliss ................................................................................ 16

Joan McNerney

Autumn Notes.................................................................. 17

Janice Canerdy

Autumn Meditation ......................................................... 11

On Rainy Nights ............................................................. 12

Beauty in Isolation .......................................................... 22

John Delaney

Hush ................................................................................. 4

Point Hudson Café.......................................................... 27

Companions .................................................................... 28

Whaling .......................................................................... 29

Matthew Peluso

Small Pleasures .............................................................. 26

Sharon Lask Munson

First Tree ........................................................................ 18

Camouflage .................................................................... 20

Early Frost ..................................................................... 21

Stella Mazur Preda

Baked Pumpkin Custard ................................................. 15

A Woodland Odyssey ...................................................... 23

Vandana Kumar

The Poem That Sleeps ..................................................... 31

Bruce Levine has spent his life as a writer

of fiction and poetry and as a music and

theatre professional. A 2019 Pushcart

Prize Poetry nominee, a 2021 Spillwords

Press Awards winner, the Featured

Writer in WestWard Quarterly Summer

2021 and his bio is featured in “Who’s

Who of Emerging Writers 2020.” Bruce has over three

hundred works published on over twenty-five on-line

journals including Ariel Chart, Spillwords, The Drabble;

nearly seventy print books including Poetry Quarterly,

Haiku Journal, Tipton Poetry Journal; Halcyon Days and

Founder’s Favourites (on-line and print) and his shows

have been produced in New York and around the

country. His work is dedicated to the loving memory of

his late wife, Lydia Franklin. A native Manhattanite,

Bruce now lives and writes in Maine. Visit him

at www.brucelevine.com

Carol Barrett teaches Poetry and

Healing courses for two universities. She

has published two volumes of poetry and

one of creative nonfiction. Her poems

appear both in literary magazines, and in

places one does not typically expect to

find poetry: Journal of the American

Medical Association, Oregon Birds, The Climbing Art,

Christian Century, and American Bee Journal.

Carolyn Chilton Casas is a Reiki Master

and teacher. Her favorite themes to write

about are healing, awareness, and the life

journey. Carolyn’s stories and poems

have appeared in Energy, Odyssey, Reiki

News Magazine, The Art of Healing,

Touch, and in other publications. You can read more of

Carolyn’s work on Instagram at mindfulpoet_ or in her

first collection of poems titled Our Shared Breath.

Joan McNerney’s poetry has been

included in numerous literary magazines

such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with

the Muse, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow

Haze, Blueline, and Halcyon Days. She

has four Best of the Net nominations and

her latest titles are The Muse in

Miniature and Love Poems for Michael, both available

on Amazon.com.


Hush

By John Delaney

The fawn stood in the middle of the trail,

stiffly scanning its surroundings,

having just emerged from ferns

under trees that were thick and lush,

into the spotlight of the sun,

where all were alerted to each other.

We stopped, and with a gentle call

brought it homing towards us in a rush.

But it stopped, too, some yards away.

Clearly, we were not what it expected,

and no name could draw it any closer.

Soon it sought the embrace of the brush.

Moral: when innocence approaches, seeking

signs of recognition, nature cries ‘hush’.

Photo Credit: John Delaney

In 2016, John moved out to Port Townsend, WA, after retiring as curator of historic maps at Princeton University. He’s

traveled widely, preferring remote, natural settings, and is addicted to kayaking and hiking. In 2017, he published

Waypoints, a collection of place poems. Twenty Questions, a chapbook, appeared in 2019, and Delicate Arch, poems and

photographs of national parks and monuments, is forthcoming next year.

Daisy

By Carol Barrett

buttons line

the walkway, tight

thimbles intent on summer

light, bobbing in the breeze, almost

ready to burst, like a tea kettle whispering

before that high-pitched whistle, announcing a

multi-pettled world for the jay in the pine, the rabbit

rustling in ferns, asking as I pass by, for what do you wait,

what unfolding witness, deer bounding beyond the soul’s horizon?

Camera Nation—stock.adobe.com


_L_W—Pixabay.com

Crabapple Medley

By Carol Barrett

Such a pitiful name assigned them, crabby

and without particular charm, mere tabby

wandering streets, ravines on rainy days

ducking from the sleek Persian’s window gaze.

Deer feed on oval leaves in perfect canopy.

October, red jewels hang like cranberry

on hickory pine. Neighboring tumbleweed

nudge a swollen horizon. November, peach

hued leaves drape tips of branches. Squirrels

adore the mini globes that twist and twirl

when nibbled. They will not drop of easy accord,

even when a flock descends, and, sated, soars,

when wind has wrestled the last leaves loose,

snow dons its merry caps. Not till winter stoops

to plaintive pleas will they let go succourous

cords. The pulp of crabapples, sumptuous

bread pudding makes, or almond coffee cake.

A most transparent culinary art, jelly takes

pint jars with creamy paraffin lids. For dashing

trim to wild turkey: chutney, with a stash

of cashews, apricot wine swirled above the stem.

Seed catalogues feature crabapples, named

by blossom, not by leaf: Cardinal, Prairifire, Scarlet

Brandywine, Weeping Candied Apple. Harlot

petals dance in dark red velvet, or ivory lace.

A flicker woodpecker can tilt a limb out of place,

so tender the dark tapestry of narrow

twigs beyond bearing season. But sparrow,

no movement ampler than the slightest breeze.

Crabapples bask in sun. Shade will seize,

offend their nature. Let glory bloom. Let flute

rustle high branches, and deep bassoon

encircle trunk. Invite dear friends who portend

unhurried history, whose syllables lend

a dotted parlance. Offer a sprig of mint. Savor

the tart crabapple, its wild and wanton grace.

Shelley—stock.adobe.com


The River of Time

By Bruce Levine

The journey awakens

Moving forward on the current

Of the river of time

New horizons painted

Against a backdrop of tomorrow

Open vistas looking outward

Across mountains and valleys

Aglow in the warmth of a sunset

As the journey goes onward

On the river of time

Hakan Eliacik—stock.adobe.com


A Harmonious Day

By Bruce Levine

Waves of cool breezes

Forecasting fall

As the leaves shimmer

In the afternoon sun

Of a waning August day

Seasonal flowers

Still in full bloom

In multi-colored splendor

On the patio awaiting fall leaves

To clothe it in a new palette

Walking along a beach

At low tide

Searching for driftwood

Formed by the tides

Into natural sculptures

As the day recedes

In the glow of the sunset

And the star filled sky

Transforms the hours

Into the tranquility of night

Waiting for Fall

By Bruce Levine

Waiting for fall

The cool brisk days

Filled with transparent skies

The bounty of the harvest

Blanketed with the silken threads

Of fallen leaves

Colored from nature’s paint box

The fall wardrobe

Of cozy cashmere

Hidden away during the summer’s heat

Tweeds in a herringbone pattern

Jackets and long skirts

Adorning men and women

Wrapping body and soul

In luxurious warmth

Waiting for fall

When music fills the air

As birds in flight migrate

And the downbeat of a symphony orchestra

Marks the beginning of the new season

Waiting for fall

To heighten the senses

With the aromas of cooking

And the satisfied palate

Of comfort foods

Blended in the glory of fall days

Filled with beauty

And the sights and sounds

Of fall

Teuvo Uusitalo—Pixabay.com

Svitlana—stock.adobe.com


A Fall Reflection

By Bruce Levine

Fall leaves and pine needles

blanket the ground

Shades of ochre

nestled against a crimson backdrop

Orange berries fill a tree

punctuating the landscape

As if the metamorphosis

needs defining

An October chill

a presentiment of days to come

Winter poking its head

out of hibernation

Yet the days hold fast

to the glories of fall

And still linger a little longer

before succumbing

A time for reflection

and exploration

Uncharted pathways

set down by nature’s cartographer

In forests transformed

into stereoscopic slideshows

Of heightened expressions

engraved on the mind

Татьяна—stock.adobe.com


Sky Harbor Haiku

by Carol Barrett

One leaf flutters past.

Somewhere close, coyotes prowl,

unlearning instincts.

amenohi—stock.adobe.com


Leaving My House for a Wooded Retreat

By Carol Barrett

I have told the cats who is coming.

Seven deer lope through the backyard,

one scratching his hind quarter with a hoof.

The sprinklers have begun, greening

the grass cut just last night at dusk.

Dandelion fluff floats on a light breeze.

Inside, the cactus my mother nursed

for fifty years. The cherrywood floor

gleams in dark splendor, my table set

with quilted mats, their print tumbling

blackberries, peaches, melon. The pantry,

laden with jars of plum jam, pear honey.

In the bedroom, trusty Singer beckons,

spools of lime and raspberry thread,

iridescent fabric for someone’s daughter.

Bathroom mirror glints, catching the guest

soap, stylized wings of a dragonfly.

My desk, clear of lists. Bouquet of pencils.

Why am I leaving? Why not just tell the world

I am away, gone as the night sky at noon.

Photographee.eu—stock.adobe.com


Autumn Meditation

By Janice Canerdy

Each season comes with unique challenges

and blessings that affect me countless ways.

I’ve found that autumn woos my pensive side

the most. I seek an isolated place

where only nature makes a welcome sound—

the rustle of the boldly colored leaves

as they descend, embellishing the path;

the breeze that makes my flannel shirt feel good,

the woodland creatures, unaware of me

but livening the setting that inspires

the inkling of a poem yet to be.

Makupix Photos—stock.adobe.com


On Rainy Nights

By Janice Canerdy

On rainy nights, in pensive thought,

I claim the respite I have sought

but seldom found on sunny days.

Cool drops soothe more than brightest rays

in times when life's with trouble fraught.

These introspective times have brought

sweet peace and comfort when I've fought

a heated battle with malaise

on rainy nights.

Sweet peace of mind cannot be caught

like raindrops. Nor can it be bought

with tears; but when life, like a maze,

confounds me, at the flow I gaze

and praise the joys by nature wrought

on rainy nights.

oktay—stock.adobe.com

Janice Canerdy is a retired high-school English teacher from Potts Camp, Mississippi. She has been writing poetry for decades.

Her poems have appeared in numerous publications, including Halcyon (November 2014), Lyric Magazine, Parody, Lighten Up

Online, the Society of Classical Poets Journals, and the contest journals of the Mississippi Poetry Society and the National

Federation of State Poetry Societies. She has had one book published, Expressions of Faith (Christian Faith Publishing, 2016).


Home

By Alan Cohen

When arms sting

under the influence

of wind, chill, and sun

and streams sing

a sweet, steely song

in their rush downhill

and profligate trees

carpet steep hillsides

how can a young man

hiking even once here

among the bright vociferous flowers

help feeling possessive

And then

because he owns the alpine canyons

he is at home

whenever he returns

as he never is in whatever house

he lives, furnishes, cherishes

close by his work

Snow will close the passes

and he will sleep

lifetimes away

but bright flowers will blossom from his pen

and mountain streams will run in his sleep

Monterey Morning

By Alan Cohen

The restlessness of these birds

Seagulls, pigeons

Their white droppings on rooftops

The way their excursions

Define to our eyes

Better than flags

The inclinations of the air

Their raucous voices, haunting

In their repetition, the way they echo

In the greater air

In under the fog

In on land, out at sea

Sitting on roofs, on posts

On the sand

Serve as the city’s anchor

Sleeker, more uncompromising

More at home than we are

pattierstock—stock.adobe.com

Jeremy—stock.adobe.com


Breakfast Close-Up

By Gaiyle J. Connolly

They come to the table

side by side

in sleep-rumpled wear

with bed-headed hair

each thinking the other

looks like a film star.

He grunts oh

almost orgasmic

at eggs and fried tomatoes.

She seeks his lap for sticky kisses

sweetened by desire

and rhubarb jam.

He grunts oh

almost orgasmic

at eggs and fried tomatoes.

Yevhenii Kukulka—stock.adobe.com


Baked Pumpkin Custard*

Submitted by Stella Mazur Preda

Yield: 8 servings

1½ cups canned or mashed cooked pumpkin

1 can (12 ounces) evaporated skim milk

1¾ cups fat-free egg substitute

1/3 cup orange juice

1½ teaspoons vanilla extract

½ cup light brown sugar

1½ teaspoons pumpkin pie spice

*Recipe taken from “ Fat-Free Holiday

Recipes” by Sandra Woodruff, RD

1. Place all of the ingredients in a blender or food processor, and

process until smooth.

2. Coat a 2-quart soufflé dish with nonstick cooking spray.

Pour the mixture into the dish, and place the dish in a pan filled

with 1 inch of hot water.

3. Bake at 350 degrees F for about 1 hour and 15 minutes, or

until a sharp knife inserted in the centre of the custard comes

out clean.

Chill for at least 8 hours or overnight and serve.

** DO NOT USE CANNED PUMPKIN PIE FILLING!

USE ONLY REGULAR CANNED PUMPKIN.

______________________________________________________

NUTRITIONAL FACTS ( PER 2/3-CUP SERVING)

Calories: 131 Fat: 0.2 g Protein: 8.6

Cholesterol: 0 mg Fiber:0.9 g Sodium: 131 mg

______________________________________________________


Bliss

By Gaiyle J. Connolly

Perpetual carnation

white

feathered red

smells faintly of

Christmas candy canes.

First appears

for a sweet sixteen,

a gift

from a boy

with sapphire eyes.

Reappears

graduations

bridal bouquet

anniversaries

monumental birthdays.

Dianthus Bliss

botanical name

expresses joy remembered;

making a comeback

horticulturalists claim.

This frilly beauty

never left.

Nor did the boy

with the sapphire eyes.

Pixamio—Pixabay.com


Autumn Notes

By Joan McNerney

Four sparkling maples

sashay in autumn winds.

dressed in yellow lace.

Half moon hiding in old

oak tree on top of hillside.

Children kicking up leaves

shouting while jumping

over mounds of foliage.

Bright leaves gleaming

in sunshine tumbling

through an Alice blue sky.

Carpets of red yellow brown

foliage unfurls before us.

Walking through trails of trees

becoming spellbound by

leafy giants towering over us.

lydia—stock.adobe.com


First Tree

By Sharon Lask Munson

He trudges down from the hills

through knee deep snow

dragging our first Christmas tree

positions the tall fir

by the front window

where the pale light

of a winter’s day

illuminates a bird nest

hidden deep in its branches.

Speechless, we stare at the gift

aware of the legend

luck, health, and happiness

brought to those

who are so fortunate.

Val Weston—stock.adobe.com


Alan Cohen’s first publication as

a poet was in the PTA Newsletter

when he was 10 years old. He

graduated Farmingdale High

School (where he was Poetry

Editor of the magazine, The

Bard), Vassar College (with a BA

in English) and University of

California at Davis Medical

School, did his internship in

Boston and his residency in

Hawaii, and was then a Primary

Care physician, teacher, and

Chief of Primary Care at the VA,

first in Fresno, CA and later in

Roseburg, OR. He was nominated for his performance in

Fresno for the 2012 VA Mark Wolcott Award for Excellence

in Clinical Care Leadership. He has gone on writing poems

for 60 years and, now retired from medicine, is beginning to

share some of his discoveries. He has had a poem

(“Autopsy”) and a medical letter to the editor in the New

England Journal of Medicine and, more recently, an article

called “Annals of Communication: Giving a Patient a

Diagnosis and Other Idioms In Development” in the

American Journal of Medicine; and has had poems published

in various publications. He had an honorable mention in

Ninth Annual Mississippi Valley Poetry Contest; and has had

letters to the editor in the New Yorker and Poetry

Magazine. He’s been married to Anita for 41 years, and

they’ve lived in Eugene, OR these past 11.

Gaiyle J. Connolly, a poet and

artist from Hamilton, Ontario,

Canada, has numerous

publications to her credit, some

of them prize-winning. They

appear in local and international

periodicals and journals. Her

collection of poetry, Lifelines,

which she also illustrated, was

published in 2015. Her

background of several ethnicities,

love of art and travel and

devotion to social justice are

reflected in her work. Her

readership includes Canada, the

United States, Mexico and India. She is Past President of

the Tower Poetry Society in Hamilton and has been

active in poetry groups in Mexico. She is at the moment

working on her second book of poetry for which once

again she will provide illustrations. As a change of pace,

she is trying her hand at short story writing inspired by

her childhood years spent in rural Quebec.

Sharon Lask Munson was

born and raised in Detroit,

Michigan. She taught school in

England, Germany, Okinawa,

and Puerto Rico before driving

to Anchorage, Alaska and staying

for the next twenty years.

She is a retired teacher, poet,

coffee addict, old movie enthusiast,

lover of road trips—with

many published poems, two

chapbooks, and two full-length

books of poetry. She now lives

and writes in Eugene, Oregon. She says many things

motivate her to write: a mood, a memory, the smell of

cooking, burning leaves, a windy day, rain, fog, something

observed or overheard—and of course, imagination.

She has a pin that says, “I Make Things Up.” You

can find her at www.sharonlaskmunson.com

Stella Mazur Preda is a resident

of Waterdown, Ontario, Canada.

Having retired from elementary

teaching in Toronto, she is owner

and publisher of Serengeti Press,

a small press publishing

company, located in the

Hamilton area. Since its opening

in 2003, Serengeti Press has

published 43 Canadian books.

Serengeti Press is now

temporarily on hiatus. Stella

Mazur Preda has been published

in numerous Canadian

anthologies and some US, most notably the purchase of

her poem My Mother’s Kitchen by Penguin Books, New

York. Stella has released four previous books, Butterfly

Dreams (Serengeti Press, 2003); Witness, Anthology of

Poetry (Serengeti Press, 2004), edited by John B.

Lee; From Rainbow Bridge to Catnip Fields (Serengeti

Press, 2007) The Fourth Dimension, (Serengeti Press,

2012). She is a current member of Tower Poetry Society

in Hamilton, Ontario and The Ontario Poetry Society.

Stella is currently working on her fifth book, Tapestry,

based on the life of her aunt and written completely in

poetic form.


Camouflage


Flocks of ptarmigan

approach by the hundreds

fill tundra skies, descend

grayish-brown in summer

they merge into plants

hide among rocks, bushes.

*

In frigid December

these arctic birds blend

into the snow covered earth

like brides

on their wedding day

dressed in their best winter white.


Early Frost


The expected snowfall

failed to arrive

and as the silent dawn unfolds

the child sees

mosaic patterns

of silvery feathers

angel wings

had come to rest

on the window overnight.

_L_W—Pixabay.com


The Beauty in Isolation

By Janice Canerdy

I've spread my blanket on the ground close to

the trunk of a majestic willow tree.

I relish how its long, green, wispy leaves,

which almost touch the ground, envelop me.

I watch them swaying in the gentle breeze

as I sit--silent, lost in pensive thought.

As one who feels that solitude can lead

to peace, I've found the perfect spot I sought.

I brought my pen and paper just in case . . .

but suddenly I’m nodding and my eyes

are closing. For a little while, I'll sleep.

Perhaps I’ll write a poem when I rise.

Jakub Luksch—Pixabay.com


A Woodland Odyssey

By Stella Mazur Preda

Foliage stripped, barren skeletons

defy the forces of nature

proudly exhibit their nakedness.

Others, leaves trembling

in autumn breezes

perch precariously atop boulders

as if the aged rocks themselves

had given birth.

Evergreens stand tall,

towering peaks mirror reflections

in still translucent waters below.

Harald—stock.adobe.com


A Desire to be Coffee Beans

By Carolyn Chilton Casas

In the hour after dawn breaks

and before the sun rises

over an eastern hill,

I want to be a bag of coffee beans,

dark, wafting a fragrance

that motivates nations to action,

cured with sunlight

and rotated by human hands

in a far-off tropic land,

beloved as they are

to those of us who dream

of the perfect cup,

mine with a dash of sugar

and frothy milk stirred in.

To be sought after that way,

to be tenderly held and desired,

to provide warmth,

finding that perfect place to belong.

Artem—stock.adobe.com


This Poem

by Carolyn Chilton Casas

I have lost control of this poem.

The reins have fallen from my hands,

the horse I am riding galloping

toward a steep cliff.

I hang on to his mane,

lean my bobbing head

to his ear, softly whisper,

Stay calm, we can do this together.

But the horse has other ideas.

He’s frightened, determined

to go his own way, wondering

why I am still on his back.

At the precipice, his temperament

settles, he slows, allows me to

reach down to pick up the reins

and turn him finally toward home.

olgagomenyuk—stock.adobe.com

Ilshat—stock.adobe.com


Small Pleasures

By Matthew Peluso

Soft, warm winter mornings on the Key

Enjoying a café con leche and empanada de carne

Followed by a fresh, hand-rolled cigarillo

Just bought on Calle Ocho the day before

Leaning on a shelf at my favorite local bodega

Listening to Celia Cruz coming from a small

Ancient radio stuck between photos of Pope John Paul II

Draped in rosary beads and a black-and-white of Luis Tiant

Watching my young kids letting out of school early on a snow-day

Their laughing, slipping, snowball throwing awkwardness

While I wait curbside, in line, with the buses, per pick-up protocol

The pleasure of winter fun and play that awaits their day ahead

Trying to vicariously share their innocent joy in the accumulation

But gladly resigned to failure caused by the weight of experience

And deference to their complete and sole ownership of the moment

Sitting in an Adirondack on the wrap-around porch of an old-house

Early spring morning, with the sounds of a soft, misty rain

Gently tapping on the overhang, and moistening hungry, young buds

Nestled deep in my favorite broke-in, plaid-lined denim jacket

A hot cup of strong, black coffee on the armrest, steam slowly rising

Re-reading a favorite novel that always confirms how the very few

Can capture the complexity of existence with extraordinary insight

Louisen—stock.adobe.com

Matthew Peluso is a civil rights attorney and poet, whose work is inspired by the discriminated and marginalized people

he represents. He has a B.A. in Philosophy from George Washington University and a J.D. from the University of Miami

School of Law. His poems have appeared in the Opiate Magazine, Global Poemic, Roanoke Review, Waterways: Poetry

In The Mainstream, the Wilderness House Literary Review and Stoneboat Literary Journal.


Point Hudson Café

By John Delaney

After I order, I look at the boats

in the marina from my window seat,

undulating like white piano keys

in a light wind across the water.

Gulls hover high above their masts like notes.

The breakfast chatter is just loud enough

to render words into laughs. A buzzing peace.

We’re a sun-up, chow-down crowd,

mostly seniors and regulars from town

or Retirement Vehicle residents.

The sun is blinding, so some blinds come down.

I examine the chart of my placemat,

showing in nautical exactitude

the range of anchorages in Puget Sound,

the fathomed depths of each channel.

Somehow, with our Good Place Sense, we found

our way here. And now comes the food

and my attention turns more practical

to an egg, a pancake, and one piece of bacon:

the chef’s special from the chalkboard menu.

Leashed to schedules, some are led away,

but there’s nowhere I need yet to go.

I am moored in thought, idling my spoon

in a cup of coffee, while today

sends an RSVP to tomorrow.

Eifel Kreutz—stock.adobe.com

Jasmin Merdan—stock.adobe.com


Companions

By John Delaney

My old car drove by me this afternoon.

I recognized the quirky rear dent,

that is its birthmark, in the side mirror.

Twenty years old! And two since I sold it.

But there it went: someone else at the wheel.

I was surprised, of course, but solaced, too.

So much time we had spent together,

running trips and errands, commuting years,

ready to go, like a dog for a walk,

when I turned the key. Best of companions.

Then I thought of all the mortal others

who shared with me a term of days: hopeful

that they survive somewhere on this planet,

that those I loved now ride with someone else,

no worse for wear—all heading places still.

Miroslava brandon—stock.adobe.com

Arnaudova—stock.adobe.com


Whaling

By John Delaney

At the first blow, someone shouts.

By the second, we’ve rushed the windows

to catch a glimpse of this spouting off.

There’s another, and another—just

enough to keep our rapture growing.

In front, the Olympic Mountains loom

over Port Angeles where we’re heading.

The whale, or whales—we’re assuming now

a mother and her sportive calf

have hooked the narrative thread—

herald their way down the Strait

of Juan de Fuca to the ocean,

crossing the ferry’s path, baiting our thoughts

with these firework displays

jetting out of the motioning water:

puffs and exhalations we take as signs

of mighty, sentient beings

ascending from imponderable depths,

as we, too, loose our pent-up prayers

in praise of faith and wonder.

annepowell1956—stock.adobe.com


okalinichenko—stock.adobe.com

Words

By Carolyn Chilton Casas

Words give the tongue wings.

Consider spangled, calabash, chiseled—

their pipelines vibrating

through your body.

Say enigma, Osage, interwoven,

cobalt, concentric, lodestone—

they take you to an imaginative

place far from the small

space you inhabit.

Think nouns—lullaby, spark

kernel, Pismo; adjectives—

secret, crisp, lucid, ethereal,

verbs—preen and praise.

Words can save you;

they are rafts

on a rolling sea.

Putting them together is a marvel.

Taste the word pozole—

how it makes your mouth water,

bursts of tones like shooting stars.

Words can save you;

they are rafts

on a rolling sea.


The Poem That Sleeps

By Vandana Kumar

Not every poem

jumps out of bed.

with sunshine in its eyes

Poems have travelled eons

Yours and mine

The last emperor’s

My neighbor’s

Poems carry the weight

Of their own weary feet

It’s okay now and then

to find some summer shade

A cool river flows

The poem unpacks its words

and falls asleep

Poems carry the weight

of their own feet

The poem unpacks its words

and falls asleep

rolffimages—stock.adobe.com

Vandana Kumar is a Middle School French teacher in New Delhi, India. An educator with over 20 years of experience,

she is also a French translator and recruitment consultant. Her poems have been published in various national and

international journals and websites like ‘Mad Swirl’, Toronto based ‘Scarlet Leaf Review’, Philadelphia based ‘North of

Oxford’, Saint Paul, Minnesota based ‘Grey Sparrow Journal’, UK based ‘Destiny Poets’, ‘Lothlorien Poetry Journal’,

‘Madras Courier’, Glomag etc. She has featured in anthologies like Houston, Texas based – ‘Harbinger Asylum’, US

based ‘Kali Project’ of Indie Blu(e) Publishing etc. She has been part of two projects of the World literature series on

Post-modern voices and critical thought. She also writes articles on cinema that have appeared on websites and journals

like ‘Just-cinema’, ‘Daily Eye’, ‘The Free Press Journal’, Boloji.com and The Artamour.



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