ENDTIME
by
Holly
Burnside
The madness has crept in delicately,
dovish in its stealthful and taffy smooth meandering.
Snippets of injustice pockmark the globe,
advancing like an invisible army
in its due and inevitable course.
Locked in an altercation, the insane against the insane,
we sit plotting on the couch in our worst clothes,
smoking and talking about the Revolution and the End,
knowing that we will travel in packs of the agonized,
baying at the moon and touching each other's scars.
Art by
Linda
Smith
Found on page 33 of the
October - November - December
- 2001 issue of
Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
|
MOONBURN
by
Albert
Huffstickler
Walking at night's O.K.,
she said, but you have
to watch out for moonburn.
It's dangerous because
it's not a hot burn, it's
a cool burn, you don't
even know you have it till
your skin starts falling
off. She was silent for
a moment thinking, then
added, Shadows burn too.
They just take longer.
Art by
Linda
Smith
Found on page 21 of the
October - November - December
- 2001 issue of
Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
|
UNGUARDED
by
Barb
Lundy
I catch the stranger's glance as I pass the
hallway mirror. Startled, her azure
eyes watch me, cool. Cold? Gentian
specks stare leaden. Opaque? I retreat
to the tangled remains of last year's
garden, underbrush to frosted heather
rising above fragile hyacinth.
Too soon, I clip the early blossoms.
Arrange them in the crystal vase beneath
reflection. Stand new growth against intrusion.
Look again, and greet her chilling candor. No trace
of an unfinished future lingers in her eyes
Art by
Linda
Smith
Found on page 23 of the
October - November - December
- 2001 issue of
Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
|
BOSTON AUTUMN
by
B.Z.
Niditch
The moon in rainy autumn
eases the doubtful lover
who carries dry wine
from a dismal summer
under veiled plane trees
through the fog
he recites by the river
all his childhood vows
but the picnic crowds
huddled between hyacinths
only think he is drunk.
Art by
Linda
Smith
Found on page 13 of the
October - November -
December - 2001 issue
of Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
|
NEST OF MOON
by
Sharon
Patterson
Driving at night
in the mountains above Ojai,
the stereo plays Indian Flutes
music swept out and caught
under a brazen dome of stars.
Here, alone, on a piece
of uninhabited earth,
tones caress
the rain-craved face of the mountain
where night was born
and something lost
has found a way home.
Art by
Linda
Smith
Found on page 18 of the
October - November -
December - 2001 issue
of Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
|
DECOR
by
Sylvia
Wheeler
The painters of ceilings and walls splatter
sheet-rock spittle on my paintings.
Their eyes are on the ceiling, not on dark red,
peach, and blue paintings under glass.
Not on my decor.
Their muscles jump to La Bamba humming
from their radio, or on last night's sex,
or tonight's. Wet dark hangs
from their armpits. They haul ladders,
lay roof tiles, shoot sheet-rock guns.
They push and pull, are not moments
caught under glass.
Art by
Linda
Smith
Found on page 39 of the
October - November -
December - 2001 issue
of Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
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