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.

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.

Richard Hartwell - 1 Poem

Escape

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.

Crystal.

Shining.

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.

Painted

in the bloody shades

of reality.

Disappointment.

And spiteful delight.

   

From Quinine Whiteness

I crawl

from underneath your shadow.

A child

reborn

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.

Scream.

Higher.

Louder.

Harder.

Wake up the world.

To your rage.

They will see it.

Shining.

A flame.

Fit.

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.

Insane.

I can set your pain.

Free.

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 http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000191382454 and https://twitter.com/#!/poetess222.