You won’t have room for every leafless tree.
One may represent all, especially if you
shake it like an umbrella
to lessen moisture before closing.
Don’t bother with the wooly mantle of snow.
Pair slushy shoe puddles after they ice over,
Turn inwards the lean rows between apple trees, taking care
when you and Demeter appear over
Sarah Ann Winn’s poems have appeared or will appear soon in Day One, Bayou, Massachusetts Review, Quarterly West, and RHINO, among others. Recently, her piece “Field Guide to Alma Avenue and Frew Drive” was a finalist for Tupelo Quarterly’s Prose Open contest, judged by Joanna Howard. Her chapbook, Portage, was released by Sundress Publications. Find her at bluebirdwords.com or follow her @blueaisling on Twitter. She says:
“For a Lighter Spring Carryon” is inspired by my last visit to Ohio, which is where I spent my childhood. Since my MFA exam, Frost’s “Nothing Gold Can Stay” has been knocking around in my head, especially the line “her hardest hue to hold.” In considering how impossible it really is to go home again, but also to leave, somehow Spring became conflated with the memories of place, and I wondered how that article might read in one of those breezy travel articles that dispense advice about going.
At the Cyber Saloon I was asked my name
and given a map to a house
in the woods that might have been mine.
All my keys were taken and replaced
and bone. I could see the road wind through
with attention to mast, sail, keel and hull,
above my head. No ice, no soda, only house-
of origins, how galaxies formed from hot, fusing
In the mid 70’s, I taught at a small college in Wisconsin and one of the places my friends and I frequented was a bar called The Old Siber Saloon. I got to know the owner, who was quite a character, and when I thought about the place recently the named resonated with the oral pun on “cyber.” I imagined a cyber saloon in which realities could fuse and transform as quickly as web sites on the Internet, especially if fuelled by that home-brewed beer. Hence the poem.
under a flowering cherry tree
deep in meditation
on the Buddhist sutra:
the form is nonexistence and
nonexistence is the form….
shoulders were covered with
I am always puzzled about the relation between modern physics and Buddhist philosophy! There are so many views on the structure of the world, on the relation between matter and spirit… and so on, which coincide with each other! Maybe we should call this short poem a realistic work rather than an sf poem!
|“The Reverend John Michell calculated in 1767 that the probability of a chance alignment of so many bright stars was only 1 in 500,000, and so correctly surmised that the Pleiades and many other clusters of stars must be physically related.”
As near as the tufts on a dandelion blown
that separate us. You stand, a bull tawny
is related. Our hair matches to the very root.
neither of us touching Aldebaran.
Alicia Cole, a writer and educator, lives in Lawrenceville, GA, with a photographer and a menagerie of familiars. Her poetry appears or is forthcoming in Asimov’s, Strange Horizons, Liminality, Dark Mountain, and Lakeside Circus. Her musings on writing and life can be found at facebook.com/AliciaColewriter. She says:
My twin and I are very different human beings: she extroverted yet ranging close to home; I introverted yet adventurous. Both born in the sign of Taurus, we have gravitated our entire lives to our mother star. As a NASA engineer, a true rocket woman, she shines brightly. I am warm on making my own light, peeking out bit by bit from Mother’s corona; my twin stands calmly, in a place I do not yet understand.
General Qiang stood in King Xau’s tent
with the king’s other generals
and the king’s advisors
and the king’s guards
and the king’s serving boy
and the king himself,
the tent crowded with men,
rank with sweat.
The young king sat on a stool,
Qiang hadn’t slept last night.
In the tent, the talk moved
“No,” said the king.
“Even so,” said an advisor,
The advisor turned to Qiang.
Qiang looked at the advisor,
Every horse in the Red King’s army
Qiang looked at the advisor and said,
“Even if inaction now leads to defeat later?”
Into the stretching silence,
The king’s gaze rested on Qiang, anchoring him.
Qiang touched his hand to his heart,
The tent crowded with men,
Mary Soon Lee was born and raised in London, but became a naturalized US citizen in 2003. Her poetry credits include Atlanta Review, Apex Magazine, Dreams & Nightmares, The Magazine of Speculative Poetry, and Star*Line. More of her work-in-progress may be read at thesignofthedragon.com. She says:
I wrote “The Matter of the Horses” a year after I first started writing about King Xau. I’d been thinking about how Xau’s advisors and generals would urge him to exploit his power over horses, and how he would react to that. When I let General Qiang into the poem, it acquired its own identity.