Sue Daly Carol Louise Moon Ann Privateer Ingrid Keriotis Terence Sherbondy Charles Halsted Gary Kruse Emmanuel Hove Mhike Diane Funston
SUE DALY that lazy trumpet never mind the beer and wine dear, i'm drunk on that lazy trumpet singing my blues away. trees move and sway to the easy rhythm guitar. songs from the great American songbook come to life in this big-‐time city. gramps playing with toddler while gramma feeds the baby. kids on the playground laughing, dogs chomping at their leashes. everyone loves a concert in the park.
CAROL LOUISE MOON Gone As Wind A locust tree with blooms appears in dreams— my restless dreams as sleep is coming on. My dearest friend is there, but then she’s gone. Too soon she disappears as wind or streams of blue. I think I hear a whisper now— at times with sobs. Sometimes she sings a song, a saddened song that often lingers long. I think of these and other times—and how, when we would speak of harvest she would say, In springtime, yes… would be a sheer delight to pick these blooms. But when in satin light I point them out, I see she’s gone away. With locust blossoms high and birds on wing, it’s then I think about her in the spring.
ANN PRIVATEER A Symphony Fast dances into the arms of love into duty's complications into fuzzy post-‐punk respites into cool complications into a grand improvisation into new music vibrations into electro-‐acoustic now into slow dancing wow into the finale of laughter.
INGRID KERIOTIS Dishes Dear Mike, Here's the thing about the dishes: I wouldn’t let my mom get rid of them, so I took them home. When you moved in, I was angry. Who were you? Some guy from Oregon who took my mom dancing out late, who moved into our house too quickly with his orange cat and several floor mats, some guy who threw out what we'd been saving in our fabulous drawer of junk. You brought these blue-‐rimmed dishes we began to eat from every night: pesto, stir fry, foods I'd never had. You cooked and the house boomed with your laughter. I want to thank you now, for the dishes. Especially the beautiful bowls with their creamy white centers. It is amazing the heft of an oval ceramic dinner plate, how much food it can hold, how many times over the years it can be passed through hands on its way somewhere. Your hands don't touch anything anymore: the smoothness of a round edge, the silence of a soup spoon, the bounty of a shallow blue-‐rimmed dish filled with all it can hold.
TERENCE SHERBONDY Remembering Imagination When I was young, my friends and I spent the summer running around in shorts, t-‐shirts and no shoes. We occasionally dared each other to cross the heat waves of a summer street. With screeches and howls along the way, as we reached the cool, green grass on the other side, we cooled the soles of our hot, blackened feet. We were sisters, brothers, friends and neighbors who loved late night games of hide and seek and the raucous exchanges of “Marco,” “Polo” in the warm water of someone’s above-‐ground pool. Summer days were the auditorium for the cicada orchestra and the magnifying glass for the summer sun. We darted from yard to yard seeking the large, neighborhood, shade trees that proudly stood guard during the day. And, at night, we climbed into the arms of our stately friends, hiding from the enemy who sought to proclaim, “You’re it!” It was decided -‐ a sleep out was needed. Sleeping bags, with a familiar campy aroma, were unrolled across someone’s front yard. Tales of mysterious strangers, who lurked in the shadows and around blind corners, accompanied our mid-‐night mission to a store that only grown ups were allowed to visit at that hour. When I was young, the thought of adulthood was distant, at best, or certainly remote to a world of imagination that was lived out with toy guns, tackle football, impressing the older kids, and the notion that we would remain 10-‐years old forever.
CHARLES HALSTED Hummingbird While eating breakfast soon after dawn, I hear a whirring sound, a tiny bird midair: magenta helmet, shiny green back, vibrating wings not three feet away, seeking nectar from salvia in bloom. What miracle sent you, suspended midair, to enchant me today? Is it all in your DNA? Oh master molecule of life, your helices link the quaternary codes that mapped your flight, that trigger synapses of wonder deep in my brain.
GARY KRUSE Suburban Archaeology a room of offhand thoughts some waylaid, some discarded a room sanctioned not long ago for the domestic safekeeping of financial archives and all manner of published data for household operations as pertains to a family now disbanded dissolved data—some waylaid, some discarded countless bundles of records regarding monthly status of consumer accounts now an ironic counterpoint to a life losing all sense of linear association to a life, the sole remaining life, still to inhabit any adjacent interior space bundles of bills now ruptured—strewn about and transcribed notations in arduous tongues on various envelopes of unsolicited mail as well as un-‐mailed meandering epistles scatterings from a life now dismembering and dropping out of cohesion all manner of printed waste swept aside and into hollow corners among gathering balls of dust and the tittering of hungry squirrels
INTERNATIONAL POET EMMANUEL HOVE MHIKE Rich but Poor Their bus rumbled past everyday But we walk miles to town What do we get? A cloud of dust Our river Lundi is the destination of their wastes Our land, our wellbeing, they do not care Blessed are them, they have been granted every right The right to employ 5 out of 5000 poor villagers The right to just extract our precious stones The right to run over our dusty road, goats, cattle…… Father said I do not have the right to write but I have to write!
EDITOR’S CHOICE DIANE FUNSTON My Soldier, My Son At war, voices of authority command him to act. He seeks to draw blood, maim and alter the plans of what went before, leaving a barren field where dreams once grew green and reached for sun. Napalm spreads quickly beneath the shelter of skull. At peace, he rests his head on my weary shoulder. Watching the tv flicker more slowly than his thoughts, he snuggles closer now, at ease, a soldier on furlough. from foxholes of fear, where the commander in chief is silenced only by the cease-‐fire of chemicals in his brain. Drafted into an army of darkness, he listens for marching orders again. A foot soldier for perseverance, he hurries then waits, unaware of how this stint will become a career with no Purple Heart and no heroes parade. Incoming, incoming, thoughts and voices arrive, storming the beach with heavy artillery, they will take no prisoners but will hold this family hostage. My son, missing in action for three years, waves his own flag but will never surrender to the winds of war whispering through him.
C O N T R I B U T O R B I O G R A P H I E S
Sue Daly has been writing poems since she was a teenager. Her poetry has been published in The Clinical Update, Survivorship, The Literary Humanist, When the Light Changes, Brevities and Poetry Now. Sue facilitates a Poetry Workshop at Wellspring Women’s Center in Sacramento. She has an interest in empowering women to find their unique voices through writing and sharing their poetry with others.
When Carol Louise Moon is not sewing or crocheting, or playing with her dog Barkley, she just might be composing poetry. Published in journals in four states plus England, Carol Louise enjoys a wide audience. She is co-‐founder of the Pantoja Pleiades Circle. She considers herself a neo-‐formalist poet choosing formal poetry forms, as well as free verse. Her other passion in life is Simulated Client Acting work in the Sacramento area.
Ann Privateer is a poet grounded by a rich sense of place. She grew up in Cleveland Heights, Ohio where she wrote lists of words while walking in the woods or along the Chagrin River. She moved to L.A., California to continue college, married, and moved north to raise a family. Now retired, she spends time visiting family in San Diego and Paris, France. Her poems have appeared in Manzanita, Poetry Now, Tapestries, Entering, and Tiger’s Eye to name a few.
Ingrid Keriotis received her MFA from Eastern Washington University. She has been published in the anthology More Than Soil, More Than Sky and in such literary magazines as Blue Unicorn, Talking River, and Alehouse. She teaches English at Sierra College in Northern California.
For the last 17 years, Terence Sherbondy has enjoyed living in Northern California. Terence retired in 2014 after a 25+ year career as a federal probation officer, concluding his career as the Deputy Chief. He has a wonderfully creative, intelligent and gifted wife and two adult children who make him proud each day. His newest delight is his 18-‐month old granddaughter, Annora, who inspires him to be more childlike and to whom he dedicates the poem “Remembering Imagination.”
Charles Halsted is a retired professor of medicine at UC Davis and has been writing poetry for several years. His poems have appeared in Poetry Now 2008, Medusa's Kitchen, Yolo Crow, and The Gambler.
Gary Kruse grew up in Iowa and attended the University of Iowa where he completed a fiction workshop, as well as a Bachelor of Arts in art and theatre. He went on to complete an MFA in stage design at Carnegie Mellon University. In 2013 he returned to creative writing after a career in architectural design. He has read his poetry frequently at the Winters Out Loud venue and attends the SPC Tuesday Night Workshop. Gary moved to the Bay Area in 1989 and to Yolo County in 2013. INTERNATIONAL POET Emmanuel Hove Mhike was born in Mazvihwa, a rural area of Zvishavane, Zimbabwe. His father is the chief of Mazvihwa, and he is affectionately known as the Prince of Mazvihwa in writing circles. He attended Midlands State University where he completed his Honours Degree in Music and Musicology. He earned first class, and a university book prize award. In 2015, Emmanuel attended the Chisiya Writers’ Workshop in Mazvihwa, Zimbabwe which was facilitated by his role model Emmanuel Sigauke. He was motivated by Sigauke and the workshop to start writing, and since then has published in journals like Munyori, Zvishavane Arts and Culture association, and Chisiya Writers Club. He has become the chief administrator of Chisiya social networks. Currently he is working on an anthology entitled Shining Black Stars and one in his native language, Nzungu Dzembeu. EDITOR’S CHOICE Diane Funston lives in Marysville, California with her soul-‐mate husband and three boisterous dogs. She is widely published in journals throughout California and on the East Coast. She is the founder of a weekly poetry group that has been meeting in Tehachapi for over 10 years. She holds a degree in Literature and Writing from CSU San Marcos. She once heard Lawrence Ferlinghetti read in San Diego, and has visited City Lights Bookstore several times. She writes frequently of longing and loss.