week's theme: Return of the Lost Sonnets - the ones I lost in the
computer crash of Nov. 1. Thanks for all the resends.
#57 - There's No Place Like Home For The Holidays
#58 - The Holocaust - sequel to issue #55
#59 - Ars Poetica: Poetry about Poetry
my Thanksgiving haiku:
day taught me
lesson each year
are the sonnets:
From David Ziff, of Boca Raton
Solipsistic: Idea that only self exists. Vetch: an herb
in thought I seldom saw the sky,
took for granted flowers and the wind,
came and went - I never wondered why,
by spring or summer - too thick-skinned;
to the ocean¹s distant fetch,
bright appeal of leaves in May and June,
was I interested in bitter vetch
tempted by an autumn afternoon.
freed this recluse with your first hello -
door was opened on a wider world.
this a sunset? This a moon¹s bright glow?
this a lake? A vase of roses unfurled?
saw first with your eyes till I could see,
first through you reality.
From Howard Frost of West Yorks, England
is the Spring, when sleeping things awake
what seems safe and dormant plays a trick.
without comment will I rise and make
bid to see just what makes my life tick.
I am subtle, self contained and slow.
the chameleon, lying on the sand
want of sun, reflecting rocks below,
to gold only within your hand.
there are other places, in whose heat
gold would rise, I am assured 'tis so.
there such places on my daily beat?
where poets are loved? I ought to know.
where, even on this windswept moor
honest Bard is never shown the door.
From Ross Clark of Brisbane, Australia
you said, interrogatively,
we took it as an imperative,
grabbed a bottle containing about
shots of twelve-year-old Scotch.
was Jack's" you told us, as we
"he's been dead eight years now":
suddenly we were raising twenty-
Scotch to our trembling lips.
to Jack," we toasted, "and to you"
then we drank and talked and drank
laughed and drank some more, till
bottle, your bottle, was at last
and we could wander home, warmed
his spirit distilling all those years.
From Carl Cattiatore of Pelican Island, N.J.
sonnet sweet and rife with rhyming prose
pleasant words within its structured scheme,
please and titillate the ears of those
care to read another poet's dream.
give these thoughts for all the eyes that see
pray they'll read, perhaps, to shed a tear,
smile or laugh at least perchance agree
labor love should reach another's ear.
walk the shaky walk that newness brings
dig into another's common ground,
hope for some that read, this sonnet sings,
others taste, at least they find it sound.
for those who shun this sweetened fruit
meal of words can leave you sate and mute