March - Poem 6

First Day at the Conference / Kathleen Bednarek

When there are this many voices
When the ceiling is forty feet higher than any 

person here
Where there are designated tables with nothing 

on them that could be sold so people know they 
can sit without purpose

Where this is non-fiction and the essayist 
recommends free chocolates 

The amount of voices sounds like the ocean & 
the closer the voices are to me they sound like the 

people on the shore
When I don’t know what to say I say “thank you”

This table is made to look like grey sand
It’s the first time I’ve ever been asked “are you 

using this bench?” Though I’m the only one here 
& I am not sitting on the bench 

I’m at the ocean sounding like the 
people on the shore 

A Photo / Mymona Bibi

A photo of a ripped photo -
torn in the shape of a border
in a land, in a tongue, in a house.
My camera clicks,
captures a moment 
to be sent on whatsapp 
captioned in a different language -
receive a city fertile with my
body in a photo of a photo 
with the edges worn like rubble.
Hate speeds up
the decomposition process.
The photo of a photo is deleted.

SAYINGS / Susan Hankla

Keep your feet on the ground even though friends flatter you.

You are on the verge of something big.

Pure logic is the ruin of the spirit.

When the moment comes take the top one.

Man knows more than he understands.

Don't be afraid to smile, you never know who's falling in love with it.

Want to catch the fishes, one must go home and build the net first.

You have a remarkable power which you are not using.

It is much easier to be critical than to be correct.

Life always gets harder near the summit.

Keep your feet firmly on the ground, even if your friends flatter you.
You are on the verge of something great.
Pure logic is the ruin of the spirit.
When the right moment comes, choose the best one.
People know more than they understand.
Don't be afraid to smile; you never know who will fall in love with it.
If you want to catch fish, you first have to go home and build a net.
You have extraordinary power that you don't use.
It's much easier to be critical than to be right.
Life always gets harder at the top.
If you want to stew on the ground, and you're your own child.
If Jy and midde-in iets groots.
Logic is dead wrong and dead gees.
I want to die well, die the best.
Mense see more as what happened.
Moenie bang wees comes to glitter; I don't want to live.
And he went to the net.
He will build krag what you cannot.
This makes us believe in wees as we reg in wees.
The die lewe is highly moeiliker daarbo.

Split Personality  / Amy Haworth

so Dimness asked / Christina McCleanhan

Should the Lord ignore your prayer, your pleas, your bargaining tantrum,
what will you do? 

Well, I will…
Sing!   
I will sing the scripture of my grief. 
whole notes!
            high notes!
                 the sweet, pleading dusk notes! 
I Will Lift My Arms in Praise and Holler His Name
to 
the preacher
the choir loft sopranos,
the congregation of early morning baritone frogs,
the man spitting tobacco in the mud by my mailbox,
the child who is too grown for cherry Kool-Aid,
and the sparrows. 

And could you still submit, if He does not answer? 
If his back turns on you in disappointment, 
what then will you do? 

Well, I will…
Wait!
I will wait without worry, a storm’s mischief 
becomes joy 
beneath the Dogwood trees, 
where I will rest until 
His peace commands my feet.
Tired, though I may be. 

Oh, ho, ho, if death’s stillness bears
upon your tethered mortality, 
would you still extend 
the Eirene of your Father’s grace
to a fellow traveler? 
Might your fatigue be better soothed 
in a cold, dark dwelling place?

Go now, small one
save your strength 
for those in need of a shoulder. 
Go now, tepid beast, 
go peddle your Belial’s privation 
to those whose foolish tongues
confuse vinegar for wine. 
Me, I will sing. 

Incomprehensible    / Elizabeth McGraw

Lady at the airport lounge in a language I don’t speak. Who talks this much so early in the morning?

Friends travel to town and you’re having a personal crisis and barely engage.

6am flights arriving an hour prior to boarding.  3am wake up call.

What has been left unsaid that needs to be spoken at this hour?

Incomprehensible.

Tickets to a rodeo that I saw last year. Do I really need to see the mutton busting again?  Don’t even listen to the rascal flatts, no offense.

Meeting starts at 6pm so jumped on the 6am flight. Naturally.

Sold the old cooper for the new fangled ride and I hate it.  Cameras and all. 

Drive 13 hours every summer and still never a phone call in between.  

Left the family chat group. Have Facebook friends don’t need more.

Hosted a month, never heard another word. I did the same. 

Snow in March at this latitude.

Incomprehensible.

contemporary bicoastal lullaby / Alexis Wolfe

won't always be this 
simple: thunderclap,
bioluminescent sea, soft language
begetting breath beneath 
   beating chest. shh 
shh shh whispersongs
soothe even sung by yellow
ing teeth. lay still in this
wet quiet, thumb in your
mouth, invite
surprise—