Resurrected Words, by Debi Swim

Resurrected Words
by Debi Swim

The sound of goodbye.
The final lingering look.
It will never be enough
I’ll want one day more
and then one day more,
so much left to leave, to say,
so I must fill my days with
what will fill your heart
with remembrances
pieces of me written on paper
to make you sigh, smile, relive
our best selves, childhood,
dreams and our awkward moments…
and though in the end it means
very little to the world it will matter
maybe to you, family, a few friends
and I will be somewhere smiling
perhaps as you read and together
we’ll laugh though you’ll only hear
the crisp flip of pages and whispers
of words… I’ll come forth
a body of proof
to my existence.

Note: Written in response to Red Wolf Poems Prompts for Red Wolf Journal Chapter 17 Prompt 94, A Lazarus poem.

Debi Swim writes primarily to prompts. She is a wife, mother, grandmother and happy WV poet. Blogs at georgeplacepoetrybydebiswim.

Missing Keystrokes, by Holly Day

Missing Keystrokes
by Holly Day

typewriter lies dead in the corner
on the floor, keyboard split, askew, like a mouthful
of angry teeth inlaid with
carefully-set pieces of ebony screaming
“hit me again you
qwerty motherfucker”

typewriter burns bright in the corner, tapering
flames darken the single sheet of paper still
stuck in the dented rubber roller one
word burns brighter than the rest taunts
“happily” asks “are you happy now”

Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, since 2000. Her published books include Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies, Guitar All-in-One for Dummies, Piano All-in-One for Dummies, Walking Twin Cities, Insider’s Guide to the Twin Cities, Nordeast Minneapolis: A History, and The Book Of, while her poetry has recently appeared in New Ohio Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry book, Ugly Girl, just came out from Shoe Music Press.

The Rescue, by Holly Day

The Rescue
by Holly Day

my father’s hands parting
the water, trying to see
past leaves, dead fish, floating branches
diving down and finding
nothing

every time the wind blows the curtains in
every shadow that doesn’t belong
where is she

thirty years later and I’m still
waiting for her ghost

Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, since 2000. Her published books include Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies, Guitar All-in-One for Dummies, Piano All-in-One for Dummies, Walking Twin Cities, Insider’s Guide to the Twin Cities, Nordeast Minneapolis: A History, and The Book Of, while her poetry has recently appeared in New Ohio Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry book, Ugly Girl, just came out from Shoe Music Press.

The Wooden Man, by Holly Day

The Wooden Man
by Holly Day

a man made of wood would be a much more practical being
than a man made of flesh, a man with knotted arms
coarse flesh, rough bark, rooted to the ground
unable to leave. I imagine the women
of those long ago forests carrying
new babies in their arms, determined to forget
who the single sperm on that single night
came from, I see those women

holding their babies up to the best trees
the old, tall ones with birds in their crowns
squirrels in their crooks, rabbits under their roots
saying, “This is your father,” spinning elaborate
but believable tales of strong, beautiful, dependable dryads
visiting sleeping children during the night, planting
dew-damp and sap-scented kisses on tow-framed foreheads
whispering the secrets of the forest in their tiny
sleeping ears, and how the tree outside your door

is the thing that makes this home.

Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, since 2000. Her published books include Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies, Guitar All-in-One for Dummies, Piano All-in-One for Dummies, Walking Twin Cities, Insider’s Guide to the Twin Cities, Nordeast Minneapolis: A History, and The Book Of, while her poetry has recently appeared in New Ohio Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry book, Ugly Girl, just came out from Shoe Music Press.

The Monks in My Head, by Holly Day

The Monks in My Head
by Holly Day

my garden makes me think of God, of
the Alsatian monks toiling endless to create
climbing, bright-faced clematis that would spread
all over a wall, taking tiny yellow down-turned flowers on thin
upright stalks and unleashing something holy, wholly
new twining plants with palm-sized flowers in shades
of blue and white and pink and purple.

my beer makes me think of God, of how
hours of studying and painstaking labor
in the basements of Belgian monasteries helped improve
guttural meads flavored with clover and honey
how those monks must have thought they’d bottled something holy
when they tasted their own creations, kept them secret and hidden
from the hungry flat-ale-swilling masses outside.

Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, since 2000. Her published books include Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies, Guitar All-in-One for Dummies, Piano All-in-One for Dummies, Walking Twin Cities, Insider’s Guide to the Twin Cities, Nordeast Minneapolis: A History, and The Book Of, while her poetry has recently appeared in New Ohio Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry book, Ugly Girl, just came out from Shoe Music Press.

Castlerigg Circle, by Nancy Iannucci

Castlerigg Circle
by Nancy Iannucci

A howling sound of sorrow
wound around each stone
surged by the blow of the
great northern wind,

echoing in remembrance
of a tradesman’s aching

breath, a Neolithic gasp
that exhaled from primeval
lungs in heated, penetrative
spirals encircling his maiden’s
long, moss-scented neck;
he pursued her silken hair
like a Rapunzel trail through
busy Beltane trade gatherings.

One year he constructed a
small platform of stone
in the center of Castlerigg’s
bustling fair on which his maiden
would dance and sing for all
the days of the gathering,
a performance he stopped to watch
before bartering his chisel and scraper.

Year after year after year
he paused to see her
graceful spin atop
his stone like a wind-up
music box, around, around,
and around until the gatherings
ceased and the two

disappeared
only to resurrect, transformed
in an excavation of
rubble language spoken
in dust, axe head, and bone.
Learned linguists pen specious
tales of Druid altars and
virgin sacrifices ruled by the
mood of the moon.

In vain
The winds off of Thirlmere
and Helvellyn endeavor
to disclose the unsung truth
of a tradesman, his stone stage,
and his beautiful maiden performer.

Process notes:
I am drawn to myth, fairytales, fables, folklore and legends; therefore, I often find myself conjuring stories in my head in connection to ancient sites such as Stonehenge and Castlerigg. Who knows, perhaps a tale such as this did take place.

Nancy Iannucci is a historian who teaches history and lives poetry in Troy, NY. She has always been entranced by the mysticism of life and the fine line that exists between our world and the mystical. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Three Line Poetry, Red Wolf Journal, Rose Red Review, Faerie Magazine (FB photography), and Mirror Dance. She is currently working on her first chapbook.

Old Days, by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

Old Days
by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

Once happiness touched me and I am sure
anyone never will take it from me.
Its touch has branded me with a living fire,
impregnating me with so stellar a light
only very few of us have been afforded to.

I am sure that for life and yet beyond its borders
we will remain cherished by the joy and beauty,
for ours were some days of pure hearted a love.

Mr. Ferreira is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than Portuguese, in order to reach more people. Has been published in online or printed venues like Cyclamens and Swords, Right Hand Pointing, Boston Poetry Magazine, The Lake, The Stare’s Nest, The Provo Canyon, Amomancies, Subterranean Blue, The Gambler, Whispers, Every Day Poems, Indiana Voice Journal and some others. Short listed in four American Poetry Contests, lives in a small town with wife, three sons and a granddaughter and has begun writing after retirement as a Bank Manager. He is collecting his works for a forthcoming book.

Sea of Matrimony, by Debi Swim

Sea of Matrimony
by Debi Swim

We’ve sailed these seas for many a year
set out with high hopes of conquest
following maps and word of mouth
to treasures of jewel and gold
to love both pure and bold
to quests meant to be retold.

Through squalls and storm
both calm seas and becalmed
we’ve kept our head and heart.
And the fire that once burned
is rekindled for the return
to home with bounty well earned.

Note: Written in response to Red Wolf Poem’s Chapter 17 prompt 93:
“Write a poem in which you are out at sea, in a place of no name, before you make landfall. Maybe it’s a place where beauty is present only by being absent. Or where beauty is apparent but there is only absence. Sure you’ve been in a place like that.”

Debi Swim writes primarily to prompts. She is a wife, mother, grandmother and happy WV poet. Blogs at georgeplacepoetrybydebiswim.

Sudden Love, by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

Sudden Love
by Edilson Afonso Ferreira

When I saw you and faced your beauty,
you did not know that I ignored love.
Nor did I.
But you dared with adventure of youth
and, fearful, surprised, seduced, I was loved.

Love came, all of a sudden, firm and bold.
Despite not expected, lodged as beloved son
who, long absent, returns to the paternal home.

You stared at me and your lips and eyes said words
I had never known and never listened to: I love you.
By these words, like a blessing, you joined us forever.

I remember that I felt as if I was caught in a rain,
one of those admirable summer rains,
that shakes winds and frightens with thunderbolts
but cleans skies, shines hearts, refreshes the soul.

With love you blew slumbered coals
that I had never supposed would exist.
Flame lit and rises, higher and higher,
maybe reach even our hidden heaven.

Take care that flame just warms it, do not destroy,
nor reveals to suspicious and envious human eyes.

Mr. Ferreira is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than Portuguese, in order to reach more people. Has been published in online or printed venues like Cyclamens and Swords, Right Hand Pointing, Boston Poetry Magazine, The Lake, The Stare’s Nest, The Provo Canyon, Amomancies, Subterranean Blue, The Gambler, Whispers, Every Day Poems, Indiana Voice Journal and some others. Short listed in four American Poetry Contests, lives in a small town with wife, three sons and a granddaughter and has begun writing after retirement as a Bank Manager. He is collecting his works for a forthcoming book.

Katy Did, by Christopher Oak Reinier

Katy Did
by Christopher Oak Reinier

Katy did,
and Katy does,
and, yes, I like her way.
What she did she does with love.
That’s all I need to say.

But I’d say more,
if words could carry dynamite,
if ways of speaking were like laughing music,
if grace come walking quickly from a distance
could be described: light, swift, certain, wild –

a shadow in the corner of my eye,
bursting into starlight,
and smiling all the way.

Oh heart!
How many strikings can you stay?

Christopher Oak Reinier lives and writes by the Russian River
in Sonoma County, California. One of his poems, “October Morning
on the River”, was published in the Red Wolf Journal, Summer 2014.