Feathers In Your Hair, by Christopher Hileman

Feathers In Your Hair
by Christopher Hileman

Something has happened.
It shows on you like feathers
in your tangled hair.

I wish to devour
your soul salted and peppered,
braised to medium
rare and sliced thin on
a garden salad with lime.

I hope you take this
dream in morning’s light
as I fondle you awake
and raise your heart to
full maturity
in the long sweep of all things
possible and true.

Christopher Hileman moved to Oregon in 1973. He has retired to live on the volcanic bluff overlooking Willamette Falls in Oregon City, Oregon. He ascends the stairs from his basement digs to improvise on his Yamaha keyboard or the house Playel grand when the calico cat releases him from below. The part-Irish Wolfhound here likes him.

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Ulysses Bound, by Christopher Hileman

Ulysses Bound
by Christopher Hileman

Passing the siren
rocks in the fog of present
circumstance and strapped
to the white white spar
replacing the mast broken
by last spring’s torrent,
I call out, respond
to your naked misty shape,
take the leather stripes.

Christopher Hileman moved to Oregon in 1973. He has retired to live on the volcanic bluff overlooking Willamette Falls in Oregon City, Oregon. He ascends the stairs from his basement digs to improvise on his Yamaha keyboard or the house Playel grand when the calico cat releases him from below. The part-Irish Wolfhound here likes him.

Lord, Have Mercy, by Debi Swim

Lord, Have Mercy
by Debi Swim

Delicate bones under dried leaf skin
fingers clasped loosely in her lap
tributaries of green in ropy veins
and her thumbs go round and round.
She sits and stares into the past…
a burning house, she upstairs
a jump into the banked up snow.
She sees it all again.

I know she’s thinking of two small graves
and she whispers “Lord, have mercy.”
And her thumbs go round and round.

Debi Swim writes primarily to prompts. She is a wife, mother, grandmother and persistent WV poet. Blog: https://georgeplaceblog.wordpress.com/

Rainbow Hollow Good News Tent Revival, by Debi Swim

Rainbow Hollow Good News Tent Revival
by Debi Swim

In the field back of the houses it stood
as though the gentle overnight shower
had mushroomed it into being.
We kids dropped our bikes, awed, excited
and entered that great tent, its flaps raised
to let in what bit of breeze was stirring.
Straw was scattered over the stubbled
ground, dusty, musty, hot smell of barn
and row on row of folding chairs, empty,
waiting to cradle sinners’ sorry selves.
A lectern at the front stood
full of grave responsibility for tonight’s
Rainbow Hollow Good News Tent Revival.
Giggling, I stood behind the lectern,
motioned the others to sit and preached a
rousing, shouting, glorious story of
sin and death, and born again. Then
we ran out lest the Holy come down
at our possible sacrilege (though I
think He would have smiled at our game)
ran out into bright sunshine of
biking and tag and country lanes.

Process notes: Every summer, in the small community of Rainbow Hollow in northeastern Tennessee, a tent revival appeared like magic for a week of hard preaching before moving on to the next little town, an attraction (not unlike the generic carnivals that were small town fare in those times) to the children filled with wonder and yet a thing to laugh about, too.

Debi Swim writes primarily to prompts. She is a wife, mother, grandmother and persistent WV poet. Blog: https://georgeplaceblog.wordpress.com/

Pax, by Debi Swim

Pax
by Debi Swim

Winter is a sulky bitch pitching
her fits into spring when she
should be gracefully walking away,
instead a hissy fit of jealous ire
before she retires to sleep.
She’d been all silvery glittering sway
in her heyday but like an aging beauty
queen she fades. Age spots on the porcelain
skin, hair dulled to dishwater drudge,
a sludge of cinders and salt, she peppers
her talk with indignant spit and sputter.

But Spring knows you catch more flies
with honey sweetness. She persists,
gently insists on having her day,
replaces the glitter of snow and ice
with buds and blossoms, scents of spice,
as we long for her to stay awhile, warm
the grass, swell the lilac limbs with nubs,
spread maternal love to birds nesting in trees.
She wafts health to body and mind
and I’m buoyant with a zest for living.

Process notes: Saturday and Sunday we had around fourteen inches of heavy wet snow. The electricity was out for twelve hours and by Thursday the temperature got to 78 degrees. I was ecstatic. Friday, overcast and cool. Last night a heavy frost. Today promises to be nicer and tomorrow even better. Snow flurries are forecast for Monday. GAH! I wish Winter and Spring would quit bickering!

Written in response to Red Wolf Prompt 373.

Debi Swim writes primarily to prompts. She is a wife, mother, grandmother and persistent WV poet. Blog: https://georgeplaceblog.wordpress.com/

Retriever, by Joseph M. Felser

Retriever
by Joseph M. Felser

Her heart beats
to the sure rhythm
of his pure dog joy
as he lopes along
pine forest trails
near the big lake
called by natives
great stretch of water
free of leash and collar
chasing nothing
but sunset blaze
pink sky at night
to her delight
watching him paddle
to get nowhere
dig holes in sand
to find no treasure
bark at whitecaps
and granite rocks
for no good reason
he brings back
to her
everything
she never lost
purity of heart
is to will one thing

Joseph M. Felser, Ph.D. received his doctorate from The University of Chicago and teaches philosophy in Brooklyn, New York. The author of numerous articles and two books on philosophy, religion, myth, and parapsychology, he recently began writing poetry, which has appeared in both print and online journals.