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Stellar Musing

From behind the moon's harlequinade;
Your skin ornately prancing in the blear
Colder than the thin and flimsy mist,
Your face cradling an orchestra of smiles
Muffled in the fading mimicry of echoes,
Your abstraction realer than the dream
That you are when you were here.
From the protracted expanse and
The truant galloping instance, I probed
And groped for an orb of light to hold
Like a ballasting banister only to solder
My eager and supple hands, now aglow
Slowly crumbling from holding what it cannot.
And the Gods had judged the episodes
And written them on the stars, one for each,
Mine I cannot find, or perhaps, accept
Sensitive to fate and denial, I wiped
The wisps of silver light grazing the small
Contours of my face—happy and sad
From the corner of the room where the sun slept

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poem by Norman Santos
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Pity...

I have only pity for my
poodle name Pretpret
(ditty for Pretty)

It is always following me
wherever i go
and sit beside my feet
so i can feel the warmth
of its belly

It is expecting me to go
for a walk this morning
and it will be beside me
guarding

But i am not taking my walk
today

I still have to organize my thoughts

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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One Too Many Blinkers

Somnolence, brewed with apathy,
In its feral and purged form
Perched upon the svelte frame
That thrusts the low canopies
In an endeavor to stand loftier
And muse past the knotted haunts,
Struggling to steadfast the crosshair into
The piercing eye of the adversary
In a conscious slumber in
The verisimilitude of the mirror

Leaves flipped with the gloaming,
Disintegrating the marionette's face—
The façade that stood
Like sooty pillars catching shadows
Departing without a wave
And innocuously lingering
Like the forest's milieu—
An auspicious camouflage of colors
Burying one too many blinkers

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poem by Norman Santos
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Farewell to Islay

Snowflakes on your long blonde hair
we slipped and slid over icy ruts,
by the curve of soot stained tenements
long swept from Eldon street.
The Kelvin cut through floes of ice
by the back of the bustling Doublet.
Students of liquor spilled out laughing
in front of us into the snow.

A cold wind swirled through Maryhill
to the doors of the Q M Halls,
where I last heard your voice;
and last looked into your eyes.
Before you left for Oban
from a Glasgow that’s almost gone.

Pale blue ink on pale blue lines
reminds me of your letters still;
reminds me of a teenage girl
who crossed the sea from Islay.

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poem by Jim Hogg
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You Do That Quite Too Well With the Others

I wish I could appease you more than I do.
But that would leave me sitting in a vacantness.
Wrestling within with an unrest.
I would get upset with myself.

Especially if I left you feeling you could fly.
And I told you lies...
To see you make attempt after attempt,
With only one wing.
The humor of the sight of that,
Would only last but for so long!
And I'd be back.
Pacing with a regret I do not endear.
I am not professional at juggling doubts.
Not of my own.
Nor do I condone that skill of others.

I'd rather get you heated and pissed.
At least you would be expressing something other,
Than a pretentiousness that has its limits.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What Do Poets Want With Gold?

What do poets want with gold,
Cringing slaves and cushioned ease;
Are not crusts and garments old
Better for their souls than these?

Gold is but the juggling rod
Of a false usurping god,
Graven long ago in hell
With a sombre stony spell,
Working in the world forever.
Hate is not so strong to sever
Beating human heart from heart.
Soul from soul we shrink and part,
And no longer hail each other
With the ancient name of brother
Give the simple poet gold,
And his song will die of cold.
He must walk with men that reel
On the rugged path, and feel
Every sacred soul that is

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poem by Archibald Lampman
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Wait

Sitting in the hill top hut
near the window night and day
her lustrous hair toying with breeze
clouds competing every day
to catch her glimpse
opportunity there to seize
to be her companion
as she waits for the union.

Waits.
salutations, the first rays of the sun offer
her red shot eyes pretend to be sober
tears roll down and wail
when she feels the shadow of her beloved, sail
and creeping behind her back
racing heartbeats force her, to turn
only to find caressing, her
His.. favourite window curtain.

Waits.

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poem by Tribhawan Kaul
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song - Sand and Stone

I saw you in a magazine
Pouring tea for the elderly
Juggling snowballs by theTweed
And running miles for charity

Your hair was brown and curly still
Falling just like it used to do
When we climbed the rolling hill
In spring way back in sev’nty two

(chorus)
Winter winds and summer haze,
looking out to sea
‘cross that high-way of our lives,
all that gravity
All that ebb and flow,
across the sand and stone
We will not make it home again
to share the salty wind
To hold each other just once more,

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poem by Jim Hogg
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Inside Your Circle I’m Always An Alien

the best way to escape is to use the fingertips.
From it some words are shot like bullets hitting anything
But there is no death here.
No war. There is only the sojourn, some moments
of variations like
gyrations of the human body that looks for
some blankets of affection.
The human body is nil now.
The touch is elusive as an ell.
The river is crowded with moss and mud
and the fishes can hardly breathe.
Life, this is life actually
The one that moves lonely amidst the crowd
in the mall one Sunday evening.
people are families. They are so selfish among
and within their circles.
You have none of it. You are an alien.
A mutant.

You need another mirror to see how beautiful are you.

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Saltimbanque

She is under the canvass canopy
big top spotlit starlet she
disco ball dew bed sequined
spinning water for wearing

rays of rental borrowed beaming
rays of rental liberate lending

She, Promethean Princess
my souvenir showgirl

Slinky shining offering
lioness princess limber lining
She maneuvers mirror ball bouncing
balance-beam tumble tossing

juggling three-sixties
acrobat arching
form fluidic fantastic finessing

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poem by Randy Resh
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