Time’s Dominion

by Carole Mertz

When ancient

buildings crumble,

we cringe.

We want to hold forever

the delights of The Rose

Windows of Chartres.

What if l’Arc de Triomphe

tumbles and Lady Liberty

withers green?

Hagia Sophia,

minaret-laden, no longer

shines.

Shall we not convene

to plan a better

use of Now?

* * * * *

"Time’s Dominion," first appeared in Voices on the Wind.

Carole Mertz critiques poetry and prose for various journals, including Eclectica, Mom Egg Review, World Literature Today, and South 85 Journal. Her recent poems are at Eclectica, The Ekphrastic Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, Prairie Light Review, Quill & Parchment, Writing in a Woman’s Voice, Kind of a Hurricane Press, and Voices de la Luna. Currently ekphrastic poetry takes center place at her writing desk. 

What Is the Function of Physical Beauty?

by Jeannie E. Roberts

                        form ever follows function ~

                        phrase coined by Louis Sullivan, American architect

A principle of twentieth century architecture contends

that the form or shape of a building or object should

follow its intended function. But what of physical

beauty's architecture? What is its function? Independent

of the mind and its internal workings, is beauty merely

ornamental, a pleasing aesthetic for the viewer?

Shelves, cabinets, and other holders of pretty things

display items for their visual appeal, for their capacity

to impress. Take crystal, used occasionally, functional

to some degree, but put back for its intended purpose:  

to be viewed. In time, dust diminishes its gleam,

contributes to its waning luster. Like dust, followers

of physical beauty, those who cling to the pleasures,

attributes, and pleasing components of appearance,

are beholden only until the shine fades.

Once the actual dust of aging arrives, these followers

divorce themselves from their hosts, a death-‘til-beauty-

do-us-part scenario, a parasitic union of sorts.

If uselessness, or nearly so, has its function,

like that of an object strategically shelved for show,

does this also ring true for physical beauty? We wonder.

We’d like to know.                                                                               

* * * * *

Jeannie E. Roberts has authored six books, including The Wingspan of Things, a poetry chapbook (Dancing Girl Press, 2017), Romp and Ceremony, a full-length poetry collection (Finishing Line Press, 2017), Beyond Bulrush, a full-length poetry collection (Lit Fest Press, 2015), and Nature of it All, a poetry chapbook (Finishing Line Press, 2013). Her second children's book, Rhyme the Roost! A Collection of Poems and Paintings for Children, was recently released by Daffydowndilly Press, an imprint of Kelsay Books, 2019. She is Poetry Editor of the online literary magazine Halfway Down the Stairs. When she’s not writing or editing, you can find her drawing and painting, or outdoors photographing her natural surroundings. 

Depression’s Crown 

by Jeannie E. Roberts

              "She conquered her demons and wore her scars like wings." ―Atticus

Have you known the dreary bird―

kissed its ashen lips―

            wept a time or two―

            crossed the dark abyss?

If you've crossed the dark abyss,

you've worn a mournful cape,

            beheld the leaden vault,

            become a somber shape.

As a somber shape,

did you beseech the light―

            plead for its emergence―

            see beyond the night?

If you saw beyond the night,

did you hear an ancient call―

            recognize its whisper―

            fly its hallowed halls?

If you flew its hallowed halls,

did hope release your flight―

            launch your gratitude―

            infuse your wings with sight?

     

Infused with wings of sight,

you've flown with ashen kiss,  

            wept a time or two,    

            as you crossed the dark abyss.  

* * * * *

Editor's Note: This poem was originally called "Depression’s Crown Sonnet," and posted as such. A hyper-vigilant reader took issue with that, it not being in a traditional sonnet form, so the author offered to re-title the poem and surrender some artistic license in the process.

Jeannie E. Roberts has authored six books, including The Wingspan of Things, a poetry chapbook (Dancing Girl Press, 2017), Romp and Ceremony, a full-length poetry collection (Finishing Line Press, 2017), Beyond Bulrush, a full-length poetry collection (Lit Fest Press, 2015), and Nature of it All, a poetry chapbook (Finishing Line Press, 2013). Her second children's book, Rhyme the Roost! A Collection of Poems and Paintings for Children, was recently released by Daffydowndilly Press, an imprint of Kelsay Books, 2019. She is Poetry Editor of the online literary magazine Halfway Down the Stairs. When she’s not writing or editing, you can find her drawing and painting, or outdoors photographing her natural surroundings.

Blossoms

by Mary Wescott Riser

Blossoms

Today announce they’re in for one more season:

Forsythia, violets,

Crab apple, cherry, pear,

Dandelions, daffodils,

Red bud, maple

Chick weed, camellia

Grape hyacinth, blue bells

And the palest of pink stars, small as babies’ toenails,

Scattered along the high bank of the creek.

Named or not, each calls out to the world.

* * * * *

Mary Wescott Riser worked in Virginia independent schools for 30 years, most recently as Head of School at James River Day School, a K-8 day co-ed day school in Lynchburg, Virginia, where she served as Head for ten years. Mary received her B.A. in English and Philosophy from Georgetown University and her M.F.A. in Poetry from the University of Oregon.  She writes the education blog “What’s Best For the Children?” www.maryriser.org. Mary and her husband, George, live in Covesville, Virginia and have two adult children.

Inheritance

by Terri Muuss

When my mind is a clear, precise thing,

I remember

my

father

standing at the stove flipping

buttermilk pancakes

steaming 5 pounds of clams

while melting butter—how they slid

from the mesh bag into the pot

like throated chimes.

(T)his smile—

the one without

sharpened teeth, without

I need to take

things from you           Nothing

more than    I love you

It was

            lips-teeth-gums with soft

edges and it felt—

Yes—

dare I write it—

safe

and came only when he cooked

which has always been—

(Oh)

my favorite love

language. And he looked at me

as if to say

            Take  t h i s

for the dark passage I will

send you on.

* * * * *

Terri Muuss is a social worker, director, performer, speaker & author whose poetry has received three Pushcart and two Best of the Net nominations. Her first book, Over Exposed, was released in 2013 and in 2016 Terri co-edited an anthology of NY women poets entitled Grabbing the Apple. Terri has performed her one-woman show, Anatomy of a Doll, around the US and Canada since 1998. Her second book, godspine, is forthcoming from 3: A Taos Press. www.terrimuuss.com

Easter Sunday

by Oonah V Joslin

Baptist or Catholic,

the elastic hat strap and white gloves

were with us

and the music

and memories have left

their own mark

sweet as chocolate

credos on the lips

of forever and ever.

* * * * *

Oonah V Joslin is poetry editor at The Linnet’s Wings. She has won prizes for both poetry and micro-fiction. Her book Three Pounds of Cells ISBN: 13: 978-1535486491 is available online from Linnet’s Wings Press and you can see and hear Oonah read in this National Trust video. The first part of her novella A Genie in a Jam is serialised at Bewildering Stories, along with a large body of her work (see Bibliography). You can follow Oonah on Facebook or at Parallel Oonahverse https://oovj.wordpress.com/.

Trestle and Embankment

by Laura Lee Washburn

I.

The lone whistle proves the buzzing June

just like the sudden light of dusk’s first fireflies.

Every transplanted strawberry wilts in the yard.

II.

I sleep so strong in the heat, it takes a ladder to climb out

again, or no, the soft footholds and handholds in the rift or cliff,

where someone has struggled out before me.  Night

changes everything, even our room

where the sheets are made over in marzipan stars.

The little dog coughs again like a grandmother

who has eaten too much eggplant too late in the evening

so my dreams take me into noise and daylight, a scene

of bees decorating the air with their sound and their swerve

as close to us as the redbud’s gnarled limbs.

III.

Other times awake, I watch you breathe, your eyelids roll.

The train has stopped again in the middle of town.

Someone pressed himself across the tracks and stopped.

Everything is still now

after the train’s lonesome push and the screaming brakes.

IV.

Each late night alone before sleep, reading while you sleep,

or fretting over the life’s work unmade, the six chores

undone, I think I would prefer the promise of morning

where my best friend runs six or seven miles

before her children cuddle to her and the eggs cook

sticking in the pan.  She’s seven hours in,

when I wake.  You’re settled in work

when I join the day.  Morning breaks me into pieces

and every organ speaks its subtle resistance.  No

wonder I never embrace the time of the birds and the dew.

Tomorrow the newspaper will explain the waylaid train,

the broken man’s last idea. I will imagine

the conductor’s terror and hopelessness in the night

while you slept in hot air, and I kept watch,

knowing the stars, knowing the lives

that move in darkness, the sphere

that breathes when the sun moves away.

* * * * *

"Trestle and Embankment" was previously published in Whale Road Review.

 Laura Lee Washburn, Director of Creative Writing at Pittsburg State University, is the author of This Good Warm Place (March Street) and Watching the Contortionists (Palanquin Chapbook Prize). Her poetry has appeared in such journals as Cavalier Literary Couture, Carolina Quarterly, 9th Letter, The Sun, Red Rock Review, and Valparaiso Review.  She is married to the writer Roland Sodowsky and is one of the founders and the Co-President of the Board of SEK Women Helping Women. https://www.facebook.com/sekwhw