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SHARMAGNE LELAND-ST. JOHN
There Were Dry Red Days			

There were dry red days
Devoid of clouds
Devoid of breeze
Sound bruised
My burning bones
Dirt cracked my hands
And caked my cheeks
No buds on limbs of trees
No birds on branches
No hope of rain
Scrawny chickens
Kicked up dust
Scratching for food 
That wasn't there
In the stifling, stillness
Of the scorched night
We dreamt
Of cool oases
Tropical isles
Emerald bays
Not these dry red days	
© SHARMAGNE LELAND-ST. JOHN

REPAIR: Concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; resort, frequent or habitual going; making one's way; to arrive; to dwell; to heal, to cure, to recover; to renew; (AND!) to fix to original condition. Oxford English Dictionary

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POETRYrePAIRS reads poetry from January 1 through November 1
"All the fine arts are species of poetry." - S.T. Coleridge
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ELLARAINE LOCKIE's
BLUE RIBBONS At the County Fair
Price: $10.00
PWJ Publishing
ISBN: 0-939221-45-4

CHARLES P. RIES, reviewer
BLUE RIBBONS At the County Fair by ELLARAINE LOCKIE

ELLARAINE LOCKIE once again walks the tight rope between poetry that is accessible and ethereal - poetry that is at once plain spoken and musical. The title for her most recent collection of poetry is deceptively colloquial, Blue Ribbons at the County Fair, but her poems travel a varied world taking us far beyond the confines of the county fair. She uses a variety of technique and style to take us with her. As in her past work, she tiptoes along the high-wire that can separate the work of the academically trained and the self-taught writers.

In her poem, "Lost Legacy," we find her wonderful ability to use alliteration with good effect. Moving us gently forward as she reflects on her beloved Montana,
"
Houses a hundred years old with Alzheimer's Abandoned in isolation wards on western prairies Where homesteads were settled on small town sanity brinks Mine long ago lost to profit margins on minimal Montana farm Hospice where I come to heal from city assaults My heart heavier than the hard timber turned driftwood soft."

Lockie has received first place prizes for each poem in this collection, and as Lockie explains in her essay at the conclusion of the book, "And yes, some received blue ribbons at county fairs." She goes on to say, "When I began writing poetry, naturally I thrilled to the idea of poetry contests. Not only are they fun and suspenseful, but placing in them gives credibility to cover-letters, pays money prizes or other honorariums and sometimes provides public reading opportunities." So in a sense Blue Ribbons at the County Fair is sort of an Ellaraine Lockie Greatest Hits Collection. I especially enjoyed her poems focusing on the topic of modern romance – of one sort or another, such as in "The Other Woman":
"She shows signs of jealousy That slight smart of suspicion Of course she would know How a woman can move in on a man Hang her underwear over his philandering lines Being a practiced poacher herself An artist in sculpting seduction."
And again in, "Silk Dreams":
"I told you ahead of time this affair if it happened wouldn't be casual But here it is a few hours old Already wearing sneakers and a wrinkled tee shirt You say you will pass my way when time permits I say the way has potholes that require attention Mapped maintenance."

"Defying Gravity" also covers this eternal landscape with exceptional skill.

Lockie told me about her jump into poetry, "I previously had written in other genres (and still do)--nonfiction, magazine articles and children's picture books. Nine years ago I had not read a poem since high school, except for the occasional one I came across in children's literature. I thought I hated poetry; I thought it had to rhyme. Then one day an old friend sent me some of his poems and wanted my opinion. I liked them, but they didn't rhyme. So I called my children's writing mentors for advice. When they told me about free verse, I became obsessed with writing it and with getting it published. This happened at a tough time in my life, and poetry became my salvation. I just jumped in and started writing like crazy, unaware of what other poets were writing. I entered the poems in contests before submitting to editors, knowing that I needed something in cover letters to entice editors into reading my work carefully." If she needed verification that she was on the right track, she certainly got it.

What I enjoyed most about this collection is Lockie's ability to use language beautifully and yet have it remain accessible. I understood her metaphors; I could relate to her stories and pictures. And while her writing was accessible, it remained well developed and carefully composed. There are only a few writers in the independent small press who manage to walk this line and not fall into the pit of abstraction (Michael Kriesel and Gloria Mindock are certainly two who come to my mind). One wonders if as poets grow and extend themselves that they must inevitably drift further away from the common and push the art form, play with structure and elevate their style of their writing? But it was a joy for me to settle into Lockie's recent collection and find no extraneous obstacles to my entering her world or her meaning. As Lockie has grown as a poet she has become more elegant about communicating common meaning.
© CHARLES P. RIES, reviewer
Published on poetryREpairs with the reviewer's permission; this review first appeared in Chiron Review

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"Poetry endangers the established order in the soul." - Plato
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YEHIEL HAZAK
Roots
Ask them to return, Cousins, children to one father are we Ask them to return, praying thinly Whispering the earthbound sounds, beg Them to come back. A day shall come when Words of prayer will be cherished, whispered Loudly called againe to come, Return to the mountains, houses, fields, Engulfing voices calling to return, And none but screams shall be their boundaries Nor shall the sea be their last hold, its Waves still silencing the voices shouting To return, shackled, chains of soldiers Marching into brithers' wars on fathers' Earth that swallow all. Beloved lands were called by men and women not to run, Do not run too fast, don't rush, the place id burning, And my mother's voice like tunnels calling back her cubs Into her flameless earth, becoming Burning ashes, While winds go round themselves and silence's scepter Is upon us, and till we freeze where called upon Inside the circle And we die Encircled Like Philistines in temples Beloved lands to say.
translated from Hebrew by Jaffa Weisman

© YEHIEL HAZAK.
"Roots" previously appeared on poetryREpairs 01.04:039

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