TERRY WOLVERTON
Station
I once believed in autumn,
the transformative power
of death, would gladly follow
in Persephone’s footsteps,
ravish pomegranate seeds,
suckle on crimson promise:
I believed I would always
return, always be longed for.
I was close to springtime then
petals unfurling, unplucked.
Now late summer scorches my
blousy hem; red tongue devours
what’s grown too many seasons,
renders a harvest of loss.
Fire conjures its own weather
out of August’s ragged end.
My hair ash, I fear the ninth
month. Now Hades claims too much.
poetryrepairs #212 15,06:067
CHANMING YUAN
Epilogues
I
From the front yard of a melodious morning
From the busy road of a sweet Saturday
From the moist corner of a heavy march
From the back lane of pale winter
We have come, here and now, all gathering
In big crowds gathering in big crowds
Gathering in ever-bigger crowds gathering
For the boat to cross the wide wild waters
Before the fairy ferry is fated to fall
Under our foul-covered shoes simply too earthy
II
You may well hate him
But you cannot help feeling envious-
That business of carrying the diseased
Across the River Styx is ever so prosperous
The only monopoly in the entire universe
That has a market share
Larger than the market itself
Daydreaming, on this side
Of the river, how you might wish
To be an entrepreneur like Charon
A success American dreamer
III
Flying between sea and sky
Between day and night
Amid heavenly or oceanic blue
I lost all my references
To any timed space
Or a localized time
Except the non-stop snorting
Of a stranger neighbor
Then, beyond the snorts rising here
And more glooming there
I see tigers, lions, leopards
And other kinds of hunger-throated predators
Darting out of every passenger’s heart
Running amuck around us
As if released from a huge cage
As if in a dreamland
poetryrepairs #212 15,06:067
ANTHONY LICCIONE
When Death Strikes
When Death strikes,
I hope to not be living
only for myself,
I hope it doesn't find me
drinking with the fish.
But foremost -
Death don't come
while I'm in the bedroom
entertaining my wife,
in the heat of the night-
unable to open the window.
Tossing in boredom
on the lumpy side of the bed,
wishing, hoping, praying
Death will find that someone
who stole the screen
from out of my window.
poetryrepairs #212 15,06:067
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CHANMING YUAN edits poetrypacific.blogspot.ca
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