Shutta Crum
Joseph McNair
Laszlo Slomovits
Joanie Freeman
Chris Lord
Elisavietta Ritchie
Gerald Clark
Karyn M. Wolven
Duane Locke
Mervyn M. Solomon
Paul B. Roth
Sue Budin
Running Cub
Silvia Scheibli
Geoffrey Philp
Marilyn Churchill
Jerry Blanton
Steve Beaulieu
Don Hewlett

Fred Wolven


      Some blows bring black
    Bombs that bash buildings
  Back into bricks and boards.
Andrew was that: bulging muscled
         Blows that banged us
                On the button
     And blew out our bright.

Some storms sidle in sobbing,
   Drenching us in a wash of
   Drizzling wet wind, so that
The next day we're drowning
         In the slow suffusion.
   Katrina was that: tear-duct
  Wallows that swallowed us.

        Some cyclones shriek
Like a freight train rushing,
             Rattling the house
           All night and all day,
   Shaking and shackling us.
    Wilma was that: pushing
   And shoving until energy
      Bereft us, and bare ears
         And eyes were left us.

           ROYAL PALMS

            Three storms in a month
                  And still you stand
     Erect shafts against the glowing
                      Sky.  So I bow
         To you.  During the storms
       I saw how you tensile strength
              Bent flexibly against
            The winds that pushed
        Down larger, stiffer trees and
      Broke their limbs.  You gave up
          Fronds and seeds whipped
              From your tractability,
        But that is all.  I imagine that
                 This is how the meek
       Shall inherit, their bending and
Giving before the blows break them--
   And their bounding back.  The earth
            Is yours, O, resilient palm,
               Prescient of the supple
                  Saviors of the earth!

Jerry Blanton, Homestead



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