INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
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