Painting An Art Attack


I started painting everything in sight.

Painted the moon gold and the sun a fiery yellow.

I painted the world in phosphorescence.

The stars glowed a dull purple.

The oceans and skies above in a deep blue.

I got so excited I colored a cow orange with brown spots.

A horse green and my dog tan with red polka dots.

I painted the streets and my apartment in many hues of a rainbow.

Take my showers, shave, and dream, in painted colors.

Even walk among the colors.

I'm turning a pale blue.

So I'll paint my kisses all over you.

Love my many colors.

I love yours.

 

-- Jon Billet

Freedom's Clang


Time is lost and forgotten.

Never found.

The planets are iridescent and bright.

Stars glisten and shine along with the white moonlight.

The stars in the universe die as time flashes by.

Only to be born again.

I sparkle in glimmering clear rain of dew on the ground.

A wild black stallion gallops across white desert sand.

To an enchanted oasis where I hold your heart in my hand.

You belong to me.

I love you God.

We are safe together in this world of ours.


By Jonathan Billet early Tuesday, Sept. 17, 2013
Dedicated to A. Dudette

First Warm Day

Great joy today.
The sun and the breeze
have the mockingbird
flitting from branch
to branch, warning
the other birds.

My wife fills the feeder
with thistle and sits
on the bench with
the cat at her feet
making ablutions.
From the kitchen
I watch goldfinches
thrive on the thistle.  

An old stewing hen
bubbles on the stove.
Tonight it will arrive
with a cast of dumplings
big as the clouds.   

The radio bleats
the Cardinals have lost
to the Pirates.
On a day like today
who can possibly care.
 

-- Donal Mahoney

Same Old Story

When Martha gets home from
cooking class this afternoon,
Martin will be gone

after 30 years of marriage.
Martha won't know why
but it's the same old story

another woman
this one young and beautiful
but deaf and mute as well

a woman Martin likes
because her body speaks
a language all its own

a woman who stays home
unless Martin chooses
to walk her

along with Sparky,
an old sheepdog his wife
gave him as a pup.


--  Donal Mahoney

Suggestions

I have created a small box with a slot
Anyone can drop in folded sheets
The opportunity to share their thoughts
    This is what we call nurture
Do not open the box
We want to sustain anonymity
    It is practically our motto
If it sounds like there is a shredder
Inside, it may just be the gears
Of your own grinding guilt and shame.


-- JD DeHart

The Official

He is in charge and you can tell
From the stick he carries
It is large and full of venom
    Puffed up adder
Plus the badge with the fancy letters
Golden spirals of digits and codes
So complicated they must mean
Something important
The universe of a black bag to place
    You in, heedless
Plus the car, all trappings of authority
Siren light and blaring noise
Speeding on the night street breakneck.


-- JD DeHart

The Grape House

The realtor took us room to purple room
Diverse shades of the same bruise color

Some paintings in the house also featured grapes
On the kitchen table, a cluster of them, plus
Corks and wine bottle décor

The back porch was a series of steps on
Steps and I wondered how a tipsy person
Might navigate the challenge

As we moved through the structure
I could not erase images of portly Bacchus
Holding residence and spilling lavishly
On the one-time guests of the home

Using words like Catawba and Niagara
Sprinkled into the dough of conversation.

-- JD DeHart 

Photos at the Graveyard

We visited the graveyard often
Even though we knew no one
In the graves themselves
It was at the crest of a hill
As if to place the dead skyward
With my Polaroid camera, I would
Snap photos of the markers, hoping
And simultaneously not hoping
That in one of them there would be
The wisp or specter of a ghost
When the products popped out
There was always that moment
Of ethereal mystery as the image
Faded into firm being.


-- JD DeHart

A Rock Among Rocks

I find a small rock as I sit on the shore

And it whispers to me as a rock would whisper

Cold and hard and sprinkled with wear

It tells me I must have something to bear

For what is bore is in my grasp

A pebble from the waters of life and of death

It glistens with malice and obscures with clarity

The rock is no bigger than a thumb

Yet the ripple it makes as I toss it in

Reaches the unreachable in size

And shoots past the edge of time

And when all is dark and still

My eyes glisten with malice

My mind obscured with clarity

 

-- Zaphron Richardson

After Listening to World News Tonight

When the next emperor dies
and arrives in Hades
there will be great applause

from the other emperors who  
arrived there before him.
They will drop pitchforks,

kneel in bonfire and bow
to their newest colleague,
the one for whom Satan

now rises and offers
his throne so the new man
can reign in glory as

Emperor of Hades until
someone more evil arrives,
someone whose glee for war

harmed even more people,
people with little to lose
except for their lives.

-- Donal Mahoney

Seven (sort of) Haiku

summer’s mugginess
dragging my shadow
                 behind me
 


above the marsh
something birdish in the reeds
unseen wholesomeness

 

                    up
                    and
                    over
             April rain
     May sunshine   
                    a climbing vine  
                    purple blossoms

 

long-distance semi
and a rust-freckled trailer
they have done it all

 

cat on railing
again
the moon song

 

Nebraska hayfield
uncles, cousins, I and
grandma’s dinner bell

 

harbingers come
from far away
perhaps as far
as from inside
and darkness falls

 

-- Ayaz Daryl Nielsen

A Memory

A memory as she crosses the street...                                
   under heavy wool blankets in a
   small mountain cabin teasing
   with her breasts ‘just try to say
   no to these - and to this’ as
   she lowers her lips and chill
   midwinter drafts couldn’t touch
   the fire of our long embrace

Her stride is still long
   vibrant and confident
   
I call her name, she stops
   we could hug and talk
   and then...
   cars honking

We could walk
   each
   our own way...
   and yet...
    
Our stride is long
   vibrant and confident
   as we move toward us
   as we safely cross

As traffic begins
   moving again.

 

-- Ayaz Daryl Nielsen 

For The Love of Snow

I confess
That although
You say you hate it
I love the snow

I find magic
In its new, clean white
And the way the wind
Makes it seem alive

Alive as spirits
Dancing across the road
Or taking flight
From a roof

Snow transforms
The world
With the poignance
Of a black and white film

Shoveling does not bother me
Small price to pay
For such beauty

-- Tom Rubenoff

It's Many Miles from Easy

It's many miles from easy to the end.
For some, the end is dawn. For others it's
the nightfall of imbroglio because

the end depends upon your ticket
and every ticket's punched one-way.
No round-trip tickets, save perhaps

for some who claim a mulligan,
who say they need another chance.
It's true that some may need a mulligan

if they leave without a destination,
while others know which port
they'll dock in. Or so they say.

When they arrive, however,
and find no hula skirts or leis,
they may gasp and cry, "Who knew?"

while somewhere in the clouds
a blinking neon sign proclaims
it's many miles from easy to the end.

-- Donal Mahoney