Tuesday, June 27, 2006

July 2006 Debut Issue

For the debut issue, I am featuring Joe Arechavala, Amy Cobb, Dave Rubio and Nancy Krieg. I would like to have posted all the poems they sent me, but I felt it would take up too much space and take away from the reading of all these fine poets, so I have only posted two poems from each poet. I hope everyone enjoys reading them as much as I have.

Joseph Arechavala

Six Seconds in an Otherwise Tedious Day

Glistening black waterfall;
Shiny locks cascade forward
As she looks down.
Bronze skin glows pink,
Long lashes butterfly-flutter.
Embarrassed smile
Reveals true beauty.

And for one moment,
She is glorious.

For...

Sex drips like wet steamy sweat
Dripping into a puddle of desire
Hands long to stroke sizzling flesh
Murmurs of kisses, lips touching skin
Breathless gasps of pleasure
Caught up in her throat as
Her lover transcends her body
To caress her soul

Pose

Exquisite African goddess
pauses in mid-stride
bronzed pose of grace
hands positioned just...so
tiptoe ballerina in jeans
then continues walking
the moment past


Joseph Arechavala works as a Supply Chain Procurement Analyst, is a part-time student, proud father of two boys and a writer that should be read.

Amy Cobb

Autumn Arrives

a calming friend
after a period of hot anger
the wind caresses you
tells you all will be alright
invites you to sleep
beneath warm quilts
and dream in the colors
of the vibrant pajamas the trees don
as they ready themselves for bed
and you decide to slumber too
hoping to awaken with the daffodils


A Dust That Lingers

he got a sadistic joy
knowing that the dust
that caused her misery
was at least partially composed
from his own skin
he covered everything
in a layer of ugliness
and fed the mites
that made her sneeze
in that way, he knew
that although she'd evicted him
from her life and her bed
he'd hide in corners and ducts
and he hoped to cling inside her nose
as she drew her last breath

Amy Cobb is a native of Greenwood, SC. Her work has been published in The Binnacle, Tamafyhr Mountain Poetry, The Rectangle, and The Lander University Review. Her life is standard fare, so she seeks to make her life a little less dull through her writing.

Dave Rubio

Half as Much

Let's go outside
I want to watch the breeze
Blow through your hair


She says


I want to see if it looks the same
as when I run my fingers through them


Although I know it looks different, I want to see
How nature embraces you with its longing kisses


Does it love you half as much as I do?


Just let me see
If you do to the world
What you do to me

Sun/Dawn/Dusk/Moon

I looked at the sun
And it pissed on me
But no matter how much water, beer
Or other liquid I drank

I just couldnt piss back as much as it did

So I looked to the moonlight to cleanse me from my fright

But the moon is a character of selfishness
Always wanting to be looked at
Though never wanting to see

Twilight and dusk wouldnt be my friend
Complaining about having to be the middle
Of the beginning and the end

"Queso!"

I shouted out to them.

Offered them some cheese in order to gain a new friend

All said they have had that cheese before
And they reluctantly shined upon my door
None of them wanted what I offered
Anymore

The moon was so repulsed that it would take a week or so off
The sun was so inflamed
It made it its purpose to burn down my name
The dusk and dawn didnt care
They knew that whatever the sun and moon did
They were forever forced to be there

Sitting on the porch wondering who would take me first
Momma called from the kitchen and said:
"My son...stop your bitchen!
The sun and moon wish that they were you!
Hoping to be able
To make a life
From mimmicing you.

My son, please guide the sun
My son, please caress the moon
My son, please forget their hopes
Of wanting to be you.

Save them through your steps
Upon their hourly reps
Dont let your daily excersise
Be a prelude to their demise."

Vanished now are those words
The sprouting of the sun and moon
In an instances' blink
Is as confused as a summers rain

The sun rose
The moon set
Yet the dusk and the dawn
Remained the same

"Mother PLEASE!"
He screamed to the wind
"Help me understand
Before you go...show me who to believe!"

All he saw was the dusk and the dawn
No answer from them, for they have always been silent
He wished for an answer from the sun or the moon
But since silence was all he heard from the dusk and dawn
He considered nothing more from the sun
Or the moon

It was real...as she had said
The sun turned to the moon
The dusk turned to to dawn
And in their daily revolvement
They showered him with
His song

Bathed upon that shower
Of sun and moons persistence
What was brought to him was only
The subtle hints of his

... deliverance.

Dave Rubio lives in the Northern California foothills. He says he's 33, works in his own land surveying company and writes good stuff occasionally. I believe him!

Nancy Krieg

adventures of a wooden indian

remember.
fingers of lightning
cracked the rain open.
that day, half asleep
my map blurred, the rainbow
eluded me. In that moment
I already existed. all of
us are agents, you can't stop love.
the ink dried on the pages
before I could save any more ideas.

believe.
the man selling words
smiled and sold out last week.
he is mute by choice
still sits in his booth
shakes hands with people
who give him money
they appreciate
his candor.

honor.
we could be a myth of children
come to gaze in honest eyes
an arc of pleasure
moving between hearts
where silence of the mind
and presence of reverence
bears a beauty
beyond human description.

I imagine you

as the apex
of opaque, bright clouds blown
in azure skies silvered blue
gold coins your father gathered
aligned behind your goddess hair
trace light as they fall to earth
and treasure more
than siren songs
worthy mates have
garnered from pirate stores.

perhaps
we are the epitome of madness
but the feeling
stays and glows
and it's real.

beyond the gates
statues lost in verdant moss
like sacrosanct visions in clay
their form is pure
and hardened art,
true hearts learn to to give
the leary wake but once..

and once
their death decides..
wishes
and kings made of them
follies bleak
without eyes that see
the world with love.

Nancy Krieg often pulls down the stars for examination and shares what she finds in the metaphysical realm. She is recently published in Ancient Heart and Artistry of Life. She lives and works in Kansas City as a social worker, musician and poet (not necessarily in that order!)

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