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Poetry Winter 2022    fiction    all issues


Li Zhang

Ana Reisens
Pam asked about Europe
& other poems

Krystle May Statler
To the Slow Burn
& other poems

Kristina Cecka
On Remodeling
& other poems

Belinda Roddie
Bless The Bones Of California
& other poems

Summer Rand
Alexander tells me how he'd like to be buried
& other poems

Alexander Perez
Toward the Rainbow
& other poems

Karo Ska
self-portrait of compassion…
& other poems

David Southward
The Pelican
& other poems

George Longenecker
Stamp Collection
& other poems

Mary Keating
& other poems

Talya Jankovits
Imagine A World Without Raging Hormones
& other poems

Laurie Holding
Sonnet to Mr. Frost
& other poems

David Ruekberg
A Short Essay on Love
& other poems

Elaine Greenwood
There’s a thick, quiet Angel
& other poems

Richard Baldo
Carry On Caretaker
& other poems

Jefferson Singer
Dave Righetti’s No-Hitter…
& other poems

Diane Ayer
A Fan
& other poems

Kaecey McCormick
Meditation Before Desert Monsoon
& other poems

Meg Whelan
& other poems

Katherine B. Arthaud
& other poems

Aaron Glover
On Transformation
& other poems

Anne Marie Wells
[I'm crying in a sandwich shop reading Diane Seuss' sonnets]
& other poems

Holly Cian
& other poems

Kimberly Russo
Selective Memories are the Only Gift of Dementia
& other poems

Steven Monte
& other poems

Mervyn Seivwright
Fear Mountain
& other poems

George Longenecker

Newly fallen

snow covers his face,

body facing grey sky

which he can’t see

one arm outstretched to the right

as if reaching out

when he was shot

Kharkiv under siege

everything grey

another cold war

in the photograph

nearby troop carrier

a caterpillar

blackened burned

tread blown off

nobody alive shown

a mother and father

will get the news

death doesn’t take sides

all decay and return to soil

traffic light

street lamp

burned building

all dark


newly fallen

Cold War

19 soldiers

ponchos flapping in wind,

perhaps they’re at Chosin Reservoir

perhaps on Heartbreak Ridge

              winter war                   Korea so cold

they slog on through ice and snow

each clutching his weapon

Frank Gaylord’s sculptures

neither alive nor dead

frozen in time

like war that never ended

magpies fly over the border

quiet now in the DMZ

where they nest in maples

so many dead there

some left behind

a mere dimming

between life and death

as sunlight fades and night grows cold


19 soldiers frozen in time

Only One Casualty Today

Not one of all the purple Host

Who took the Flag today

Can tell the definition

So clear of victory

As he defeated—dying—

On whose forbidden ear

The distant strains of triumph

Burst agonized and clear!

—Emily Dickinson

My brother wades in cool water,

a scrawny kid in a red and blue swimsuit.

On the dock he poses with a pickerel,

New Hampshire—15 years left of his life.

Another summer—hours in the back seat,

smell of warm crayons in afternoon heat.

We pass an oil well—fragrance of raw crude,

Kansas, our grandmother’s house, cars on brick streets.

Only one casualty, the newscaster explained,

good news,—things are improving.

My brother the single casualty that day

not even battle, just a parachute plunge from a plane.

A good way to die if you have to, perhaps,

falling through clear sky.

Perhaps the smell of soil and lawn coming

fast, closer and closer—so long ago.

And there’s no way to ask him how he felt

about being the only one that day.

Only one son, only one brother

only one casualty today.

Stamp Collection

I flew a four engine China Clipper

straight off a twenty cent U.S. airmail stamp,

up over deep, forested valleys of Montenegro,

high over megalithic temples of Malta,

across the Mediterranean to the Rock of Gibraltar.

In San Marino I climbed high onto the ramparts of ancient

castles with panoramas across Italy to the Adriatic Sea.

I glided swiftly across the savanna

with Angola’s postage stamp giraffes.

How could I have known at ten,

that kids died before they got to be my age?

Portugal would kill every last Angolan

before giving up their colony.

They killed rhinos for horns to make aphrodisiacs,

slaughtered elephants for tusks

to make ivory cameos and piano keys,

then issued stamps with colorful pictures of wildlife.

I arranged my stamps and daydreamed of zebras,

my sister practiced piano.

while the USSR and USA fought the cold war on their postage—

Yuri Gagarin and Cosmonauts, Telstar,

Oklahoma—Arrows to Atoms, Atoms for Peace,

Marx, Lenin, Stalin, Jefferson, Lincoln, Roosevelt.

What did I know of dying empires,

revolution, independence, liberation?

I was a kid collecting stamps.

So, I flew my China Clipper

as high as I could—

above it all.

Still Life

Sheep in Snow

Joseph Farquharson (1846-1935)

It’s still as sun sets,

light snow in a pasture,

we look west into orange sunset,

scattered clouds in shades of pink,

still enough light for long shadows

from trees on a small rise,

shades of orange in snow.

Sheep graze for what grass they can find,

waiting for sunset,

when they’ll return to shelter

outside the frame.

Though winter is brown and grey,

their pasture is full of color,

peaceful at solstice sunset.

Do sheep worry like we do,

about what will come

when night grows cold?

Though shadows cross their pasture,

there’s still color,

still life left as daylight fades.

What more could we ask?

George Longenecker lives on the edge of the woods in Middlesex, Vermont. His poems, stories and book reviews have been published in Bryant Literary Review, Evening Street Review, Rain Taxi, The Saturday Evening Post and The Mountain Troubadour. His book Star Route was published by Main Street Rag. He’s executive secretary of The Poetry Society of Vermont. He looks for poetry in the paradoxical ways humans repeat their mistakes and reflect nature in their art. See George Longenecker on youtube.

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