THE ANCHORMAN'S TIES

by Judith Terzi

Image source: The Nashua Telegraph

No matter what the news,
my neck is tied. The market
flies, the market plunges,
two thousand said I dead.
I wear white polka dots
on navy blue. Every night
a suit and tie. Citizens
coagulate fate, tie clothing
tourniquets. Amputees nod
goodbye to candy stripers.
Smoky gray geometric
shapes in a cool sea green
hang from my neck. I read:
brouhaha at the IRS, no
terrorism in Benghazi,
terrorism in Benghazi.
Every night a suit and tie.
Car bombs in Sadr City,
seventy dead in Tahrir
Square. Wisteria petals
float on an archipelago of
made-in-India silk. Our
government is tied down.
Arctic tundra will turn
to forest. The President
is fit. The President is fit
to be... I want to sever
ties with purple stripes,
yellow cloverleafs. I read:
human rubble in a garment
factory. Yellow and pink
palm trees and storks
and swans. Jewelry heist
at the Festival de Cannes.
I tie my thoughts way back
tight into my head. White
blossoms in an olive green
lake. I tie up my mind.
Exhumation of the Chilean
poet. The fires still roar.
Tie score for arson, climate
change, metaphor. Golden
bark, silver branches, ruby
berries. No matter what
the news. Bashar al-Assad.
Ferragamo. Collar and tie.


Judith Terzi holds an M.A. in French Literature. Her poetry has appeared in many journals and anthologies and has been nominated for Best of the Web and Net. For many years a high school French teacher, she also taught English and ESL at California State University, Los Angeles, and in Algiers, Algeria. She is the author of Sharing Tabouli (2011) and Ghazal for a Chambermaid, forthcoming from Finishing Line.

CRUEL APRIL

by Judy Kronenfeld





                          after the Boston Marathon, and after seeing
                                the documentary, “Syria behind the Lines”


Crystalline cool days—bougainvillea
spills from our walls like rivulets
outdoing one another, like lavish
manes of brilliant, curly scarlet
tossed flirtatiously by the wind—
and in our yard, exploding galaxies
of snow-in-summer; popped up orange liqueur
poppy cups; torches of white iris…

Exploding fire, and the red ochre of blood

spattered over Boylston Street, as if a dark perversion

of Holi came frenzied through—no playful

faces splashed marigold, indigo,

saffron praising spring—leaving behind shreds

of clothes, glass, flesh…

And in Syria, somewhere, again
and again, convulsed young faces
buried in the chests of older men,
whose hands pull the faces in to blot out
what they’re seeing and their screaming,
so the fighting can go on.

Still in Syria somewhere—opulence
of nets of oranges and grapefruits
hanging above the fruit-juice stands piled
with lemons, carrots, melons? Is there hope
for cool sweetness in the throat—intensities
of blended watermelon, strawberry,
banana, milk, honey, mint—families strolling
in the cooling midnight streets, old men
playing chess on 2 A.M. sidewalks…?
             
On a talk show two broadcasters

argue almost raucously over

whether a newspaper was right

to cut off at the knees a photo

of a man’s legs blasted off below

the knees, in Boston…

And, somewhere, in Syria, again,
and again, a dreamy, peaceful
sweetness sweeps over the bearded face
of a very young man, many times wounded,
many times returned to the rebel lines—
who has already or will join al-Nusra—as he speaks
of his hope to become a martyr.

Here, at home, in California,
where the bougainvillea bursts
in a frenzy of bloom, two friends—a relative,
a poet—dead in the ordinary old way,
of early cancer, of old age.


Judy Kronenfeld’s most recent collections of poetry are Shimmer (WordTech Editions, 2012) and the second edition of  Light Lowering in Diminished Sevenths, winner of The Litchfield Review Poetry Book Prize for 2007 (Antrim House, 2012). Recent anthology appearances include Before There Is Nowhere to Stand: Palestine/Israel: Poets Respond to the Struggle (Lost Horse Press, 2012) and Love over 60: An Anthology of Women's Poems (Mayapple Press, 2010). Her poems have appeared in many print and online journals such as Calyx, Cimarron Review, The American Poetry Journal, Fox Chase Review,  Foundling Review, Innisfree Poetry Journal, Hiram Poetry Review, Natural Bridge, New Verse News, The Pedestal, Poetry International,  Spoon River Poetry Review, Stirring, and The Women’s Review of Books.

HUBBLY-BUBBLY HOOKAH IMPLAUSIBLE PIPE DREAMS

Poem by Charles Frederickson

Graphic by Saknarin Chinayote 

 

Spring of 2013 sprang sprung

Wireless Slinky descending into oblivion

Faithful almost pregnant hopes misplaced

Beastly encounters of uncivilized kind

 

Obama venturing into wildcat cage

Spotted tigers changing starry stripes

Circus Minimus centrist ring distractions

Mane pride flaming hope singed

 

Caught between chipped stonewall boulders

Both sides blame-gaming each other

Rising tide engulfing global condemnation

Criticizing unsettled borderline territorial domination

 

Tripped objectives uncivil Syrian wars

Holding back bullyrag Iran strike

Iron dome rocket-interceptor defensive offence

Pushing tug of peace patience

 

Sending crudible messages massaging superegos

U.S. committed to Israel ’s survival

While reconciling tainted blood-brother doubts

Jocks supporting secular democratic ideals

 

Cocoon swayed by geopolitical realities

Giant silkworm emerging from pupa

Caterpillars molting Machiavellian expectation skins

Luna moths acknowledging legitimate fears

No Holds Bard Dr. Charles Frederickson and Mr. Saknarin Chinayote proudly present YouTube mini-movies @ YouTube – CharlesThai1 . 

FEBRUARY

by Penelope Scambly Schott

Image source: Save the Children

The early robin plumps on a fence post
well ahead of the meadow larks –
I count one vote for spring.

My lonely neighbor left her lights on all night
and rose in frost to sweep her patio
clean of sunflower husks.

In a camp just beyond the Syrian border
most of the 75,000 shivering refugees
are under the age of four.

I remember completely being three years old –
how near my hands were to my elbows
and my fingers to my mouth.

Today, on this fragrant slice of warm toast
veined with cinnamon sugar,
the spread butter melts.

We all have our mouths wide open
and some of us sing.


Penelope Scambly Schott’s forthcoming book Lillie Was a Goddess, Lillie Was a Whore is a series of poems about prostitution.

IN SYRIA

by Joan Fishbein

WARNING: viewer discretion advised

          bombs
fly above
mothers stand in line
to buy bread
palm trees splinter
also
        children


Joan Fishbein's work has appeared in the Origami Poems Project of Rhode Island, The Southern Poetry Anthology:Volume One, The Kennesaw Review, The Devil's Millhopper, Helicon Nine, Poetica, The Reach of Song, The Best of Sand Hills and other small literary magazines. She lives in Providence with her husband and cat.