For the inner ear, the voice of the vessel of silence is an embrace
felt by an infinite number of scribes.
It is my wish to offer here an oasis of present day poetic
pens.
Each month i shall invite new poets to breathe with, and they in
turn will bring guests of their own.
Poetry Corner at TIFERET has evolved out of Donna Stein’s
enthusiasm to nurture the spirit of beauty in all its forms.
silent lotus
April 2011 Silent Lotus’ Selected
Poets’
Ron Kostar
and his guest Judith McNally
Tom Riordan
and his guest Sue Lozynskyj
Ron
Kostar
Whose Photographs Loved People
i always thought if you polished one stone until
it became
clear everything would shine, now people are dying.
the old Czech who grit his teeth while biking his
grandsons over the
mountains is gone. the famous
centenarian who walked along the street
stopping now and then to sketch a shape with her cane in
the sand
is gone. i always thought if you built a big house
everyone
would stay, but now people are leaving. Einstein is
long gone.
the gruff patriarch who drove his car on the wrong side
of the road is gone, Bibi the black lab who ran circles
around
Sugar and the plumber next door and the printer who lived
next
to him are gone. vague thoughts, dispersed, extant
disconnected dust. love to some, now all
stars wanting constellations:
the artist poet drinker fisherman lover embalmed under leaves
in lake ice.
the teacher writer friend electrician brilliant student father
young mother yoga lawyer
child framer malcontent doctor house painter all gone. even
the photographer whose
photographs loved people, even him. i was there
when we dropped wet dirt on his grave and wished him
back.
if you stay in one place long enough people die.
is there a better reason to keep moving?
My Sons Take Epic Showers
my sons take showers that go on for hours,
they remind me of old black & white movies starring
clark gable and charlton heston.
my kids’ showers take place in the historical spaces
of their watery imaginations
wherein they entertain vast migrations of people,
feel high-pitched emotions like love, hate and passion
and become heroes chasing
exotic heroines through exotic places.
and as with all rhythmically induced travel,
my kids’ showers include much singing and
foot-tapping.
but while it is uplifting to hear your kids
singing in the privacy of their own joyful rituals,
is it really necessary for them to stay in
there long enough
to perform the entirety of “Tommy” or
Handel’s “Messiah”?
no! i say in the spirit of brevity,
the mark of our fast and fragmented time,
a kid’s shower need not drain the well nor
evoke the Odyssey or Bible,
but should be a practicum in efficient grooming
that lasts no longer than a lyric, at most a magazine
story.
economical, though never lacking for rhythm,
imagery, and melody,
practical though potentially transformative, a
shower should be:
an occasion for colorful reverie without being
a last will and testament.
as sweet as babbling spring water, but
as succinct as a popular song.
 | Ron Kostar lives in the historic WPA town of Roosevelt, NJ. He has been a professor and teacher but now retires in the woods and plays the clarinet in The Hot Taters, a Dixieland band. He reads and performs regularly and has published poems in several small magazines including US 1, City Magazine, For Here or to Go, In the Mail, The Princeton Review and The Kelsey Review, and he has shown his collages and paintings in a number of Group and Collaborative Art Shows. He has a Ph.D. in Comparative Literature from Rutgers University and currently teaches young students words. http://www.facebook.com/pages/Hot-Taters/231827836374 http://www.myspace.com/hottatersband Email: rkostar1@hotmail.com |
Judith McNally
The Joie de Vivre Blues
(a talkin’ blues)
Went looking for my joie de vivre
Looked under every stone
It wasn’t there
I had the joie de vivre blues
Followed you around
Looking for my joie de vivre
Thought you had plenty to spare
Might even give me some
Then we said goodbye
And you walked off
With my joie de vivre
Or so I thought
I had the joie de vivre blues
All over again
Made a few mistakes
In my joie de vivre blues
I even wrote to you
Kinda knew I’d never hear back
And I didn’t
I had the joie de vivre blues
Then one day the sun came out
I took a walk
One hand swinging free
The other in my pocket
Walking free – found my joie de vivre
And you know what?
It was in better shape
Than when I last saw it
Turns out saying goodbye
Was the best thing
You could have done
I lost those joie de vivre blues
| Judith McNally, retired from teaching Creative Writing in the New York and Princeton areas, has published a novel, Jigsaw (Macmillan 1981) and is the recipient of an NJ State Council on the Arts Prose Fellowship. Her first play, Birdland, about Charlie Parker, was optioned by the New Federal Theatre, NYC. Her poems and short dialogues – “micrologues” – have appeared in US1 Worksheets and have been read widely in the New York and Princeton areas. Judith currently plays flute for the Dance Improv, Live! Band in Princeton, NJ. Email: jmcnally3@comcast.net |
Tom
Riordan
player
i don’t know where
wise people belong
but please stop putting
them in movies.
annapurna
we pass her every day
cutting through the lot
after school in opposite
directions as she rifles
her daily bag of chips
so wolfishly they litter
the path. it’s december
when we notice a flock
of goldfinches waiting.
 | Tom Riordan lives in New Jersey in the U.S. with his wife and 3 children. He gardens, has taught English most of his life, a writer even longer, cooks and runs the Environment Commission in his town. His poetry has been published in various venues in English and translated into Vietnamese including: English – Vietnamese http://www.phongdiep.net/default.asp?action=article&ID=12410.
|
Sue
Lozynskyj
Wrinkles
Yesterday I ironed your shirt and after I stroked
the creases out of the back, and uncrumpled
the arms from shoulder to wrist,
I slipped it on,
front, cuffs and collar still wrinkled.
It soothes my prickling skin
while I wait for news.
When the baby cried and I held her
she was quiet, her eyes half a shade darker
than my arms in your denim,
her cheek laid on the shoulder
where mine loves to lie.
I’m ironing your combat shirt now,
still wearing your denim.
It smells of milk and mother’s sweat
and the damp patch she’s made.
I should wash it,
but I’m waiting.
| Sue Lozynskyj lives among seagulls on the Yorkshire coast. Encouraged in her writing by a lively network of writers across Yorkshire and online at Poetry Circle and AfterLiterature, Sue believes in the power of words to build a thriving society, based on listening and speaking. She is published on the Poetry Society , BBC Radio Humberside and Email: mloz21@hotmail.com |
Poetry Corner Monthly Archives
POETRY CORNER by silent lotus … MARCH 2011
POETRY CORNER by silent lotus … FEBRUARY 2011
POETRY CORNER by silent lotus … JANUARY 2011
POETRY CORNER by silent lotus … DECEMBER 2010
POETRY CORNER by silent lotus … NOVEMBER 2010
POETRY CORNER by silent lotus … OCTOBER 2010
POETRY CORNER by silent lotus … SEPTEMBER 2010
POETRY CORNER by silent lotus … AUGUST 2010
POETRY CORNER by silent lotus … JUNE 2010
POETRY
CORNER by silent lotus … MAY 2010
