Poetry from M. Spear

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Pile of Person
 
They gather up
in piles on the street
corners, begging
for a stop.
No one ever stops.
Begging for a question
no one is asking.
Might as well be miles
away to the rest of us.
Immune
 
I’m no longer letting
them get under my skin.
I’m no longer listening
to the criticisms like
fish hooks.
I’m trying on a new suit
and this one’s made
of armor.

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Short story from JD DeHart

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Joe Bell, 2014
The swirling dark eddies of the stream must have been some form of invitation to the padding of the child’s feet. There was a rustle followed by a splash while the house with its dim lights slept. That is all I want to say about that, for some acts are not a matter of pride.
Once, I noticed a basket with two small white eggs, early vestiges of spring. Then I saw a dove sitting on those eggs the next day. A wind swept through and swiped mother and hatched fledglings off their surface, smashing them on the ground. Such is the way of the whirlwind sometimes; it is unexpected and seems to move by its own purpose. People often call me the bad guy, but I am not sure that is treating the narrative properly.
The child with padding feet belonged to Joe Bell, the premier attorney in the county. I should know, for I have been scoping this area out for centuries. Joe Bell put the upright in upright citizen and was the guest speaker for many prayerful occasions. Such meetings always make my skin crawl.

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Poetry from Mark Schwartz

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Off an alley in North Beach, I spent my boyhood aspirations.

Smoking weed in Kerouac Alley and drinking from pitchers of beer in Specs

spewing words onto a page.

Some of the words came true, others melted like candle wax over a bridal bouquet.

I got divorced from that son of a bitch

who kept me up all night

Tied to a bed in handcuffs.

I wrote it all down, the screams, noise, words. How do you write noise?

Like this.

AARGHHHGGGRGGHH!!!

And that’s that.

 

— Mark Schwartz and Joie Cook

 

By recluse in the affinity of the time

I come to reckon my finances

and all that is due to me

The kingdom come, thy will be done

As it is in heaven and earth

 

Be sure to forgive those who trespass you

But keep the debts

 

Remember the earth (maye, gaye)

and its replenishment

 

Come flowers, come children

Long live life.

 

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Poetry from Joan Beebe

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Jim Beebe (Joan's husband's) clock.

Jim Beebe (Joan’s husband’s) clock.

The Clock
 
Finely Fretted –
 
Lacey Cuts,
 
Tall and Commanding,
 
It stands in 3D and is
 
A Work of Art
 
But overpowering–
 
An Illusion of a Time Long Ago.

Essay from Donal Mahoney

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Monarch butterfly on milkweed flower (public-domain-images.com)

Monarch butterfly on milkweed flower (public-domain-images.com)

Butterfly and Milkweed in Maplewood, Missouri
 
A small city on the outskirts of St. Louis has ordered Alice Hezel to pull the swamp milkweed out of her yard because the city says it’s a weed and weeds aren’t allowed in Maplewood, Missouri.
Maplewood is a city in recovery thanks to an influx of nice restaurants, a microbrewery and an Apple computer store. But it’s not a town where the rich and famous live. Real folks live there.
The directive by the city may lead to pickets by the Monarch Butterfly as well as nature sympathizers because the swamp milkweed, along with other types of milkweed, is one of only a few places the Monarch will lay its eggs.
Some believe the Monarch is still an endangered species and that North America must do all it can to welcome these refugees from Mexico. They breed here in summer and then go home to hibernate in winter.
There are many beautiful large butterflies but few more beautiful than the Monarch. Its wings are a striking medley of orange, black and yellow, a welcome display of nature’s beauty in the United States and Canada. The people of North America would miss the Monarch if it disappeared.
Alice Hezel, the swamp milkweed gardener now going to court, is a warrior for conservation in Maplewood. More than a few citizens feel that the city should rescind its order and leave her and her swamp milkweed in peace. Taking her to court over a matter like this makes little sense but a date for the trial has been set.
We don’t want to deport the Monarch or have it go extinct on our soil. And we don’t want to build an invisible wall against the Monarch breeding by ridding our yards of swamp milkweed.
The Monarch doesn’t need a passport. It delights everyone fortunate enough to see one. Let’s save the Monarch so our descendants will have a chance some day to see its descendants.

http://stlouis.cbslocal.com/2016/08/15/case-against-maplewood-weed-lady-will-be-heard-in-st-louis-county
http://ksdk.com/news/local/maplewood-woman-faces-citations-for-tall-flowers-and-milk-weeds/295364245

Donal Mahoney, a product of Chicago, lives in exile now in St. Louis, Missouri. His fiction and poetry have appeared in various publications, including The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Christian Science Monitor, The Chicago Tribune and  Commonweal.  Some of his online work can be found at http://eyeonlifemag.com/the-poetry-locksmith/donal-mahoney-poet.html