Poetry

Blood Oranges in Spring
by Arlene Ang • Spinea, Italy

Like Botero's women,
plump with dimples --
an orotund sunset gathering.
My eyes grow accustomed
to windows, observing
fruit fall on grass.
Since the slip downstairs,
my wrinkled ankle has bloated
to sanguinello beauty.
The hired gardener comes daily
to tend my flowers, a stillborn
loneliness on his lapel.
Twice now, he has left two
ripe-red orbs on the porch bench
like a humbling confession of love.

Haiku
by Gerald Starlight • Roosevelt Island

Morning sun rising,
Wind blows in all directions;
The stone remains still.

Daydream
by Laurie Corzett

It was a warm and windy day,
bittersweet in springtime,
the trees, newly leaved,
swayed in the warm, sweet
melody.
It was a day to kick stones
along a riverbank and dream,
before a night of jukebox music
and cokes
at the local diner.
What kind of day are you?

The Visit
by Gloria g. Murray, Deer Park

last night my father came to me
he was wearing his white Florida loafers
his yellow button down cardigan
and carrying a 50 pound bag of oranges
I reached out to touch him
and my fingers felt the thinness of air
how long will you be staying? I asked
I’m due back at the cemetery, he said
and began to walk quickly
his feet bouncing up and down
on the speckled concrete
it’s such a long way
from here to Calverton, I shouted
but he couldn’t hear
the wind was whipping against my mouth
the cars rushed by
and the oranges rolled
one by one
down the long black stretch
of the L.I.E

I Am My Own Angel
by Karen Ethelsdattar, Union City, NJ

I am my own angel.
No flutter of wings
but something within
directs my steps,
turns me away from harm,
gives me dreams,
works while I sleep,
like the elves in the fairy tale
who did the shoemaker’s work
overnight,
like the magical assistants
who dig up the gold of consciousness
under the hearth,
or who warn of danger.
I am my own fairy godmother
who appears in moments of crisis,
who comforts my tears,
& finds the right clothes
for me to wear to the ball
or a poetry reading.
I am my own wizard,
conjuring deeds from intentions,
poems from words,
flowers from seeds.