51 SUMMERS

Sweat drips, thighs burn,
snaking up Life Mountain.
Some lag behind, some go before,
climbing without guides.

We rest, gaze
into the haze below
embracing long-limbed
memories...

thin dried elk,
crisp and chewy.
Dachau beef keepers,
listlessly waiting with the axe,
can only dream
this taste.

Feathered morning gratitude,
a chirping worship
of circling blood.
Even corn grows
singing
chlorophyll hymns.

Woodsmoked clothes
beg for washing
another day.
Lilacs, pine, sea salt air,
cut-grass and summer barbeque
collect a lifetime in the nose.

Bloody swaddling cloths
belie the miracle.
Hard men weep
as mothers coo,
creation's image
never fades.

Above this red earth,
on the trail to the next World,
I wait for the five Sweets
to pass.
Until then
I climb on,
feeling the weight
Of my 51st Summer.

James BlueWolf

TO A RELUCTANT LOVER
      (de Beauvoir to Sartre…)

I, the pen, the scribe
religiously scratching your thoughts
little elusive truths that form crimson
letter shapes around my wrists

the ink that proudly and permanently
marks you upon me

I, the window, the tiny crack
selfishly rationing light upon your transient form
framing you momentarily in the blinking
of a lighthouse glance

the flash that captures and imprisons
you in the biography of my mind

I, the garments you wear, the silk robe
cradling your drowsy flesh
like a mother’s warm embrace
lover and mother with the one kiss

the tie strangling your fragile neck
your breath spasmodic, sexual upon my forehead

I, the dark cave, the wet mouth
in which your erection sleeps
like a snail withdrawing reticently into its shell
the bed where your impotence dreams

a cushion on which your head rests
placidly in my chains

I, the cherry sweet liquid, the syringe full
hungrily transfusing myself into your virgin vein
infecting you with exotic diseases
your sick body writhing with symptomatic pains

the sharp prick that ruptures your skin
and stains my ivory satin pillow

I, the water, the blood
pouring lavishly along your shoulders and spine
your naked body like a dry forgotten weed
watered by my smile it will flourish

the drops of soapy liquid
to cleanse your difficult sweat

I, the path, the unkempt garden
you heavily imprint
marking out your journey towards apocalyptic destinations
like a male puppy dominating his space

a journey away from an Ithaca
running towards an illusion, a circus

I, the obstacle, the stone
stumbling under you, kicked away by you
caught in your shoes, a nagging reminder
of a Penelope awaiting your next move

an aftertaste, the beer we shared
through an adolescent smack

I, the confessional, the whore
sucking out your dark secrets,
your mysteries; the tabloid,
exploiting your nuances, on Sundays

a pimp, your soul a commodity
valuable and priceless, I betray it to the highest bid

I, the aphrodisiac, the rainbow
seductively luring you into my red cage
haunting you with a Siren’s sigh
a baby’s first laugh

the poem you compose
with the torment of the insomniac

I, the lover unloved.

Kathryn Koromilas

RIVER VIEW

To watch a river
is a shallow knowing.

In the waterfall-
the rapids' quick returning to the sea-
is shameless expenditure
of youth's abundance,
only accidentally
collecting moments
for deposit
downstream.

On reaching level land
the current slows,
grazing in the places
time ticks settled rhythms.

This is where the fear of dying pools,
in the river's quiet deeps,
sifting the silt,
paving the way home.

Susan Hulin Berry

AWAITING THE SUN

As daylight disappears
Night stalks in
Shadows move about my mind
Eclipsing bright thoughts
Transposing time,
Ah, may I bask in the Sun again;
Tomorrow...
Casting shadows as I go,
Distorted reflections of myself
Moving - To and fro.
May I see the light of Day -
Tomorrow…
And behold - A fresh new day,
May the Sun warm my heart -
Again as it has today!

When ultraviolet rays are veiled,
A smile frowns - At the fleeting thought,
And I all a glitter - A laugh and a titter;
Have not waited 'til now - All for naught!
For the birds too - Long to sing -
Again…
I heard their enthusiastic melody
As they bathed in the dust
With a spirited wing,
Rejoicing the coming
Of the much waited spring!

From early morns' dawning;
Sleepy eyes awaken - Listening and yawning,
The wild wood weeps
Joyous dew drop tears
They sparkle and glimmer
Those tiny domed surface mirrors,
May I rise-up -
Tomorrow...
Not sullen - No - Nor jaded teary
“Winds”... Blow away clouds
Farewell solitude so dreary,
Cease to persist - This wintry overcast mood,
That brings to me this lingering brood.

From light years - Worlds away and afar,
Thy distant radiant solar star;
While daydreams come alive to twilight
May they shine on me - Those beams of light
And astonish me - With thy splendors of sight,
Rays radiate thru' the expanse
Of cold space
To lay rest - At long last
Upon my waiting eager face!
Be wary tho' - For long, do not stare
Into the circle - Of intense blinding glare,
Ev'n behind clouds - Of smoky ghostly haze
The fiery inferno - Forever burns ablaze!

In the rising moon
The Sun's presence beknown
Reflected upon the lunar surface is shown,
With orb ascent -
Into the darkening heavens high -
It silhouettes rustling trees
Waltzing with a balmy breeze,
As the daylight diminishes
And night draws steadfastly near,
What is that sound a stirring?
Night's creatures are creeping - Are lurking!
Coming to life - To the darkness alluring,
I have neith'r a worry - Nor do I fear
I am in no hurry at sounds I do hear,
For the Sun will reign down on me -
Again...
Freeing me from my somber slumber,
Releasing winter's long cold embrace...

Oh, celestial star - Afire the azure sky
Rekindle a spark of life in my eye!
And as the world around me
Begins to bloom
And sing -
And smile
Over again and again
So shall I!

Mykal Spencer McNee

About the InterBoard Poetry Competition
Archive of IBPC Winners