David Jackson 
Library
We are collectors of years lived,
Stored on invisible shelves
To be counted and remembered;
Decades lined up side by side,
Each volume chosen and examined
As life calls for introspection
And reaffirmation;
A return to who we were,
where we came from,
and lessons learned.
A few moments immersed
Into the chapters of our past
Lift the fog of forgetfulness,
And the fragments of our divided selves
Reassemble into the infinite divine.
armageddon in the back yard?
no
a barbeque?
no
“Something for the them to throw away”
He flails like it means something
like anything matters
like fire itself wasn’t limited
like there was something left to say
after
after
after she’s gone
after he’s gone
and the paintings in a dusty attic
then found and left in a musty basement
are the same as those in the finest museum
in the
end
He throws the knife across the room.
Artist Statement.
Keep me or throw me away…it ain’t up to me and pleasing anybody but myself with art isn’t in me…I like to be in your face daring you to say it’s not art or not good art………maybe I’ll cut it up , glue it on the wall and use a belt sander next then burn it on the courthouse lawn. That would be an “installation”. Maybe I’ll just paint them, not sign them and leave them somewhere like in the parking lot at Home Depot, maybe beside those guys with signs pointing you to a restaurant. A string on a nail is art. A rectangle is art. A blank canvas is art. An empty room is art.We gotta put paint back on the damn canvas.
Rita Dove reads ‘Daystar’ from BillMoyers.com on Vimeo.
Patio Seating
Alive!
mesh metal tabletop
drips of vinaigrette drop
splash on top of toes
newly sprung
translucent as salmon bone
flip flop
legs cross, uncross
lunch partners patio’ed
conversations spawn over
switching seats
so silver scaled polka dot
aged spot skin won’t fry
in these upstream rays
swish swish
palms clutch overdone
upper arms, smiles flow
thoughts run, consumed
by the sun
swimming down to us, plated –
endless winter
Done!
Kim Drew Wright has short fiction and poetry in several print and online literary journals. She graduated from the University of North Carolina – Chapel Hill, and had an advertising career. While currently residing in Richmond, Virginia, she has lived in seven states in the Midwest, South, and East Coast. Three young children, two crazy Westies, and one husband in retail occupy Kim’s time when she is not scribbling furiously at her desk or paddle boarding the James River. A book of linked short stories, Signals, and a poetry collection, Lady Sawed In Half, are due out in 2014. Keep connected with Kim at kimdrewwright.wix.com/kimdrewwright.
The Autumn Moon Hangs
I am a poem
And I am ageless.
When I was one and twenty
I spoke of lingering sunsets into night,
Envying that solitary bird flapping vigorously,
Racing the sinking sun at end of day.
Decades and one later
I am still poem.
I am that sunset, sinking into the sea.
That golden leaf, waiting for that last gentle breeze.
I am that Autumn moon hanging
Over crayoned fields, now free of summer harvest,
Waiting for the last flight home.
I am still poem.
I am ageless.
©Frances Kakugawa