Month: July 2023

Two Poems by Diane Webster

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Rust Background

Rust is the background
to the white paint chiseled
into graffiti petroglyphs.

The hunter stalks through
rocks and stone
for a deer creature
poised for flight;
its antler carving
snarls in branches,
in hiding.

No other picture
glorifies the kill.
No picture celebrates
the hunter empty-handed.
Rust awaits another
hunting expedition
as rain and sunshine
strip away more paint.


Shell Echoes

The abandoned Shell gas station
lies washed up near the highway.
Heatwaves rise like dreams
in traffic blurring past
to destinations beyond.

Weeds are allowed
to grow in cracks
like tree seeds dropped
into boulder crevices
to sprout and heave roots
like Samson leaning
on the temple pillars.

Shell gas station;
a conch shell pushed
ashore by waves
like mirage heat
boiling once reality.

Listen to the conch
echo whispers of the ocean
like abandoned gas station
hearing tires buzz on the pavement.




Diane Webster‘s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life, nature, or an overheard phrase and to write. Diane enjoys the challenge of transforming images into words to fit her poems. Her work has appeared in El Portal, North Dakota Quarterly, Eunoia Review, and other literary magazines. She also had a micro-chap published by Origami Poetry Press in 2022.

“Hapless Decoration” by Shelly Elizabeth Sanchez

~ Randal A. Burd, Jr. ~ 1 Comment

In those old days
Upon that ceramic floor
I stared into her back
Where she was resting on her knees
And staring in the water

As if she was finely brushed
With ocean blue tears
Devoid of salt
Teasing at the seam
Of her existence

She harkens to the girl
Wet from chlorine
On a holy afternoon
Staring at the flesh
Of her youthful thighs

Who could imagine
A being so small
So fragile and fair
As to wonder why
And for what purpose

She rests in that frame
Bathed in clinical light
Mirrored by the one
Dripping onto the floor
Into the vast sea below

“Hapless Decoration” first appeared in The Colton Review.




Shelly Elizabeth Sanchez grew up in the North Carolina Piedmont beginning at age six. Her earliest memories include playing with the boys, some freaky nightmares, and random sessions on the family Nintendo 64. Her existential poem, “Hapless Decoration,” won first place in Poetry in The Colton Review: Volume 17, and she published flash fiction in The Colton Review: Volume 18.

Two Poems by Carole Greenfield

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Cracked (A Rondeau for You)

Our future cracked open, fortune cookies brought
at meal’s end in restaurants drenched in gold and red, not
for nothing, opulence of lucky money colors, seats
where my kosher grandparents made exception for treats
like lobster sauce, pork fried rice, a sin sought,

consumed, dismissed with smiles, quite as you thought
of our stepping beyond what we’d been taught
as we lay kissing between peach-colored sheets
while our future cracked open.

Continue tempting fate until one’s caught,
live with heightened pitch, all nerves stretched taut
or keep to separate time zones, walk lonely moonlit streets,
travel up and down that tangle, one advances, one retreats,
penitence and passion weaving in, around, out until, so fraught
our future cracked open.


Shell

Shards of abalone traced across and down my skin,
beginning at the hairline, skating over my closed eyes,
slight slope of nose, half-open lips, to reach my chin
and leap aloft, the landing soft between my throat bones’ rise.

Descend from there to spiny sternum, stomach’s curving swell,
their edges sharp enough to pierce, sides grown smooth by sand.
For years to come, they’ll hold a secret, ours alone to tell.
Slipped from their bag, held lightly in my hand.

You gave me shells of moonlight sheen, a rock in shades of rust,
gifts that could shatter in a moment, scatter into gleaming bits of dust.

So what to do? Break myself away, or trust
my heart, my soul, in hands that hold me like a shell,
that carefully, that lovingly, that well?




Carole Greenfield was raised in Colombia and now lives in New England. Her work has appeared in Red Dancefloor, Gulfstream, The Sow’s Ear, Women’s Words: Resolution, Arc, Sparks of Calliope, and The Eunoia Review.

Two Poems by Janice Canerdy

~ Randal A. Burd, Jr. ~ 1 Comment

Do Not Enter; Do Not Exit

A sad-faced little man sits all alone.
His pricey suit is wrinkled, and his tie
is loosened. He’s exhausted to the bone.
His once-bright eyes no longer shine. His sigh
is inward. No one hears his weary cry.

“For thirty years I’ve had the same career,”
he mumbles to his lap. “I’ve known success,
but failing health has wrought a gnawing fear
that I can’t persevere. My happiness
may hinge on new employment with less stress.”

The lavish lifestyle he’s accustomed to,
he wishes to maintain. He can’t retire,
stay home, read books, and watch tv in lieu
of working; but the next job might require
REAL people skills. His circumstance is dire.

For decades, from behind his smiling mask,
he’s been convincing clients that he cares
about their futures, that his most-loved task
is helping them succeed. He never bares
his real self. Now, alone, he sits and stares.

If he stops getting richer, he will lose
his fiancée, who’s shallow, just like him,
and money-grubbing. He knows he must choose
to move—that he must jump in, sink, or swim.
His vision of the future’s looking dim.

He’s like a man ‘twixt doors with taunting signs.
The “Do Not Exit,” he cannot ignore,
for his predicament it well defines.
The “Do Not Enter” sign afflicts him more.
“Now what?” It seems he’s questioning the floor.


There’s Much to Be Said for Porch Swings

My porch swing is a special place
where past and present intersect.
While swaying at a peaceful pace,
on days of childhood I reflect.

Where past and present intersect,
with eyes closed I soon drift away.
On days of childhood, I reflect.
I see three happy kids at play.

With eyes closed I soon drift away,
I think of yards with rope-held swings.
I see three happy kids at play
on carefree days the summer brings.

I think of yards with rope-held swings
while swaying at a peaceful pace.
On carefree days the summer brings,
my porch swing is a special place.




Janice Canerdy is a retired high-school English teacher from Potts Camp, Mississippi. Her poems have appeared in numerous publications, including Light Quarterly, The Road Not Taken, Lyric, Parody, Bitterroot, the Society of Classical Poets Journal, Westward Quarterly, Lighten Up Online, Halcyon Days, Penwood Review, the Mississippi Poetry Society Journal, Whispering Angel Books, and Quill Books. Her book, Expressions of Faith (Christian Faith Publishing), was published in 2016.