Winter 2008

Table of Contents - Vol. IV, No. 4


Poetry    Interview    Translations    Fiction    Book Reviews

Chris Crittenden


Whelk On Beach

you sneer or smile
at the neon world
of bikinis and machismo,

amid frisbees and nerf sticks,
teenage whoops
and jogging toddler legs,

abstract Mona Lisa,
crafted on a lathe
that took evolutions
to impart.

which one giggling
in the raucous boisterous throng
will lift you

to a gleeful lobe for a hyperactive second,
then toss you back
into slipping shore muck,
amid the frantic yellow trample
of plovers?

do any of those who have ears
what was whispered?
what came to them
songful with rain?


Old Apple Tree

mobile of the delicious,
dangling handholds
for keen palms to take,
as if we humans
were marionettes,
and even does and cubs
tugged from the forest
for a taste.

so redolent,
bee-drenched in August,
a living golden buzzing robe
parted by ripeness in September,
orbs that blush effulgent,
more than dawn's Venus,
or a buxom rose.

who wouldn't fixate
on the arrayed gifts
offered in dances through decades;
and we are swept up still
by the minuet, the slow
hypnotic grace

that waits for a fair second
to tremble boughs with arms of breeze-
and captivate us,
make our hearts whirl.


© Chris Crittenden



Poetry    Interview    Translations    Fiction    Book Reviews

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