Spill-O's Recent Grace

He took every name in vain.
And the cops never came.
Spill-O carried the apology in his heart for years.

When redemption came,
it was dumber than he imagined.

A stranger, a woman on the train,
forgave and forgave him
with every syllable of smalltalk she sent his way.

By Colin Dodds

http://thecolindodds.com/

The Ruby Throats

Hummingbirds dance
iridescence afire

around the red feeder
hung in the cedar

a symphonic swirl
ruby throats glistening

sipping sweet nectar
sipping until

it's time to jet back
to thimble nests.

The tiniest beaks
are open and waiting.


By Donal Mahoney

Event

Yes! The elements cohere
And rectitude flowers
In an obsidian amulet
Where the water-sprite

Lives

- Not troubling others
Too much, too little,
Except when the aquatic
Funnelling begins

And

The head-over-heels
Cloud
Laughs,
Like thunder.

By Stefanie Bennett

Upon the Roof

Atop Mount Washington
on the roof of New Hampshire,
chill wind sings crystalline solo,
station’s antennae pierce
passing marshmallows
cooking in the blue fireplace
while renegade leaves
leap off the precipice into eternity
as a single hawk soars
above green,
challenging the edge.
I spin quickly
to view the world in a glance.

By Michael Keshigian


michaelkeshigian.com

West Pearl Poetry Contest / Boulder, CO

If you're living in Boulder County or you know a poet who is, please share this link:

boulderarts.org/west-pearl-poetry.

Poetry submissions requested for West Pearl Street public project

The City of Boulder Downtown/University Hill Management Division, Boulder Public Library, and the Office of Arts & Cultural Services request submissions of poetry for a public project associated with the west Pearl Street streetscape improvements. Poets from throughout Boulder County are encouraged to submit their short-format poem on the following theme:

“The Streets of Our City:
Whisper in my ear what the locals love about urban life in Boulder.”

Poetry submissions will be accepted between Monday, July 21, and Monday, Aug. 24  at midnight. Entries may only be submitted online at:  boulderarts.org/west-pearl-poetry.

A selection panel will identify the top six to eight poems, which will be permanently installed on the new way-finding totems (rendering attached) that will be installed on west Pearl Street in the coming year. Finalists will also receive a commemoration of their award, an honorarium, and will participate in celebration events.

“We hope that this project injects poetry throughout the urban environment of west Pearl to make a vibrant street experience,” said Tony Burfield, a poetry specialist, Boulder Public Library staff member and juror in the competition.

Poetry submissions must have no more than 130 characters including spaces. Only one submission per person will be accepted. The work will be displayed in a public setting. No profanity, hateful language, violent narratives, or advocating of a single political or religious viewpoint over others will be accepted. Entrants must reside, work, or go to school in Boulder County. Poems must be submitted in one of the following categories: 1) Children/Youth, 2) Amateur, or 3) Professional.  Submissions are encouraged in English or any other language. Entrants must comply with the terms of use agreement. Full details and the entry form are available online at:  boulderarts.org/west-pearl-poetry.

For more information about the West Pearl Streetscape Project, please visit:  www.westpearlupdates.com.  For any questions about the poetry call for entries, please contact Katherine at:  bertonek@boulderlibrary.org, or Matt at:  chasanskym@boulderlibrary.org. 

--CITY--

Tree

tree dilapidates in the face of dawn
in liquid dawn tree dissolves back

By Christine Murray

http://poethead.wordpress.com/

Umbrellas

The type of wind
he could not find

breath-in

frail silks black-circle him
sheltering-in

By Christine Murray

http://poethead.wordpress.com/

An Eighth of a Lemon

For Martha in the early years
life was recess, nothing more.
She knelt on asphalt,
quartered oranges for kittens

who never lost stringed mittens,
whose London Bridges
never fell down.
For Martha now,

life’s Parkview Manor
where a woman in white,
three times a day, bleeds
an eighth of a lemon into her tea.

By Donal Mahoney

In My Corner

Kneel to the weather. There is a fountain up ahead, glowing,
but no one is on my deck - no bones are dry
in my pocket. Criss-cross, betrayal in my juice cup.
Magic is for fools. Living here, my voice cut,
my pet octopus drowned. Living here
in elementary wealth - nothing but
old-world, nothing but chaos.
So heavy is the window I look through. Brick by brick
I count my way up.

By Allison Grayhurst

www.allisongrayhurst.com

Quince Concurrence | 2 Words

“Quince,” he said “you…” This after such kiss: August 14th, 1:42 p.m.
Imagine then these two; this idyllic, pastoral summer
the plunkety-plunk of a Bach partita, g major
who would have expected this that then next
That he would be with her lips, tongue - all apricot….
Her heart beating fast as a hummingbird’s,
a thousand impossible, unseen beats per minute
Perhaps he sees the giveaway shy blush: hush
The silence after the word forever…
Such concurrence to be found in those lidded lined and labeled jars ~quince ~
Some portent or signifier:
He butters her bread, he breaks the seal; says, “Jam tomorrow…” then “, jam today…”
Her face now pale and flushed; an Amen of recollection.

By Sadi Ranson

Signature

two bird notes
stave-clung are

in the feathered cold

not amber dawn can obliterate
they sway their separate branches.

By Christine Murray

What is Left

This room was once alive
with colour and chatter.

Now bare, it is silent -
the sea licks at piles of bags
packed with our lives.

We will carry these things
to the bay tomorrow
where the boats will wait.

The furniture will stay -
stuffed with our memories
to become reefs

where fish will gather -
moving their silent mouths
endlessly.

By Juliet Wilson

Cat Watching

….Blind as a ballerina swirly against the air -
Remaining; broken in stealth, in motion sharkesque through the waters draw,
Extracting pollens, bunkum that breeds the sharpened killer.
As nubile across her generation.
She flirts, dances, in the breast of her mother who bore her.
White, blotches-of- black light – lightening;
She licks and flicks the swaying dandelions’
As potential suitors. Then casually flicks them away.
They as she, in centre under some magisterial. Mirrored orb – just is as…
She plays and looks for nothing. Seeking nothing, she wishes for nothing.
Other than plain admiration, of nothing more than herself in play -
Than my secret eye - viewing her in the garden.
Her sleek black and white greyless torso, twisting, turning and,
Leaves…, determinedly, across the wall – until, home!

By Jonathan Beale

Scenes: Just walking home at night

Looking down at the rabbits, bobbing, as frisking buoys in their sea
And the cat belonging too – the scene.

The “The windmill” hostelry the old fogies’ now two hours dark.
And the night, in its infancy plays with ducks.

Stepping on; it grew (an idea) and to the sentence charm and wit
I rolled on my back and took a draw on a cigarette,

Humour (I thought would make us) - it would fail -
The gag disguised the meaning the serpent is the serpent;

The pregnant night grew on the light we almost grew to fear
Like an iterant do-gooding-parent - still there was time

Down by the tracks the light reflect around and off the metal
Showing the rails like swords in some magnificent battle.

By Jonathan Beale

"A good story..."

A good story
as an inspiration
as a remembered point in time
as a flowing thought entering life and written down
before it disappears for another time around......
… is a good story
and a stratifying drink
for a dry and thirsty mind.

By Joseph Greif

The Bijou Poetry Review is currently open to submissions!