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Feast of Lanterns~ By Jennifer Lagier

11/26/2014

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“On the night of May 16, 1906, a disastrous fire of suspicious origin swept through the Chinese quarter destroying virtually every major structure... the fire was the final calamity for China Point. The Chinese fishing presence on Monterey Bay never fully recovered.” – Monterey County Historical Society

America’s last hometown, a former Methodist summer camp, gears up for its annual festival. The Chautauqua production is a surreal fantasy depicting the Legend of Blue Willow, her royal court and their families. All roles are played by local Caucasians. Thousands crowd grassy parks, steep beach, granite shoreline. Priceless real estate once overlooked a settlement of Chinese fishermen. They have vanished since their village was destroyed by mysterious conflagration. The audience observes Princess Topaz fleeing forced marriage to a rich old Mandarin as decreed by T’so Ling, her father. Red and gold lanterns decorate porches, storefronts, dangle from balconies, hang within rigging. Circling boats search Lover’s Point Lagoon for the runaway who intends suicide, but is saved by the discovery of poor scholar Chang, her humble lover. They reunite, transform into Monarch butterflies, flutter skyward from their pursuers. Above Monterey Bay, brilliant fireworks burst, silver sparks shower.


Author Bio:
Jennifer Lagier has published eight books of poetry and in many literary magazines, taught with California Poets in the Schools, is now a retired college librarian/instructor, member of the Italian American Writers Association, co-edits Homestead Review and Monterey Poetry Review, helps coordinate monthly Monterey Bay Poetry Consortium Second Sunday readings. 

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Sylvia's Song~ By Pat Wadsworth

11/25/2014

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huddled together in the dark, heatless flat
frozen pipes hardening a heart
toward two sickly tots clutching her skirt
day after bone-chilling day

haunted by the specter of her wayward husband
ensnared in a raven-haired web
fair-haired Sylvia waiting and watching
the ripping apart of her once sun-drenched world
hears eternal sleep’s siren song calling

seal off the world, knit a cocoon
soothe rubbed raw senses with colorless fumes
drift away on a nothingness haze
disengage mind from body and watch it fall
a discarded dishrag on the cold kitchen floor


memories of barely surviving
my own private take no prisoners war
itch with the slow healing scars of betrayal
wondering where all that passion and angst goes
leaving behind a faint whiff in the air



Author Bio:
Writing has been my passion since I first learned to read and write. For me writing has been a way of keeping me balanced in good times and sane in bad ones, The written word helps me to better understand my world and myself. I have written poems, short stories, and have kept many years worth of diaries and journals. Marriage, children, and two decades of working with high risk youth and families left little time or energy to seriously pursue a career as a writer. In the last two years I have at last had the time and opportunity to enroll in writing courses at my community college and begin submitting my work. I am currently working on a novel and a short story collection and always, always poetry. 

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Fulfillment~ By Dana Sterner

11/24/2014

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Tightly nestled chirping hearts,
wrapped beneath her folded arms,
like birds immersed in feathered wings,
brooded in a nest.
Provided for, protected from
they grow before her eyes
until one day their little hearts 
go chirping somewhere far.


Author Bio:
Dana Sterner is a Registered Nurse and Professional Writer. She started writing prose at an early age as a way to express her thoughts. Now a grandmother, this short prose represents an expression of the wonderment and inevitability of motherhood. Currently, she travels extensively with her husband and continues to write in many different genre’s. 

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Reunion~ By Darcy Wright

11/20/2014

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Martinis on a veranda
Followed by dinner for two
At a slender restaurant
Overlooking the sea.
Mahi-mahi with pilaf
On cobalt plates.
You used to show
Adore with a blush.
Tears never sooth suffering--
They enhance it.
Is what we have left
Beyond repair?
We watch couples
Parade the boardwalk
Leashed to mutts.
Take me far away 
From this place 
Of broken dreams.
Carry me in your arms.



Author Bio:
Darcy Wright is a Creative Education Specialist versed in the design and implementation of wellness programs. She received the PEAK Performance Award from the American Society of Trainers for Tri-City’s Professional Mentor Program and also won the Santa Clarita Film Award for her Golden Films’ children’s series. Darcy’s passion is serving as a catalyst in the creation of visions for individuals as well as teams. She developed innovative wellness programs at Tri-City Medical Center and is the 2014 recipient of the Earthskin Resident Scholarship in Auckland, New Zealand.

Darcy was shaped by two life-changing events. First, she worked her way up to Associate Producer in a children’s animation film company and was instrumental in producing 20 films for big box companies such as Sony Wonder, Hallmark Entertainment and Columbia Tri-Star.

Second, her need to help others led to an interest in energy healing. Darcy has received certificates in Pranic Healing and Healing Touch, and she recently became a certified yoga instructor. Darcy is combining her two passions—film and healing—to benefit the health and well being of others.

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Metanoia~ By Leonore Wilson

11/19/2014

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“Pathwalker, there is no path. You must make the path as you walk.” Antonio Machado

And you stand with the others,
the twelve, on Market Street; you stand
with your homemade sign against fracking
and the sirens wail
as if marking the day, meaning the hour,
a bad breeze that repeats…
and the burning sage is passed…
the sweet smell of blessing
which you take and cross yourself
-- north, south, east and
west-- a nimbus cloud wafting and growing
into autumn/winter, and you listen to speeches
about global chaos, about
350 carbon dioxide parts per million,
about tumors found on fish,
about toxic coal
and the dangers of tar sands and oil spills,
--the native lands seized
--what was given seized
--what was precious seized
about rail expansions in Pittsburg
and Martinez, endangered Benicia,
and the world spins, Gaia spins
crying out about the interdependence of
everything…the bumped
bowels of the earth procured,
shattered,
and you listen, wishing
the corporate giants would
have a change of heart, wake up
from their feathered sleep….
O mother, daughter, wife
stained in prayer and
horror for the children and their
children’s sake.



Author Bio:
Leonore Wilson is on the St. Mary's MFA advisory panel. She has taught English and Creative Writing at various colleges and universities in Northern California. Her new book is Western Solstice by Hiraeth Press. She has won fellowships to Villa Montalvo and University of Utah for her writing.
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Mischance~ By Ahmed Mehdi

11/18/2014

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A soft string broke up in my heart
Just as I was playing a tune.
Regretfully for the most part
As the hap was inopportune.

Fervently pricking up their ears, 
The lilies swung in a sweet dream.
They hadn't rejoiced for countless years
At a mellow air by the stream.

I wished a skilled luthier could aid
By replacing the broken string,
So in such a splendid parade
The lilies could wiggle and sing.

Heart-brokenly, I had to wait
Restlessly for a better fate.


Author Bio:
I am an EFL teacher from Sfax, Tunisia. I have been writing poetry as a hobby, including Shakespearean sonnets, for the last few years. I firmly believe that poetry is, to some extent, articulation and perception, but it is essentially, and above all, inspiration! 
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No Does Mean No!~ By Veronica Adams

11/17/2014

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She could invite to dinner at her place.
She could be a stripper on a pole.
She could be a restaurant server wearing mini-skirt.
She be wearing a nun’s habit
Or an Islamic hijab.
No matter what she wears, the situation, or who she is
Always remember one thing,
NO DOES MEAN NO!
OK!
Not every female wants you.


Author Bio:
I'm an Alabama native but was born in Kentucky. I write about whatever inspires me.
    
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The Woman in the Pink Knitted Cap~ By Tricia Knoll

11/13/2014

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She spent five arctic nights
in a woman’s shelter, but creatures sniffling
on cranky cots, overloaded
her, a male guard at the gate. 

With the warm blow-in of southern rains,
she moved to a nook in her one dry place.
She’s a wrung-out sponge, blotting up damp
in sweatshirts, tights, stretch pants,
one too-small jacket and the church-lady-knitted cap. 
Relentless hours of hard rain erode
her gut-starch, her cross is choking tight. 

One palm on the handle of her cart
keeps her from flowing. 
Her fingerless glove swipes 
a dripping nostril. Her tongue plugs
emptiness where a fist blew out a canine tooth. 

Keep body and soul pasted together, 
each wanders like her gray kitten. 
She refuses to look at street kids’ 
brindled pit bulls. 
What she cannot see will not bite. 
She whispers to good people she once knew
and argues with the bad. 

When sleep knocks her down, her night hag tiptoes
in, reigning hostess in a teetering house.
Both seldom know where the bathroom is,
never stare out windows and assume 
that every shaky roof must fall. 
She hears hag stories of lost sisters. 
Now and then they trade clothes. 

When morning comes, night hag hovers
behind her left shoulder, a burden-crushing fog 
hangover of buzzing street light nights. 
She hums and No One, day stalker,
always hears.


Author Bio:
Tricia Knoll is a Portland, Oregon poet. For three years she served on Portland's Human Rights Comission and on a task force devoted to the use of sidewalks by people who were homeless. Her poetry has appeared in dozens of journals. Her chapbook Urban Wild -- about the interactions of wild creatures with urban environments recently came out from Finishing Line Press. This poem did appear in Street Roots -- a Portland street-tabloid dealing with issues of homelessness. 
triciaknoll.com.
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Martha, Immaculate and Rose~ By Kathy French

11/12/2014

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Speaking  Luganda
the sisters’ voices rise and fall
Not deciphering the words,
I still hear a lot

Their stories
words in liquid bursts
and velvet licks
laughter erupting in near shrieks

I plead
“Please use English for the jokes”
Their eyes flicker
but still Luganda

Their mother enters
frowns,
“Use English!”
The quick tongued sisters
just laugh      

 
Author Bio:
Kathy French has been a lover of words and rhythms all of her life, so reading and writing poetry comes naturally. Recently she retired after many years of teaching and raising children. She has spent time in Uganda, the source of these poems. Kathy roams the Western states finding great satisfaction in her adventures with people, animals, and the wilderness.
    
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Revolution~ By Lazhar Bouazzi

11/11/2014

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When the ant told
That December night
The hungry grasshopper
Who spent his summer
Singing under the jasmine tree
To go and dance now
He blossomed into
A grass-hopper-who-sings- and- works
With only one wish in the heart
That the ant could do the same.

(LazharBouazzi, Carthage, May, 2014)

Author Bio:
Lazhar Bouazzi PhD; University of Tunis. His specialty is in English Romanticism & Critical Theory.

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