Wednesday
Dec122012

Poetry by Keith Edward Torkelson, Randall Mawer and Ray McClintock

TRUE TEXT

 

By: Keith Edward Torkelson

 

Now knowing to listen to what is next

Truthful data transmission is the field of this text

You who work hard

Take time to expose your mind

Time moves fast

Yet, do not grasp

Listen for the past.

 

            Many choose not you know

            It is too easy not to choose

            I know

            Excusing the grammar

            On day one we became the programmers.

 

Now knowing

Code one for knowledge

Following college commence application

Input salvation.

 

            It is difficult to be your own programmer

            Data entry with a hammer

            The documentation exists

            Albeit not in book,

            cinema,

            nor song

            It persists

            Yet, can take long

            Meanwhile be strong.

 

I express love in my song!

The summation on this explication in trust is,

 

            NO FEE REQUIRED!

 

Keith Torkelson is graduate of UC Davis with a BS in Avian Science with Honors and a MS in Pathology.  He attended the UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine.  He is also a Mental Health Worker paraprofessional in the Orange County, California

 

Two poems by Randall Mawer

 

How I Lost in the Finals

Of the Fourth-Grade Spelling Bee

 

I misspelled gnat knat,

Thinking of knit, mayhap,

Or knife, knapsack, knacker,

Or knot—

Or not.

 

I could

And should

Have minded gnash

Or stolen gnome off lawn

If just to watch Miss Tuttle find it gone.

 

Who but a knave would snatch a gnome?

Or, benighted, wits gnat-addled,

A vagrant and light-fingered knight

Might,

 

Leaving Miss Tuttle, jaws a-gnash,

Mourning by morning old Chubby Cheeks,

She who in gentler mood was wont

To knit small drawers for dwarves

And scarves for modest trolls.

 

To a Friend’s Apology that

All His Poems Are About Dying

 

that’s all right

death is good

        better than anything

better than love

   or at least longer

if only a little

only a little

 

Randall R. Mawer is Poetry Editor of Lost Coast Review.  His Sycamore and Other Poems was published in 2000 by Writer’s Club Press. His young adult novel, Frog’s Field, was recently published by Avignon Press.

 

Three Poems  by Ray McClintock

 

Notes from Under Florida Vault

i

The moon was a coin that rolled

down moon road one might think

out of a wispy slit

while the sum of footstroke

and maybe even of insect wings

made splendid song on blade or leaf.

Gift us little singers

it teased the vault.

 

ii

A searcher came on morning wind

and some jays shrieked fear

in blue space

hawked now

but hunter could not drop

and forage their terror.

Low branches were too dense for plummet

and in deliverance they beat again morning

on wings the color of the enemy’s sky.

 

iii

A crow calls high now

morning sky is bright and glass

the caw scratches light.

 

iv

The stars are jewels

they rest in a velvet sky

all the night is case.

 

Why Water Fears Lumber Closer

 

Water knows good hours of good light

are failing fast our of eye

and what comes heavily now

can shadow out sunset Goya

banish all time red and blending gold.

 

Water listens and dread draconic gains weight

sinks to pond’s peaceful evening depth.

 

Water fears awful breath of looming shape

will doom its sheen and very being

the evening surface of irenic pond will die

in one indifferent torching huff.

 

 When West Was Reel

 

Saturday’s stuntmen died with drama

in Westerns Durango Kid Red Ryder riding

on screen tickets cheap in little theater

next to bar and coin shop

where ambushers on saloon balconies

on cue dropped Winchesters

slumped against breakaway railings

and fell on camera down down

to horse troughs and turds

loyal to outlaws’ scripted finality

 

But once I saw a black hat fate drop

to hero’s 7th shot of 6-shooter yes

I questioned the count among peers

but my doubt was jeered away

so I repented sorry Laredo or Sunset

and resumed belief and Texas Rangers’ grace

 

So strummers once again killed well

spurned kisses thanks went to sunset

always on mounts that did algebra

and left to groans

lights on

 

THE END

 

Ray McClintock lives in north Florida; he is a past winner of a national poetry contest and of the Florida First Coast Writers competition.

 

 

 

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