In an ongoing series, the editors, former contributors, and readers of Eclectica have been invited to write a poem containing four pre-chosen words. The words for this issue are azalea, labor, hollow, and loss.

If you would like to participate in the next special poetry assignment, the new words are name, domestic, nothing, and summon.

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(These are excerpts—click on the title to view the whole poem)

Mad Honey
 
I have lived like a bee labors for its drop of liquor—
the loss of warmth, sun precursed by shade
 
Marc Frazier

 

Bikes
 
in love with our joints and muscles, in love
with the feeling of pedals churning and the ping of hollow aluminum bats
 
Jack Murphy

 

Lost Boy
 
In hollow of his palms, pink blooms.
Eyes ask day-break aide,
"What's this?"
 
Aaron Holst

 

Impasse
 
Surrendering to a stalemate,
the bird calls to others,
seeking comfort in company
 
Gary Glauber

 

Gates
 
rusty padlocks are past the loss of keys,
nobody gets locked out or in
 
Barbara De Franceschi

 

She Wanted to Know about Mourning in Springtime
 
the warm fingers
of rain
are my mother's hands
on my face
 
Miriam N. Kotzin

 

Butter Fairies
 
Each time their
appetites labor,
it makes them more
humble creatures.
 
David Mathews

 

Endeavor
 
a soft dynamic
dynamo of innocence each one always in labor
giving birth to another palette of shifting air
 
Don Pomerantz

 

The Truth about Azaleas
 
always makes me think of, the white house
we bought from a woman named Whitehouse
 
Greta Bolger

 

Using Azalea as a Verb
 
To azalea
would not mean to prop up the long neck
of the apple tree, grown too heavy
 
Elizabeth Kerper

 

I Confide in Daenerys Targaryen about My Divorce
 
I can see right away this too-typical
story doesn't interest her.
 
Jennifer Finstrom