E
Oct/Nov 2004 Poetry

e c l e c t i c a  
s p e c i a l   f e a t u r e

Poetry


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 frontier, pool, rhubarb, and pulse. Below are the resulting selected poems.

If you would like to participate in the next special poetry assignment, please check the Eclectica Home Page after February 1, 2005, for the new four-word list.


(Click on the title to view the whole poem!)

 

Two Word Poems
 
The trail, a dusty scar cut into flanks
of lupine verging blue to purple, scarlet-
bugles, and Indian paintbrush
 
 
Taylor Graham

 

Donít Let It Die a Virgin

We imagined scenarios in which our fathers
Would be slain in their suits by flocks
Of wild geese
 
 
Kevin McGowin

 

Don't Count Your Chicks

Her once endearing dumbness,
Bird Brained Bantam, now seemed twisted
 
 
Jenna Rindo

 

Check the Thesaurus for: Light

The pulse of a dimly lit
bulb ticks through the night,
insisting in a pool of silence,
Here I am! See me?
 
 
Nick Contreras

 

Down Below
 
Roots drive down,
subsonic micro-thunder from the race to food.
 
 
Richard Walker

 

No one ever writes an ode to Taos
 
German women preparing rhubarb kuchen,
swimming pools set in purple-pansied yards,
O's rolling from old farmers' mouths.
 
 
Julie King

 

The Woman in a Painting by Chagall
 
When I step naked
onto the porch, my pulse
is a lone musician
 
 
Jennifer Finstrom

 

The End of Normal: a mirror cinquain
 
The pulse
of family
measured around the pool.
 
 
Deborah P. Kolodji

 

Leviathan, rising
 
The pond, a dark fathomless pool,
pulls the house into its wild
fishy frontier
 
 
David C. Kopaska-Merkel

 

Another Story
 
beyond the pulse
of carnival music, past the merry go round's
merry go round, past the tilt a whirl's tilt and whirl
 
 
J.D. Heskin

 

Hieroglyphics
 
Your palsied
cat curls on the sill, white
with black symbols.
 
 
Rosemarie Crisafi

 

On Paper
 
Years after, the rhubarb still
blocks the driveway.
 
 
Arlene Ang

 

The Nature of Things
 
my grandfather taught me
to question the restraint of frontiers
that hindered spontaneity
 
 
Barbara De Franceschi

 

plane plains
 
their pulse will wake again
each early morning
to a stone bell
 
 
Dorothy Lang

 

Dry Summer in the Last Frontier
 
The season should have ended a month ago,
the fire crews been on their way south
to protect expensive California homes.
 
 
Eric Heyne

 

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