Jul/Aug 2015 Poetry

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


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.

(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


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


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


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


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


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