Apr/May 2019 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 well, dissolve, present, and bed.

If you would like to participate in the next special poetry assignment, the new words are arm, patch, center, strike.

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

I Don't Remember
I don't remember this blinding whiteness
the well familiar turned otherworldly

Alina Hansen

As One
I will plant them as closely
as we were once.

Steven Deutsch

A Well
I hold your hand and wonder what this room
will be like without you present.

Karen Shepherd

Down the dark
well of my stomach, it would
dissolve, releasing prayer

Cameron Morse

EMT: Ambulance Bed in Winter (With Each Line's Final Word from Robert Louis Stevenson's "Bed in Summer")
The fastest way
to die is smoking, especially if the mattress catches fire

Ron Riekki

Taking Care of Dad, After Mom
This wasn't the plan,
he will tell you, over and over

Kathleen Latham

there's always a goodbye
Faraway, but not foreign
I was all too familiar with sporadic leaking.

Tracie Marie

Strange Waters
Hungry tongues
track a thirsty squall,
heat settles upon well-oiled skin.

Barbara De Franceschi

once we were a house on fire on salt spring island
watching a fire isn't a team sport, even though we cluster like the Pleiades
most of us mourn, enough tears to fill a well, for the fried family dog

Mala Rai

I Don't Look Good in Orange, Mother
My sister prays to gods that I don't know
          But I don't know any, so

Jay Mendell

Petra Lay Awake All Night
path before her
threshold behind her

Floyd Cheung

3 a.m. in the Orthodontist's Diner
I dream in technicolor, chubby shapes unfolding vividly
I see lupine succulents atop the window sill

Meghana Lily Shenoy

The Present Dissolves on the Bed at the Bottom of a Well
In the cotton candy of dreams
where the present lives
like a flower surrounded by bees

José Enrique Medina

The harder I clutch
at the chimera,
the faster it fades

Lisa McMonagle