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Letter Box On Line (LBOL) Files #45

  • Section A: July 15, 2017
  • Section B: August 15, 2017
  • Section C: September 15, 2017
  • Section D: .................................................................. October 15, 2017

    Del Rey Oaks, CA

      THEY WERE DANCING IN THE ISLES IN 58

      they were dancing
      in the isles in 58
      during the "Jazz festival."

      then in 67 for the "Pop festival"
      for the first "Blues Festival"

      now for the
      "International Blues festival"

      but what is important is
      keep on dancin'
      like Zorba

      to understand it all

    Stephen Brown
    SteveArtis@aol.com

    Pebble Beach, CA

      UNTITLED

      The Czech version:

      Padl na mne velký smutek,
      Jak ten život rychle utek.

      The English version:

      I got hit by deeply sad and profound feeling
      Seeing last few layers of my life now peeling

    Jerry Stepanek
    stepanekj@comcast.net

    Tucsan, AZ

      I QUIT PLAYING MYSELF

      Once upon a time
      I was a little boy
      Who liked lollipops
      And Ginger Roses
      And now I am old
      And it is time to stop.

      Even about that, I don't know
      Do I remember what the Ghost
      Said to Hamlet?
      Am I a straw mouse
      In indigo bunting?

      Or am I a hummingbird,
      Swift upon wings to fly
      Farther than the moon,
      Uplifted
      By the chicanery of time.

    Chris Lovette
    chris_lovette@yahoo.com

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    Section C: .................................................................. September 15, 2017

    Del Rey Oaks, CA

      UNTITLED

      The rich plasma of space and time
      flows in infinite waves
      through out the cosmos
      within no bounds.

      On the circle with no beginning
      or end.

      The storms from the south
      brought lightning bolt
      the swords of Mars
      God of War.

      Into the peaceful night.

      Good or evil
      sad or loving
      we cannot know.

      Caught in the infinite loop
      around and around.

      Over and under like the sign for Infinity.

    Stephen Brown
    SteveArtis@aol.com

    San Jose, CA

      GRAND CANYON

      when you approach the lookout
      packed tight with people
      their hands stretched to heaven
      they hold small boxes
      they briefly look at them
      to rise them again and again
      fracking the Grand Canyon
      into small fragments
      to be deconstructed
      into a fuzzy memory
      of the magnificent space
      you and I cannot hold
      because the human eye
      blessed and condemned by evolution
      cannot see entirety

    Franz Spickhoff
    franzox@gmail.com

    Tucsan, AZ

      RATTLESNAKE

      We kept the baby rattlesnake
      In an aquarium
      In the homemade bookshelf
      Made of cinder blocks and wood planks

      The baby rattlesnake learned
      How to crawl up the side of the aquarium
      And to get out
      And to hide
      In one of the holes in the cinder blocks
      That held up the bookshelves

      We were always careful
      When we went to get a book
      Out of those bookshelves

      THE TIGHT ROPE WALKER

      The heights can be dizzying
      Balancing
      On seeing feet
      Light and airy

      Or losing control
      The walk
      No longer sustainable
      The fall
      Inevitable

      And falling
      An eternity
      Wondering
      Will the safety net hold?

    Chris Lovette
    chris_lovette@yahoo.com

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    Section B: .................................................................. August 15, 2017

    Del Rey Oaks, CA

      QUAKING ASPEN

      As the warm yellow light
      of evening
      fills the hallway of my life
      lighting the quaking aspen
      that grow there
      shadows flit in the groves
      passing before my eyes

    Stephen Brown
    SteveArtis@aol.com

    Tucsan, AZ

      SONORAN RENAISSANCE

      After several inches
      Of Summer's monsoon rains
      Fresh bloom of green growth
      Springs across the desert floor
      And up the desert mountainsides

      Flowers stab the eye
      Cacti expanding with precious water
      The monsoon clouds above
      A grey mass
      Of flash-flooding peril
      Covering the sky

      Water puddles swallow up baked earth
      And swarm with mosquitoes
      Dragonflies flittering above

      Spade foot frogs freed by the water
      Dig out of their underground tombs
      Animating after their hibernation
      Like life rehydrated after a space flight
      To a distant star's planet

      The froggy lovers
      Lay and inseminate eggs in the water
      Tadpoles
      Then adults in a matter of days
      Racing the water sucking sun

      The full grown young
      Dig themselves
      Into underground suspension of life
      As the monsoon ceases

      Life's assertion
      Waiting for next year's rain

    Chris Lovette
    chris_lovette@yahoo.com

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    Section A: .................................................................. July 15, 2017

    Del Rey Oaks, CA

      RIGHT SIZED

      I stand above the sun white bed
      looking into the soft.

      Unsure of what will happen
      when dark descends
      into my brain.

      Will bear come out,
      the fight begin,
      some time after three?

      Will the yellow orb
      rise in the east?

      I try once more
      to see if I can levitate
      off of the bed.

      And be right sized.

    Stephen Brown
    SteveArtis@aol.com

    Sacramento, CA

      KISSES

      She stood on the landing outside Cottage B-21, her hands clutching the fog kissed railing as she watched me get into my car. Her red-draped shoulders hunched just a little against the misty morning and as I watched she released the metal bars and hugged herself against the chill.

      In a flash I pictured those beloved arms that only moments before had lightly embraced me in a farewell hug—arms whose flesh had loosened from her bones and donned a paper-thin gown of multicolored age spots punctuated by small bruises like black and blue petals scattered by the wind. She was fragile now, unsteady on her feet, and movement through busy shopping malls or crowded grocery aisles always resulted in surprise blooms she never recalled receiving. The hands now tucked protectively around her too thin torso were bent and twisted, fingers determined to go their own way and thumbs so sunken in her palms they were basically useless. And yet . . . and yet . . .

      Only hours before I had sat in the fourth pew under cathedral ceilings and listened to those gnarled hands dance over the pipe organ keyboard in a manner so light and airy my heart lifted like a butterfly to follow her notes. She could barely hold a pen, she couldn't possibly open a reluctant jar, but she could still coax beautiful music from black and white ivory. And those hands, boney as they were, still had the power to send waves of love to my receptive skin when she lightly caressed my cheek as she said goodbye and wished me safe journey.

      As I stood by my car, door already open, suitcase safely stowed, I looked up at her smiling face once more and caught the first of her gently blown kisses. This was her tradition, started ages ago in a time my memory can't reach, first one hand then the other lifted in rhythmic goodbye, delicate kisses sent through the air in motherly blessing. Heart clutching, I send my own volley of love back to her, end with a small wave, slide into my seat and shut the door. Her kisses keep coming, magically following my car even as I pull away, her love slipping into my heart for the long ride home.

    Carol Mathew-Rogers
    Carol@creative-edge.org

    Thank you for your creative offerings!

    I invite readers to share their own creative works (poems, stories, images, comment, etc.) in Letter Box On Line (LBOL). I look for work and comments I feel support understanding and encouragement of the creative process, and hence, the process of life.

    The Editor

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