Tag Archives: july 2013

CPR Volume 15, Issue 3

Yellow Daisies,
by Diana Cole

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Mornings I place them
by the open window
close to air and light
freshly watered
freshly changed.

I unfold the sheets
and eyes follow me as sun-
flowers follow after light.
Some drift up to touch.
Some fall open.

Petals slacken
like seaweed at ebb tide.
I’ve seen them blanch
as lichen whitens stone
and cheeks shed shades of gold.

For years they’ve seen my day begin.
Oh, let this season be to die in.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 3.

Diana Cole’s poem Though I Walk, set for double chorus by Thomas Stumpf, was selected by the Pharos Music Project and performed in New York City. Other poems have appeared in numerous journals including Blueline, Avocet, Off the Coast, The Christian Century, The Tipton Poetry Journal,  Slipstream, Poetry East, and Spillway.

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CPR Volume 15, Issue 3

At a Slant
by Geri Rosenzweig

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I’ve heard there’s no love
in the world but even

the pilot fish passes
down to her children the knack

of living close
to the shark’s mouth.

I’ve never forgotten
the green,

silk blouse my mother
put the finishing touches to

with a cool iron
one summer evening while

I teased my hair
to a 60s bouffant in her mirror

hanging at a slant
above her sideboard;

it keeps me singing towards
the possible.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 3.

Geri Rosenzweig was born and grew up in Ireland. Work has appeared in Nimrod, Rhino, and Poet Lore. She won the BBC Wildlife Magazine Poetry Award, the Rueben Rose Award, (Visions Israel), the Walt Whitman Poetry Society, NY Poetry Award. She has had two chapbooks published, and a collection, Under the Jasmine Moon (HMS Press, Canada).

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CPR Volume 15, Issue 3

If You Are Looking for Me,
by John Hart

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I’m in the motel outside of town,
slouched in the faded green armchair,
thumbing the Gideon Bible,
and, the TV muted, ignoring the weather report
about Florida’s lascivious sunshine.

In the sheets others have touched,
you will touch someone others have touched,
after I take the phone off the hook. Later,
I could go on about the Fountain of Youth
while we watch out the window

as retirees with Georgia license plates check in.
Tomorrow morning, you’ll step from the shower,
clean as a baptized baby, and find me still abed.
You’ll smoke, waiting on me to check out,
and then you’ll want to be taken to breakfast,

where you might look lovely, piddling with your eggs,
while I go on about “The Waste Land”
in the deserted parking lot.

 

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 3.

John Hart was raised in Kansas City, KS and currently resides in Winter Park, FL.  His poems have been published in the Antioch Review, Hopkins Review, New South, The Southern Review, Verse Daily, and Washington Square Review.

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