Chinese Chimes: The Confession of A Calendar
it all began with an animal race Emperor Jade called to amuse himself and his earthly subjects...
by Changming Yuan
Rat
yes, i admit betraying the cat as my only close friend
but i won the race, with my head rather than my legs
Ox
to honor my contract with the yellow sun
i eat green grass, yet give red meat to man
Tiger
as the only feared king of the thick jungle
i am afraid and tired of my own timidness
Rabbit
with my cagey ears held so high
i will not miss a sound of peace
Dragon
although my portraits hung lively above the clouds
no human eyes have ever seen my authentic being
Snake
the moment i sloughed off my old slim self
i forgot ever seducing any manhood in heaven
Horse
my body looks more masculine than a strong man
and my heart feels more feminine than a tender girl
Goat
when i bleat towards the passers-by
i never mean to speak in an other voice
Monkey
each time i try to find any lice in the corner of my mind
i act like the humans outside the fence with barbed wire
Rooster
with my wings plumed with the feathers of night
i can not fly but to crow loudly towards dawn
Dog
given my canine camaraderie and pack mentality
i feel at home before, among or behind soldiers
Pig
i spend all my lifetime wisely
to guard this single moment
Bio: Changming Yuan, 4-time Pushcart nominee and author of Chansons of a Chinaman, grew up in rural China and published several monographs before moving to Canada. With a PhD in English, Yuan teaches in Vancouver and has poetry appear in nearly 480 literary publications across 19 countries, including Asia Literary Review, Best Canadian Poetry, BestNewPoemsOnline, Exquisite Corpse, London Magazine, Poetry Kanto, Salzburg Review, SAND and Taj Mahal Review.
Neptune and Chiron in Pisces With Grace
by Kim Hazelwood
O, and the grace!... incoming, incoming,
Climb up from the foxhole
My illustrious friends!
I was asked to describe
The extraordinary alignment, (was it no longer a confinement?)
Of the exceptional mating in Pisces of Neptune and Chiron,
What seems to be happening feels like
A grand sweeping,
And then there’s my heart
Which feels big as the moon!
A vastness so immense,
Not nervous,
But strangely intense,
As if caffeine could breathe
While becoming ONE with TADA!
Edges embroidered
With a soft, post-bath luxury
On the skin,
Imagine this upon your soul-
Sweetened with something so completely
Un-taste-able
Inescapable.
I took it upon myself to slay an internal dragon.
Tried to use a trick a guru taught me.
Coming up short, I discarded this deed,
When all at once the handmaidens of hallucinations
Moved in.
Moved In!
Spirit,
Amazing Spirit!
Magically served up the heart-melting montage,
The exact images I needed to see!
Formally ego-driven challenges vanished,
No vacancy
Ripped Away..
Manifestation.
One flip of the mind whip.
Reach out and take it.
We are in the process of massive healing
All starting with YOU.
Shackles off.
We’re buccaneers come to drink from the artesian waters,
Prospectors unearthing old cars on Mars.
Being brought to our best light,
Our planet, our souls,
Pain is purging,
True Light emerging
Ravishingly reflective.
Epic Illumination.
Home.
Home to the well of
The fullest smiling hearts.
And Baby,
We’re just getting started.
Bio: Kim (KD) Hazelwood is the editor of this litzine.This poem first appeared in Rick DiClemente's Starself newsletter.
Whole
by Emanuelle Cartagena
A moment, a feeling, a shine of the glass,
A glaze, salivation, disparate thoughts,
A loss, a loss of self, a loss of feeling
Contrition sedates me.
Rays illicit shock, drain all ideas and touch.
This lack of feeling feels so good.
Now hollow, i am whole.
Bio: Emanuelle is an aspiring, up-and-coming poet with a passion for words and how to use them. She has been writing for about 8 years now. She has also been published in Pigeon Bike poetry and online with Earthborne poetry.
BEFORE DARK
by Barbara Alfaro
“Home before dark,” our mother’s voice
trails after my brother and me like a kite tail
as we scamper to stickball. Sundown
happens too soon so we run to the blue
house as if our lives depend on time.
After supper, in the hallway, I hear
“She’s got to stop following me around”
and imagine his pals poking fun at
a skinny kid sister tagging along.
Today, I can’t help it; I’m happy.
God knows why.
I’m holding on to heaven.
If I let go, what’s there? Nothing
but memory and pain.
I confess I’ve been unfaithful
to my dreams and my stories,
leaving them alone and unwritten
in the distant shimmering house,
the house they burst forward from,
rushing and true. I have to keep writing.
That’s how it is, before dark…
Bio: Barbara Alfaro is the author of Mirror Talk: A Memoir, and a book of poems called First Kiss. Her poems have appeared in Poet Lore, WordWrights, Minimus, The Journal of Kentucky Studies, The Chesapeake Reader, and New Millennium Writings.
