back

LYNX 
A Journal for Linking Poets

 TABLE OF CONTENTS

XX:3 October, 2005

 
   
 

SOLO WORKS

GHAZALS

FOREST by Lorin Ford

THIS LOVE by
C W Hawes

VOICES by C W Hawes

HAIBUN

EARLY SEPTEMBER by C W Hawes

NEW YEAR'S FEAST by C W Hawes

NOTES TOWARD A SEQUENCE BASED ON "The Legend of The Lost City of Ys" by Larry Kimmel

FEELING NO PAIN by
Larry Kimmel

ROUTE FIVE, VIRGINIA by Gary LeBel

 

SEQUENCES

A PAPER DOLL WORLD by  Ed Baranosky

HOW TO ELBMUH by John M. Bennett

HAIKU FOR LYNX
Ruth Franke

INCIDENTAL TOURIST by Laryalee Fraser

THE WEB by
Elizabeth Howard

SCENES FROM RIVERVIEW by Francis Masat

THREE QUATRAIN WRITTEN IN CHIEH CHU FASHION, MAILED AFTER HIKING TO TOWN FOR THE SAKE OF BRINGING BACK BEANS AND RICE by Karma Tenzing Wangchuk

UNDER A FINGERNAIL MOON by Kelly Ann Malone

A TANKA SEQUENCE by June Moreau

LONG-DISTANCE LOVE by Mrinalini

DRAGON by anna  rugis

MOSQUITOES by
R.K.Singh

RACING THE MOON by Sandra Simpson

KEIN KOPF ÜBER MEINEM by
Dietmar Tauchner


NO HEAD ABOVE MINE trs. by Dietmar Tauchner

SEASONS BETWEEN by Geraldine Toh

LIGHTHOUSE GUARDIAN COMPANION by
Michael Williams

 

SINGLE POEMS

Mario Fitterer, Trs. Gene Rollins

C W Hawes

Kala Ramesh

CURVED NUDITY by R.K.Singh

J.E. Stanley

M. Franklyn Teaford

 

SIJO

Gino Peregrini

Harriot West

 

GRAPHICS

"Antigen" by Scott Macleod & John M. Bennett & Baron

Scott Macleod

     

GHAZALS

FOREST
Lorin Ford

I learned the paths of smaller animals;
valley scrub, foreshore, mountain forest.

You were waiting, a prophet, promises shining
green above the rubble of a charred forest.

Limping across Antarctica, brandy in my ice,
I clean forgot the tangled forest.

Rocking the reef-tour boat, our adopted whales
surfaced (out of season) from the deep forest.

Paper souvenirs - they're here somewhere -
words on white, hauntings from the lost forest.

Clear-felled and milled, the stands of Coastal Ash;
we do not speak of the empty forest.

Out of the woods now, but so much older,
I knit, with children's bones, a witch's forest.


THIS LOVE
C W Hawes

I had given up on love, when I saw her before me;
Yes, there she was sitting quite demurely before me.

I spoke to a friend and told him I'd seen love was around;
He laughed at me and said, "Oh sure, she's standing before me."

The moon was rising in the east, I told her I'd found love;
And in her pale silence I knew the future before me.

In the glow of the candle I met my love face to face,
Gazed into her eyes and the light grew brighter before me.

And I, Akikaze, have seen many years, asked many questions;
But always it is this love, which is the answer before me.



VOICES
C W Hawes

Hear the song the recorder is playing!
Hear the joyful songs the birds are making!

The hunt is on and the dogs are baying;
It's the wily old fox they are making.

What are the words you insist on saying?
What's this argument you keep on making?

Speaking to God in the prayers they're praying;
But what requests are their hearts making?

In the house of his Friend has he been staying.
His voice speaks truth in the silence it's making.

By the old fox outfoxed, hunters aren't preying.
Let the player's tune finish this poem I'm making.

 

 

 

 

HAIBUN

 

 

EARLY SEPTEMBER
C W Hawes


A Monday in early September.  The sun is hot, but the southerly breeze is cool for a change. Evidence of the long absence of rain is everywhere.  The iced tea still tastes good.  The crickets are chanting their prayers, while birds look south.

        this summer
        a hundred summers long
        leaves falling



NEW YEAR'S FEAST
C W Hawes

My mother is of hearty eastern European stock:  Slav and Magyar blood flows in her veins.  My father's mother's ancestors hailed from the British Isles.  Every New Year's Day these two traditions produced a bountiful feast in the hopes that we'd have good things to eat throughout the year.  Today I carry on this tradition, but, due to economics, the scale is much more modest.

     the new year's fourth day:
     sauerkraut leftovers
     but the meat is gone

 

 

NOTES TOWARD A SEQUENCE BASED ON
"The Legend of The Lost City of Ys"
Larry Kimmel

The Lost City of Ys is a medieval legend from Brittany.  It concerns King Gradlon and his daughter, Dahut.  To please her whim, Gradlon builds a city by the sea for her to preside over.  Dahut is a beautiful and wicked princess of the first order and leads Ys in dissolute behavior, and eventually to its destruction.  Alongside the pagan lore, their are saints and prophecies aplenty, but in the end Daunt, is persuaded to steal the key to the dykes that hold back the sea from Ys.  To this day, sailors will sometimes see lights and hear church bells from the depths of the green waters off the coasts of Brittany.

 

lavender twilight

the pearl gray castle
higher than the highest cathedral

wicked pretty
the siren-princess awaits
her victim

 

gossip grips the town

another body rolled by the surf
seals not what they seem to be

in a white tower
the siren-princess ponders
a crystal ball

 

dressed in hides

the hermit-sage walks the cliff's edge
ringing a bell, he chants from his psalter

his fearful prophesy –
the castle's shadow inching
across the cobble square

 

 

 

 

FEELING NO PAIN
Larry Kimmel

"You been messin' with my ol' lady?"

"Maybe, what's'er name?"

A script you fantasize about, and Cyd got to do it, and got a carnation stain on his shirt for the doing of it, but didn't know that at first. "Ain't no way, man, it's gotta be his, 'cause I trashed the mothah," which he had, but when told the red carnation was now a mutant peony, Cyd dropped his guitar, sat down on the edge of the bandstand, and blanched as best he could.


the bike clocked at 135 mph

midnight and flatland in all directions
one stone and it's over

Lorain to Oberlin
15 miles    7 minutes
me & Cyd

 

 

ROUTE FIVE, VIRGINIA
Gary LeBel

        Young corn bristles up through the sluggish mist.  All along this verdant road the Saturday quietness of empty churches makes each new mile a still-life.
        Route 5, along which some of oldest English settlements in America are found, never fails to surprise you as it continually transforms itself from ripening fields to dense, sun-dappled woodlands to brown, exuberant rivers and back again.
        And there are stretches where the deep forest trees huddle close to the road, the leaf and limb of both sides intertwining in a tunnel of shade above the car. This closeness of the forest brings an intimacy I've not felt anywhere else, a vague connection with the past, however aloof and indifferent it always is.
        Not far from here the first Thanksgiving was held; just the word itself coaxes grade school images of turkeys and wigwams, fires and muskets up out of my own past.  But today, in light of the vast, populous country that sprang from such modest beginnings, I can't help but wonder what might have happened had we not rewarded the Native Americans' generosity and kindness with the beleaguering fact of their own extinction, had we honored the words of the faiths our European ancestors sailed so steadfastly to this coast to safeguard and practice.  It's all here in sunsets and sediments, in leaf-rot and growth rings, another path we could have taken.
          In 2007 Virginia will celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of its founding.   Even as expertly pickled as the phantoms of the past have been in places like Williamsburg where children amble about in bonnets and three-cornered hats, it's hard not to imagine what a different nation America might be had we blended our beliefs rather than stamp out another's.

tractor paths well-worn;
        the sound of the falling rain
in the leaves of corn


 

 

 

SEQUENCES

 

A PAPER DOLL WORLD
                             Ed Baranosky


on a knitted brow
knit one, pearl two,
wailing a song
whaling along
the lines form


at the right
spaces between the yarns
never empty.
hot apple pie awaits
no longer a plebian dream.


sound with feathers
prayers carried by Gabriel
to the inward sun.
wings on notes sing
life itself the music.

 

HOW TO ELBMUH
John M. Bennett

1) Seep lube and pest your deldnof

2) Seem log and tramp your remalf

3) Blut flap and snag your gnignalc

4) Drip sleep and slug your apap

5) Dime slag and flunk your rovalf

6) Bin spoon and crust your ycnargalf

7) Jab lungoid and flange your gnippop

 

 

 

HAIKU FOR LYNX
Ruth Franke
 

Kleine Bank am See
der Rohrsänger pfeift im Schilf

sonst nichts als Stille

Secluded lake
warbler's song from the reed 

silence deepens

Aschermittwoch
im Morgennebel

alle Ampeln grün

Ash Wednesday
in morning fog

all lights green

Zwischen Farbkübeln
das Weiß

der Orchidee

 the orchid 
among paint buckets
very white

Besuch daheim
die Leere
wo die Pappel stand

visiting home
the gap

where the poplar was

Im Nachbarfenster
lautlose Hände

am Vibrafon

behind the window
hands at a vibraphone

noiseless
 

Im Bodenraum
lächelt
ein staubiger Clown

in the attic
a dusty clown

smiling
 

Boulevard im Schnee
farbige Schatten

der Neonlichter

boulevard in snow
colored shadows

of the neon signs
 

Durch Nebelgrau
ein heller Klang -

Sternsinger

through misty rain
the voices

of carol singers
 

 

  

 

 

INCIDENTAL TOURIST 
Laryalee Fraser

pores soaked
with summer
she folds
translucent memories
in her suitcase

the gloss
of travel brochures
tarnished. . .
seductive promises
trail from silver wingtips

opening the door
to her apartment
the dust
of a thousand longings
remains untouched

 

 

THE WEB
Elizabeth Howard 
                                      

                                knowing the future
                                cancer's web connecting
                                breast to lung
                                shoulder to thighbone
                                she chooses a gravesite

                                her body
                                a lush garden
                                cancer vine growing
                                like kudzu
                                on a red gravel bank

                                chemo and radiation
                                toxins she cannot endure
                                she lies inert
                                unable to raise her head
                                to turn in the bed

                                antibiotics pump
                                through her veins
                                day and night
                                the beeper screaming
                                for more and more

                                more and more
                                morphine, too,
                                patches and pumps
                                only her purse
                                growing smaller

                                pneumonia
                                curse and blessing
                                the call to come
                                the last visit
                                a hospital bed

                                my body rushes
                                feet drag
                                how I dread
                                to see her like this
                                what to say

                                her smile
                                family talk
                                a little joke
                                yet the cough
                                the raling breath

                                phone call
                                in the night
                                she's gone
                                you have
                                to tell mama

                                ask me
                                to cross the Sahara
                                to drink the Dead Sea
                                don't ask me to tell mama
                                her daughter is dead

 

 

SCENES FROM RIVERVIEW
Francis Masat

folks gather around
a new face - with one suitcase
in a noisy lounge
to hear the same old stories
told by family and friends

graceful old willows -
wave and bend in the stiff wind
evening shadows grow
as daytime memories fade
week after week after week

out of Mom's wheel chair
a child's tattered doll tumbles
Mother and I smile
sharing a glass of water
she asks again "What is cake?"

floating white dust motes
move through the rays of sunset
past an unmarked door
a blank where a name once was
Grandpa scratches his gray head

Saturday Party
in an Alzheimer's unit
Happy Birthday sung
again-and-again and then
again-and-again again

 

 

 

UNDER A FINGERNAIL MOON
Kelly Ann Malone

A pregnant lunar display, plugged into the sky…This is not for me.

I exist under a fingernail moon, casting less of a glow.

Providing scant beams, if any.

I prefer the thin, silver rim that pleasantly dips north-east.

It does not pierce the clouds, but gently hovers above them.

It leaves us below to find our own way.

It causes us to forge our own light, so that we may

discover the path within the eclipse of our destinies.

 

A TANKA SEQUENCE
June Moreau

We'll sleep a dancing sleep
on the foamy crest
of an ocean wave
kissed and kissed again
by joyful dolphins.

We'll sleep
the sun-drift sleep
of pollen
drifting, drifting,
with the drifting wind.

We'll sleep with mountain arms
around the puma
and feel
the living warmth
of its golden fur.

We'll sleep
with swarms 
and swarms of wild bees
in a cloud forest 
of orchids

We'll sleep there
in the meadow
where speckled eggs
are hidden
in a lark's dreamy nest.

We'll sleep
in the everywhere blue
and know
the sun's everlasting path
across the sky.

 

 

THREE QUATRAIN WRITTEN IN CHIEH CHU FASHION, MAILED
AFTER HIKING TO TOWN FOR THE SAKE OF BRINGING BACK
BEANS AND RICE

Karma Tenzing Wangchuk

Unrecognized by others, it doesn't matter -
I know my heart well, and it knows me well too.
People preen themselves while the rivers rise.
They'll drown just for the sake of looking good.

 

Eyebrow hairs turning white with every moon . . .
Won't be long now before I'm really old.
When my time comes, I plan to be ready for it.
Hope to cheat Mr. Death, leave him only ash.

 

Ankle bones calloused from sitting crosslegged,
Mumbling mantra even when he seems asleep . . .
Ask him what he's learned after all these years,
He'll draw a circle in the dirt, then wipe it out.


 

LONG-DISTANCE LOVE
Mrinalini

like the waves,
we meet and part.
parched sand, drinks the ocean,
and gives away some grains.
treasured memoirs, turn into pearls.


the contact feels good,
what about separation?
a masochistic yearning
to be caressed, to get soaked
again, in selfish love.


it’s a perfect love.
thirstier sand, churns wilder waves,
in a quest to be together.
only regret is, the lack of control.
 waiting, till nature took its course.


 

DRAGON
anna rugis

even the owl is
prey to the goshawk
a blowfly

the specifics of
it's ridiculous
skid we are

talking decadence
the slack of muscles
the collapse

of friendship and our
ideals composted
by neglect

and the spring fed streams
that push and flow no
matter what

the academy
of distrust     who will
write the slip?

post marks on degrees
of meaninglessness
in one week

on this street alone
three houses change hands
my buyers

inherit nothing
this is the only
list I'm on

we are all burning
this morning the air
is so clear

like saints roll biddis
to feed their children
we are rocked

and caressed in fumes
ultra-violet
luculent

that last white bark pine
the Sawtooth Mountain
sage stunted

as alive as dead
beautiful beyond
reason like

the insights inside
schizophrenia
come to me

my dragon and hold
my tiny bent hand
in a sky

somewhere which we will
firebrand one flick
and     we're free

 

 

RACING THE MOON
Sandra Simpson

origami stars
in a glass bowl
mother's dahlias

spring shower
in our hair
cherry blossom


morning walk
clouds all the way down
to the smokestack         puffing

last rose
how pink
this morning

one by one
the trees bare
my bony fingers

pawlonia leaves fall
at the window
turning another page

waking quickly
heart racing
the moon

cranes dancing
from the master's brush
a red stroke

streetlight to streetlight
a red umbrella
the beat of your heart

zig-zag path
to the tea-house
heat lightning

winter gardens
trailing behind her
the scent of spring

market day
pipe band
drums up a storm

practicing with chopsticks
she picks up
a new friend

through bare branches
growing daily
the scaffolding


MOSQUITOES
R.K.Singh

Without humming
mosquitoes alight and bite -
all night awake

Leaving the signs
of mosquito menace
on white wall

Lies with her
in freezing cold -
mosquitoes trill

Can't flap a fly
or swat a mosquito -
hands so inept

A mosquito
drifting her attention from
haiku in bath

The long night passes
sleeplessly I deep-breathe -
mosquitoes in bed

Waiting for the train
alone on the platform
swatting mosquitoes



 

KEIN KOPF ÜBER MEINEM
Dietmar Tauchner

kein kopf über meinem frühlingshimmel
tauchen mit offenen augen
der blick eines schädels ins leere
winterkälte rieche nichts
am ende des schneelands blaue berge
atemzug um atemzug todeszone
schneeflocken leben wird zu einem kissen
klar der fluss fließt
erwacht die sonne ist schon da

 

 

NO HEAD ABOVE MINE
Dietmar Tauchner


no head above mine spring sky
diving with open eyes
skull's glance into emptiness
winter cold smelling nothing
at the snowland's end blue mountains
breath for breath death's zone
snowflakes life becomes a pillow
of course the river flows
awakening the sun is already there

 

 


SEASONS BETWEEN
Geraldine Toh


a thin green blade
spring enters the heart
leaves of grass
I press between these pages
a lingering summer

maple road
the long way to the heart winds
through autumn hills
this new path-- is it too soon
to ask where it will lead us?

dreams of a long winter
brief days divided, divided again
what gifts will we uncover
hidden in the snow?
a year's forgotten branches -
all the brighter they'll burn

 

 

 

LIGHTHOUSE GUARDIAN COMPANION*
Michael Williams

lighthouse of my soul, keeper of my heart, true love of my life

beacon on my stormy seas, sole guardian of my hopes, companion of all my days

give me peace of mind, calm my worried fears, stay close by my side

guide me surely through turmoil, show me the future's bright light, accompany me onward

provide safe harbor at day's end, love me as long as we live, for I will love you always

*This is to be read as three tanka side by side but it also works as one poem with longer lines.

 

 

 

 

SINGLE POEMS

 

rudernd
ins blaue
licht der lupinen

Mario Fitterer

swinging
into the blue
light of the lupines

Trs. Gene Rollins


die ganze habe
auf dem buckel des fremden
                          im auge das meer
Mario Fitterer

 

all belongings
on the back of the stranger
in the eye the sea

Trs. Gene Rollins

der blick ruht
auf dem ball das gefallen

es ist grün

Mario Fitterer

the glance rests
on the leaf fallen

it is green

Trs. Gene Rollins

vogelzug
am schiefernen himmel
blaue ballen laub

Mario Fitterer

 

bird migration
in the slatey sky
blue bales of leaves

Trs. Gene Rollins

 

 

 

 

up and down
the branch moves in the wind
nodding by the fire

C W Hawes

 

the hills
of her breasts
are gone
no stags to leap
upon the mountains

C W Hawes

 

listening
to the long wishlist
of my daughter
on the shortest day
of the year

C W Hawes

 


we hurt ourselves
while fighting
and then that sorry
which follows
is meant for whom?

Kala Ramesh

 

 

at the airport
not once did my son turn
to bid us farewell
had I been him I would have
- a dozen times

Kala Ramesh

 

 


CURVED NUDITY
R.K.Singh

The wind lifts
her curved nudity hidden
in water curtain:
I touch the strings that whisper
love in each falling drop

 

 

 

 

fuji hidden-
blank pages
in the wind

J.E. Stanley

 

clouds hide october's moon-
cry of a distant train
followed by silence

J.E. Stanley

 

jazz
chord changes
seasons

J.E. Stanley

 

 


 

courthouse handrail
weathered by emotions
...always there
a schoolboy in shackles
gets a breath of fresh air

M. Franklyn Teaford

a stampede of stripes
a blur of beige among them
zebra mother stares
at the fate of her colt
then runs with the others

M. Franklyn Teaford

bricks seeing sunshine
for the first time in ages
urban renewal
changing minds and spirits
…and bars into churches

M. Franklyn Teaford

slowly following
a spot of warmth in the hall
the cat knows the sun
but runs from shadows
of passing clouds

M. Franklyn Teaford

sailboat frozen
in lake glass
autumn’s first chill
now melted
by the passion in your eyes

M. Franklyn Teaford

 

ceiling fan and its shadow
spinning oppositely
in the TV’s light
…some things are mind-boggling

others are entertaining

M. Franklyn Teaford

 

 

SIJO

 

How I miss her! When we talk on the cell, her voice scatters.

What I wonder: will my stomach get queasy on the schooner?

After a nap, I return to task: making shapes of shapely words.

Gino Peregrini

 

Sun-flares glint from the farm pond;
Cut-finger reeds grow beside the bank.
Barn swallows dive to drink;
Dragonflies cling to swaying reeds.
Let us nap in the meadow:
No fish swim in clear water!

Gino Peregrini

 

 

New bombings on the London Tube: police shoot a Brazilian.

Lying down for a short nap, I become homesick again.

Under the pine, sap sticks to my jeans while I talk on the cellphone.

Gino Peregrini


Lulled by patterns etched in Shirakawa sand, I dream a heron.

Silent in the shallows, he lifts his foot, slowly rakes the river bed.

A sudden lunge. A silver flash. A small wave ripples to the shore.

Harriot West

 

 

 

 

 

   
   
  Submission Procedures 

Who We Are

 

Deadline for next issue is 
January 1, 2006.

Poems Copyright © by Designated Authors 2005.
Page Copyright ©Jane Reichhold 2005.

Find out more about Renga, Sijo, Tanka, or Ghazal.

Check out the previous issues of:

LYNX XX:2 June, 2005
LYNX
XX:1, February, 2005

LYNX
XIX:3 October, 2004

LYNX XIX:2 June, 2004

LYNX
XIX:1 February, 2004

LYNX
XVIII:3 October, 2003

LYNX XVIII:2 June, 2003

LYNX
XVIII:1 February, 2003

LYNX XVII:3 October, 2002

LYNX XVII:2 June, 2002

LYNX
XVII:1 February, 2002
LYNX XVI:3 October, 2001
LYNX XVI:2 June, 2001
LYNX XVI:1 February, 2001
LYNX
XV:3 October, 2000
LYNX XV:2 June, 2000

back