By Phil Flott

I pivoted on the balls of my feet,
to not fall off to the left or the right
but to sit me down on the flat part
of the roof.

My balancing muscle popped,
I fell atop a mound of soft dirt.
The torn tendon sucked blood to itself
then quickly dispersed it,

though I did not realize that.
I went to lunch, as if the sun in the sky
meant a blessing on my body
and not shining forth my injury.

Night descended; fever arrived.
Immobility was my way to love myself.
Fasting from supper felt like fullness.
I loved my leucocytes.

The doctor made blood seep out
in skank serum,
pulled my tendons back to overlap,
sutured the ripped parts together.

My healthy heart aided my healing.
Cortex contributed its part.
I ate meals to wholeness,
happy to receive back
my healed four-in-one quad.

Phil Flott is a retired carpenter. He has had poems in Passager, Sangam, Raven’s Perch, Mulberry Literary, and others.

By Christopher Fettes

Sometimes forgetting is willful, even hoped for.
How he carried himself as he walked across the yard,
Between one building and the next.
How his pant legs were cuffed,
But still grew damp from treading through the dewy morning.
How his eyes pierced your facade when he looked your way.
The way the smell of his sweat hung on him
Warm and intimate, not staid or dirty.
The way he walked past watching eyes, showing no sign he noticed.
The way he disappeared across the lawn.
The way you wondered if he knew your name.
The thoughts you kept to yourself.
It is easier to let the sting of memory recede
Into the past without wondering what
Might have been or revisiting what was.

Christopher Fettes was born and raised in Little Rock, Arkansas, where he lives with his wife and their beloved pets. He earned both a bachelor’s and master’s degree in English from the University of Central Arkansas. He writes poetry and fiction. He serves as Poetry Editor for Medicine & Meaning and is a reviewer for Slant. He is the author of a chapbook titled A Loneliness in the Distance Between.

By John McPherson

Adrift on the Sea of Tranquility

“Dad, do you know what day it is?”
“Yes, it’s my birthday.”
“I never forget my birthday,”
“And how old are you?”
“Sixty-nine, of course.”
A repeated conversation we had each year as we celebrated his sixty-ninth birthday for seven years— until the crystal clear waters of his everyday madness swept him away.

John McPherson is the current president of Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas, president of Gin Creek Poets, and past president of White County Creative Writers. He writes poems, short stories, and letters to the editor, Arkansas Democrat-Gazette.

By Pamela Mitchell

I will bundle you in blankets and place you 
on porches in cure chairs to keep you

I leave you in care of white pine and balsam
may their ethers open your weary lungs    

I will bundle you in blankets and place you
on porches in cure chairs to keep you

I leave you in care of lilac and lily-of-the-valley
may scent of sweet blooms open your heart 

I will bundle you in blankets and place you
on porches in cure chairs to keep you

I leave you in care of stillwater lakes may
soothing waves slake your parched soul 

I will bundle you in blankets and place you
on porches in cure chairs to keep you

I leave you in care of glorious granite may aged 
mountain lend you its strength 

I will bundle you in blankets and place you
on porches in cure chairs to keep you

I leave you in care   I leave you    I leave 

Note: Our house in the Adirondacks was once a cure cottage for tuberculosis patients. On August 9, 2000 my mother sat in a cure chair on our porch. Ironically, she told my father “It doesn’t get any better than this!” He found her the next morning, having passed from this life.

Pamela Anna Theresa Micieli (Mitchell), MFA, R.N., is a recently retired nurse and has published poems in several journals and anthologies including: The Healer’s Burden, and Intensive Care: More Poetry and Prose By Nurses. Both of these were published by Univ. of Iowa Carver College of Medicine Press. She has also published in Pulse: Voices From the Heart of Medicine, as well as a chapbook entitled Finding Lost Pond by Finishing Line Press (2021).

By Rosanne Walters

You came alive at dawn, craving speed,
          eager to clock time and distance.
                Arms and legs pumping faster, ever faster,
            pressing through boundaries real or imagined,
            you relished each strident strike
           against the concrete maze of city streets.

                     Spine now curved, limbs powerless,
         you dream backwards gauging feats and failures in         
      hills once climbed, obstacles dodged, competitors overtaken.
Memories tangled in past and present, your days flow slowly,
each new morning a reward to savor,
yesterdays’ triumphs dimming with each sunset.

In the space between running and remembering,
      you see unspoken truth in lines etched
       across your face by the wind,
          hear reveries echoing in the surrounding silence
           and feel tomorrow as it slips from your grasp,                                                              
                               released to the night sky.

Rosanne Walters, Ph.D., retired after a long career in teaching to include ten years as an Adjunct Assistant Professor at Old Dominion University, where she taught MPA students. Rosanne also served as the Executive Director of several nonprofit organizations to include a shelter for battered women and rape crisis center, a youth development organization, and a YWCA. In addition, Rosanne was the Community Liaison Officer for the United State Embassy in Jakarta, Indonesia.

She retired from the City of Newport News, Virginia, as the Deputy Director of the Department of Human Services.

She now considers herself to be an aspiring poet who hopes to inspire her children and grandchildren to follow their dreams. She lives with her husband of 54 years and their two rescue dogs, Wrangler and Riley.  

By William Palmer

For a DaTscan
to confirm 
I have Parkinson’s,
I am injected
with a radioactive tracer.

A few days later
my neurologist shows me
an image from my brain
that contains 
what looks like
a radiant horseshoe.

The tip, or heel calk, on the left side 
is gone.

The diagnosis is accurate.

But most
of my horseshoe 
is still there.

Each day I will try to throw a ringer.

William Palmer’s poetry has appeared recently in Braided Way, JAMA, J Journal, One Art, On the Seawall, Poetry East, and The Westchester Review. He lives in Traverse City, Michigan.

By George Christopher

Transition states not stasis not static
No longer substrate, not yet product
Highest energy on reaction coordinates
Breaking and making covalent bonds

Pre-med, med school, residency, possibly a fellowship, attending
Changing roles, responsibilities, locations, people, relationships
In changes from good to good or good to better
Some-things and some-ones must be given up
For new some-ones and some-things to be embraced

Transition states not stasis not static
Present becoming past
Undetermined future becoming present
Adaptation from cellular to social contexts
Work through grief, move on
Welcome the future in the open-ended
In certainties that give direction
Uncertainties that open new possibilities

George Christopher is a physician who has transitioned into retirement. He and his lovely wife Linda live near their two grown sons and grandchildren in western Michigan.

1. Multiple Alarms from Heaven

Arctic icebergs are breaking up,
Melting Antarctica airport-runways need new sub,
Strong gales have torn apart buildings, Oops:
Flooding also moved houses like floating cups.

2. The earth responds

The green leaves don’t say goodbye,
The remaining yellow resists snowflakes from the sky,
The brown and red spread out in formation,
This defensive camp has nothing to hide!

3. Human self-determination

We have seen more natural disasters,
Plants are adjusting their lifestyle set by regulators.
Everyone should do their duty,
so why do we still find it hard to be adjusters?

……………………………………………………………

Recite in Chinese

1.      Tiān shí yùjǐng 天時預警 (Multiple Alarms from Heaven)

běijí bīngshān liè,

nánduān jī jiàng nán

kuángfēng sī jiànzhú,

shuǐ yān yuè pínfán.

2. Dìqiú de huíyīng大地回應 (The earth responds)

lǜyè bùcí xíng,

cán huáng jù xuěhuā.

Hè hóng fēnbù zhèn,

hélì jié fáng yíng.

3. Rénlèi zìjué  人類自決   Human self-determination

tiānzāi yú shù fān,

zhíwù luàn xìng cán.

Rén rén yí jìnzé,

héyǐ wǒ réng nán.

………………..

2023 天地人     鍾倫納

1. 天時預警

  北極冰山裂, 南端跑道融, 狂風撕建築, 水淹越洪鋒.

2. 大地回應

綠葉不辭行, 殘黃拒雪征. 褐紅分佈陣, 合力結防營.

3. 人類自決

天災逐漸繁, 植物亂興殘. 個個宜擔責, 為何我尚難    .

…………………

Tom Chung, Ph.D., M.Phil., B.S.Sc., is a professor in the Fay W. Boozman College of Public Health.

Tom has also maintained a life-long passion in the study of Chinese history, culture, and poetry. He is one of a few writers who has published in five Chinese societies and diasporas, despite their political differences.