By Carol Barrett
Twelve ounces coffee
with skim milk, not whole, then walk
forty minutes flat
Mornings, try the scale
A poet knows less is more
Think leaves, autumn’s drop
Carol Barrett’s poetry has been published in magazines in the U.S., Canada, Britain, Israel, Germany and the Virgin Islands. Her third poetry volume was released in February (Reading Wind, from The Poetry Box). These poems were inspired by the poet’s father, a country doctor, who was also a farmer and musician.
By Jamie Jones
The emergency department, a bustling fray,
Trucks backed up in the ambulance bay.
A mother and child, full of fear,
Scared of needles, lots of tears.
So much the child couldn’t understand,
I took a moment. I held her hand.
In the dim-lit room, a girl of youth,
Afraid of judgment, skirting the truth.
Eyes darting around the room,
Feeling as though her life is doomed.
This was not the life that she had planned.
I stood in silence. I held her hand.
A young mother next, with babe in arms,
Bruised face and ego, escaping harm.
Head lowered, eyes to the ground,
Her quiet sobs the only sound.
So much in life she has had to withstand.
I sat in solidarity. I held her hand.
Midlife’s shadow looms, a woman sighs,
She’s heard it all, the deceit, the lies.
The speculum is cold, her eyes, morose,
As her thoughts consume her, her eyes, they close,
Remembering her life that used to be grand.
Knowingly, respectfully, I held her hand.
An elder then, with wisdom profound,
Afraid of leaving, of the final round.
Each breath uneven, her shoulders frail,
Her bones so fragile, her skin so pale.
She silently succumbed to eternity’s demand.
In quiet tears, I held her hand.
From tender youth to elder’s grace,
In every moment, I found my place.
Each heartbeat echoed in the air,
A silent promise to ease despair.
So, in the echoes of life’s symphony grand,
With gratitude in my heart, I held her hand.
Jamie L. Jones, Ph.D., RN, CNE, is a Clinical Assistant Professor and Academic Coach within the UAMS College of Nursing. With over 20 years of experience as a registered nurse, including intermittent work in the emergency department, and over 15 years as a nurse educator, Jamie is passionate about her roles. Jamie views nursing as a deeply human endeavor, centered on connection, warmth, and kindness. For her, it’s about more than completing tasks; it’s about fostering a sense of safety and well-being for every individual she encounters. Jamie’s overarching life goal is simple yet profound: to brighten at least one person’s day through her actions, every single day.
By DJ Grant
In Loving Memory
Kirsten M. French
1988 – 2023
cancer in her bones
cancer in her cage
frantic butterflies
trapped in a rage
Pain that would cause the weak to shiver
Courage that would make a lion whisper
cancer in her bones
cancer in her cage
suffering bred in
her wisdom sage
“Don’t wait until you start dying to live.” KMF
cancer in her bones
cancer in her cage
ripped from her life at
too young an age
Please tell my daughter, please tell my wife
I am with you forever, you are my life
cancer in her bones
cancer in her cage
frantic butterflies
trapped in a rage
DJ Grant holds a bachelor’s degree in English, Emphasis Literature, from The University of British Columbia. An award-winning writer and artist, Grant work can be found on The Mighty, The Lehrhaus, and Cosmic Daffodil Journal. DJ Grant is a disabled artist who lives – and sleeps – with Narcolepsy.
By Duane Anderson
I plan on getting you around the house
as you hobble from room to room
with your right leg bandaged up
and swollen from a recent surgery.
Just take it slow and easy,
and I will aid you to your destination.
I want to make my friendship with you temporary,
then once you have healed, you can pass me to
someone else in need of my talents.
If you want to race someone else
in a track meet down the hallway,
I might not agree with you, but go ahead.
I will guide you along,
but just as a reminder,
watch out for throw rugs,
electrical cords, and other potential hazards
as we make our trip together.
I want your journey to be safe, and uninterrupted.
Duane Anderson currently lives in La Vista, Nebraska. He has had poems published in Fine Lines, Cholla Needles, Tipton Poetry Journal, and several other publications. He is the author of On the Corner of Walk and Don’t Walk, The Blood Drives: One Pint Down, and Conquer the Mountains.
By Stephen Johnson
Like Aspen leaves adrift on yellowed-cold,
we flutter, down from youth – to frailty.
Bone overlapping nerve, vision narrower,
niggling fire- in an un-stoked furnace.
A familiar name, muted in the downdraft,
gait- become a trudge deliberate.
We swirl, blown about upon Time’s whim,
conjugating in our similarities.
Wisdom, begotten by present sorrow,
consoles- as does hot tea in deep winter.
Retrospection, wrings itself out upon us,
our frayed rag, draped on clean plates.
In groups, proliferous and alarming,
we settle, onto the still and waiting soil.
knurled hands laced with peace accepted,
feet – content to have at last arrived,
hearts, at-pace with the scope of quietude,
we bequeath the bustle, to those we love.
Stephen Phillip Johnson is a Mountain Home carpenter. Writing is his itch. Within the halls of medicine, where he’s been (repeatedly) healed, reside flocks of muses.
By John Grey
The man whose wife is having a baby
crouches in his chair like a fetus,
can feel himself kicking.
Another woman’s husband is having a biopsy
of a lump on his back.
She swells from the couch like a tumor,
fights back her thought’s malevolence,
struggles to look benign.
Family of cancer victim can’t help spreading
from one end of the room to the other.
A young mother’s son was hit by a car.
Her mouth gashes like a wound.
Tears well in her eyes’ bruises.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, Santa Fe Literary Review, and Lost Pilots. Latest books, Between Two Fires, Covert, and Memory Outside the Head are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the Seventh Quarry, La Presa, and California Quarterly.
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.
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.
