(An International Journal of Poetry)
Volume-1 †††† december-2011 Number-2
†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† by Stan Galloway
The flotsam at the lake edge joins the litter
from the trees (the leaves, the twigs, the shredded
bark shed in a storm), and putrefaction
is the order of the day. But in
this dying world the trillium peeks through,
each one a dot of white, the memory of
your smile, again, again, again, as often
as your grinning words gave hope to me
before you lay down that last desperate time.
Oh trillium, send my smile back to her.
††††††††† ††††††††††††††††by Stan Galloway
I write to you, you write to me.
We each get glimmers of each otherís lives.
We share our happiness.
We share our griefs.
We share the mundane sounds of life.
In days before the keystroke or the phone pad,
We would have used a pen with ink.
Today we speak without a mark to leave behind,
Each screen wiped clean until we start again.