Neighborly Love

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Chase Harker

I know that my neighbor hates me
But she would never admit it—
It’s the way she compliments
My flowerbeds that I know it,
The way she applauds my blooms
Every spring, the way she hums
Through my barberry’s thorns
When I am reading upon my back deck
Or working on some new assignment.
I have picked up her game, though,
Over the past couple of years—
Her plastic smile, her hyena laugh,
Her school girl eyes, her theatricality.
I have recently become one of her kind
And joined the neighborhood HOA.
Now, in the fall, before she gets a chance,
I rake my yard free of leaves and debris,
Weed all the beds, clear the gutters clean,
And wake up an hour earlier than her
Every Sunday in order to wash the dust
Of the previous week off of my truck.
Sometimes she comes out as I am drying
Spots off my hood or shining my tires;
Sometimes I startle her with a good morning
Before her old eyes can adjust to the sun;
Sometimes she holds her left hand above
Her heart and replies with a fake likewise
Then remarks how I am looking sharp today.
I know that my neighbor hates me—
I hate that wry, cackling bitch too.

Bio: Chase Harker is a poet from New Bern, North Carolina. He is currently an MFA student at the University of North Carolina Wilmington.

March Begins

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John Grey

February creeps into March.
Ground thaws but wind picks up the chill.
And drizzle is just snow in a gray disguise.

For birds, the mating season is dim memory.
Winter instincts preserve the current generation.
It’s not in them to propagate the next.

A homeless man curls up in the shelter
of an abandoned tenement’s stoop.
He’s wrapped in other’s donations
but neither the forlorn jacket
or moth-eaten sweater
looks like a kindness.

Winter colds linger on.
The sidewalks are a mix of slip and splash.
The walk by the river is the ghost of a summer stroll.
My hands plunge deep into my pockets.
They hold no other hand.

Author Statement:

The inspiration behind the poem is no more than the month of March itself.  TS Eliot may consider April to be the cruelest month but, to my mind, that dubious honor belongs to the third month. The second line is the key. The temperature slowly rises but the wind blows more fiercely so that it feels just as miserable as what preceded it.

Bio: John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, City Brink and Tenth Muse. Latest books, “Subject Matters”,” Between Two Fires” and “Covert” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Paterson Literary Review, Amazing Stories and Cantos.

SEA-GUEST

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Paul Holler

There is something about the sound
the crash of the waves off-shore
the roll and the roil
and the whisper of a wave’s ending
that draws the sea-guest to where the sea begins.

There is something about the way
the birds glide through the warp and weft
and the way the seals cross
from sea to sand and back again
working time in wide circles
and space in small elipses
that draws the sea-guest to where the sea begins

There is something about the way it looks
when he closes his eyes
and takes the birds’ woven sail in his hands
and hews a driftwood hull
and sets a tall and true mast
and crosses from sand to sea
and the birds soar on sails like his own
and a seal rises up with a face like his own
and dives and circles and soars
in a firmament like his own
and the waves beneath his feet
flow and pulse with his own heart.
.
And there is something about the quiet
when he opens his eyes
and the others are far away.

He stands unmoving
on the line where the sea begins
because the others are of the sea
and he is a mere guest.

Author’s Statement:
The poem was inspired by the Anglo-Saxon kenning, "brim-gyst," or "sea-guest." A while back, I was listening to a podcast called A Way with Words that mentioned this kenning. I began to think about people who would refer to a mariner as a guest of the sea and what it meant to be one. It suggested to me that the sea is not a place for human beings.  In order to live at sea, people must construct a place where they can live and move about on the water. This suggests a limitation on people, but it also highlights the human strength of imagination. The mariner in this poem can imagine a boat and a world inhabited by the "others." As far as we know, the others cannot imagine the world that he inhabits. Hopefully, I've given the readers of poem something to think about with regard to the relationship between people and the natural world.

It made sense to me to refer to Anglo-Saxon verse forms in this poem. I didn't want to directly emulate Anglo-Saxon verse, but I wanted the reader to hear some echoes of it. I looked back to translations I have of "The Seafarer" and J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lays of Beleriand to see how modern poets and translators have handled this verse form. I also took a course from the Great Courses catalog on the Anglo-Saxon language.

I decided to use two devices common to Anglo-Saxon verse. This verse form uses repeated phrases as a way making the lines scan correctly. It also uses alliteration heavily. I used both alliteration and repeated lines in a way that I found pleasing. For the most part, the lines fall into even metrical feet. But I tried not to be too rigorous with all of those things. Ultimately, I wanted a poem that would have a sound and rhythm that would please me, echo the sound of "The Seafaer," and draw the reader in. 

Like most kennings, brim-gyst has many layers of meaning. I hope this poem begins to explore them.

Bio: Paul Holler has been a writer of short stories, poems and articles for many years. His work has appeared in Flash, The MacGuffin. Ekphrastic Review, Write City Review, The Phare and other on-line and print publications.