The Clarion Literary Supplement
Page 7
dehydration
dry iron Is. arid lif('
why bother
him. he’s only having fun
to be here to be
there's the only chance
you gel what you axk
for the will, get the
thrilling to meet you once
again he does the same old
things aren't tvluit they
used to he we'd
nlwavs have a way
out of the fire into the frying
pans and pots, dogs and
cats with curiosity
dying away, the weather I
don't know, I don't
careful note, vou'll break
it seems we always shrivel
up when ice have no more to
say, friend, can you spare a dime?
Carolyn Blount
I went to see a show the other day,
but got distracted by the things I saw.
the child that cried and whined (was never quiet);
the man that sat alone, looking so sad;
the two that kissed so much I thought them joined;
the girls that sat and giggled endlessly;
the popcorn crunching under people’s toes;
the smoke of people who ignore the rules...
And then to my surprise the screen was blank.
The people got up from their seats to leave,
and there I was looking bewilderedly.
The things I saw, I think, saw more than me.
Gay Harshbarger
ON THE SHORE OF DEPRESSION
Pain,
so much-
too much.
Whirlpool-sucking
my arms thrashing
fingers grasp-claic frantically
the water's lips
sucking down
almost underneath
It swallows harder
Dragging-forcing me to—giv6 up.
Drowning,
so tired
too hard to get to air
easier to surrender.
No!
Fight!
Pull!
Thrash!
Drag!
Grasp for weeds
Pull to shore—sanity
Shut out the water.
Smile.
Only a second has passed.
Friends think-
“how happy”
“strong”
“care-free”
-she is.
I let them think.
Meanwhile the water laps steadily
at the bank.
y
An Ode to Our Illustrious Pres
Ronald Reagan rates high on my list.
He hatchets the budget, too bad he has missed
The plight of the poor.
I suppose he supposes it is sort of silly.
When World War Three meets, we won’t need welfare, will we?
Kari Howard
Drawing by Chico Kawaoka
unknowingly,
you offer me a treasure chest
of rainy day things to do
eclectic choices of things to be
and fantastic images of things to see.
unknowingly,
you offer me a lucid picture of myself
unclothed of the superfluous
clad in the essentials
saturated in what moves me.
unknowingly,
you offer me the seasons of my soul
the voice of my silence
the strength of my ego.
unknowingly,
you fill me with poems
and crystallize my thoughts
and extend my completeness
and....I welcome you.
Michael McCormick
Meredith Dobbins