Waxing, Waning by Enoch Thompson

800px-Ocean_waves_foam by Jon Sullivan

Waves,

curving, beautiful,

ocean cloudy,

yet when you imagine them

they shine the clearest ideal blue.

Salt on your tongue and in your eye

reminds you there is no escape

from grit, from the salty sand ashore,

there can be only less or more.

It’s enough to make you contemplate

a seaweed’s fate or fish’s story

seen from it’s ugly marble eyes,

how the ocean shallows

shift distant horizons

into whole alien

worlds

beyond, behind.

You contemplate waves,

take mental snapshots, recall

precise amounts of sand stirring

at the shuffle of your foot, floating

to the top of the wave like white pepper

in a scratched kitchen glass. You are

limited, terribly limited at counting

grains of sand upon the shore.

Only god has time for that, so

just enjoy the screams of

pleasure, fun, perhaps

a little hidden, silent

panic as the

waves crash

down.

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To read Enoch’s bio and more of his poetry published on WIZ, go here.

Photo by Jon Sullivan

On how fragile life might be by Enoch Thompson

car dash board at night

We hit something
she said “a raccoon?”
I said, “opossum.”
I said, “turn around,
let’s turn around.”
and there it was lying in the street
a silhouette of sharp snout and feet
orange on grey on black, the colors fade.
A cat, we hit a cat.
So this is death, bulging, leaking red eyes
protruding from its crushed and swollen head.
She, distraught
me, disturbed
so this is death.
I’ve been punished
now to forever drive
slow
and hold a breathe
at every shadow
flashing
across the road.

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Enoch Thompson 2014Enoch Thompson is an aspiring poet and storyteller.  A grave robber, a pirate, a wizard, an ugly shambling skeleton, he trudges the paths eighteen million other better men have skipped down.  Always, as new words become published and new voices shout to be heard, his anxieties grow.  He is a modern-day writer and encapsulates all of the insecurities society has placed on the cliched profession.

To see more poetry on WIZ by Enoch, click here.

Autumn 2014 haiku chain by Patricia K.

369px-Francesco_del_Cossa_001 Der Herbst

While I’ll take life in any season, the transition from summer to fall is bumpy for me. This year, the melancholy I often feel during these pre-winter months has been accented by various family crises. Still, as the song goes, How can I keep from singing? Continue reading Autumn 2014 haiku chain by Patricia K.

Desert Names by Mark Penny

479px-Desert_Sandwort

I don’t know the names—
No very names.
Oh, chapparal. Oh, sage.
Vague names.
Oh, cactus, tumbleweed.
Oh, scorpion.
Oh, coiled up shaker of a shaman’s bones.
Oh, crook-limbed walker on the knuckled sands.
Oh, day-lived blossom, thirsting in its death.
Oh, winged portent of the flight of breath.
Half-names,
Bright shadows
In a sun
That beats its laundry past the need of clean.
I am the rag-post.
Mummied graves
Croak the long story of my ignorance.

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Mark Penny has poetry on WIZ and Everyday Mormon Writer and in Sunstone and Dialogue, and fiction on Everyday Mormon Writer and Lowly Seraphim. He was winner of the Wilderness Interface Zone 2012 Spring Poetry Runoff Admin Award, a finalist in the Everyday Mormon Writer Four Centuries of Mormon Stories Contest, and a semi-finalist in the 2014 Mormon Lit Blitz. He hopes the trend will bounce.

Current projects include a poetry collection, a Mormon spec fic collection, a dozen or so novels, a collaboration that will blow your spirit right out of your brain, and a unified theory of narrative.

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Photo: Desert Sandwort via Wikimedia Commons courtesy of BLM Nevada, 2013.

Tonight by Bob Gill

Alpha_Capricorni

The universe is
Cold tonight
A winter of stars
Illuminate the world
Its heaven
Full of danger
And mystery

Just tonight
An asteroid
Three football
Fields in length
Slipped by
Missed us
By 1,500,000 miles
Small margin
Experts say
Enough for us
For now, maybe
Before one hits

We live and die
Hearing the stories
Of our ancestors
Similar tribes before
Us and we wander
Days and nights

Abiding

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Find more by Bob Gill here.

Photo of Alpha Capricorni via Wikimedia Commons.

Just by Bob Gill

1280px-GeysirEruptionNear

Just a moment
Sipped
Full of happiness
Just an instant
You may have missed
Compared to drought
The water
Of life pours over you
In a torrent
Underground
For centuries
It seems
And may have been
To bubble forth
And thunder
True

________________________
Bob Gill resides in Berkeley, California.

Photo of the Strokkur Geyser in Iceland by Andreas Tille via Wikimedia Commons.

Orange Cup Coral by A.J. Huffman

Cup coral polyp

Phallic shafts shock nocturnal
waters, wave fingers like fireworks,
flags of welcome, of final embrace
to small fish daring to flutter about
these make-shift flowers.
They are their own
entertainment, brilliantly blowing,
blooming in belligerent pantomime
of lighted breath. This crown
ring of kings rejoice in banishment,
openly celebrating their midnight world.

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Photo by Nick Hobgood via Wikimedia Commons, 2005.

Follow the links for Huffman’s bio and more of her work at WIZ.

The Road to Thunder Road by A.J. Huffman

Lightning8_-_NOAA

is a delayed growl standing several
steps behind the starring flash. Backup-
singing, supportive round of applause. Darker
partner waiting in invisible wings. Eruptive
echo marks the distance to point
of contact, countdown after-strike.

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Photo by the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration via Wikimedia Commons, 2005.

Follow the links for Huffman’s bio and more of her work at WIZ.

Hibiscus Blooming in Rain by A.J. Huffman

hibiscus

The garden sogs under persistent downpour. Green
grows with a sickly gray clinging like shadows,
cloud contamination. In a quiet corner, lone
hibiscus stretches petals toward sky, embraces
drops battering against brilliance. Resilient
as the solar power color emulates, it remains open,
a burst of warming reassurance that the sky cannot fall
forever.

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Photo by the poet. Follow the links for Huffman’s bio and more at WIZ.

Autumn Moon by A.J. Huffman

89_Mesa_Fire,_5_6_10_(4586426977)

after “Age of Abundance,” by Osnat Tzadok

Flares of imaginary fire burn across forest’s crown.
Light and leaves come alive, collectively breathe
in mirrored mist, rising like smoke from absent flame.
My eyes begin to water in belief. This is the image
of sulfured Hell. I pray for the salvation of sun-
rise.

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A. J. Huffman A.J. Huffman has published seven solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses. Her eighth solo chapbook, Drippings from a Painted Mind, won the 2013 Two Wolves Chapbook Contest. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and her poetry, fiction, and haiku have appeared in hundreds of national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, Kritya, and Offerta Speciale, in which her work appeared in both English and Italian translation. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press.

Photo by Albert Herring via Wikimedia Commons: “89 Mesa Fire, 5/6/10.” Tzadok’s landscape can be seen here.