Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream Vol.26 No. 2

8/14/2019 Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream Vol.26 No. 2

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Waterways:Poetry in the Mainstream

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Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream, Volume 26, #2

we would rather be rowdy and gaunt and freeand dine on a diet of roach and ratthan slaves to a tame societyours is the zest of the alley cat

mehitabel s extensive pastfrom ARCHY AND MEHITABEL


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WATERWAYS: Poetry in the MainstreamVolume 26 Number 2*Designed, Edited and Published by Richard Spiegel & Barbara FisherThomas Perry, Admirable Factotum

c o n t e n t s

Waterways is published 11 times a year. Subscriptions -- $33 for 11 issues.Sample issues $3.50 (includes postage).

Submissions will be returned only if accompanied by a stamped, self addressed envelopeWaterways, 393 St. Pauls Avenue, Staten Island, New York 10304-2127

2005 Ten Penny Players Inc. *(This magazine is published 9/05)

http://www.tenpennyplayers.org

Sylvia Manning 4Joan Payne Kincaid 5-6Julie Lechevsky 7-8Bill Roberts 9-10M. M. Nichols 11-12R. Yurman 13

Patricia Wellingham-JonesD. M. Ross 15-1Anselm Brocki 1Ida Fasel 18-2Richard Spiegel 2
http://www.tenpennyplayers.org/http://www.tenpennyplayers.org/


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photograph byBarbara Fisher


5/26

Must one see? Sylvia Manning

They expected two million

to view the Pope in state,and another billionto anxiously awaithis successor.

Our black cat, whom we love,killed two birds in our yardthat morning. Nobodygave a farthing,but we were the lesser.

One may have been the famed

Secret Cardinal, thoughI wouldnt know. The shameof it (I learned through Joe,the cats Confessor)

kept me from seeingtheir remains.

Apri

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Some People Take Him for a Mush Joan Payne Kincaid

This dog will take you down

one hundred pound rebel without a causetoo much wolf to live with

there are bars on the windows

to keep him in

when certain trucks pass by

he will turn on whoever has the leash

when a motorcycle roars

you better be tied to a tree or nearest fence

when another male canine

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looks directly at him its cause

for escalation of fire in the eyes

bared fangs and instinct gone berserk

to the death

at the moment

he is limping from trying

to destroy the front door

and take the mailman to his maker

for being on his turf otherwise

on walks he is happy to accept

biscuits from the man.

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Scarcity Julie Lechevsky

On any given Monday,

only so much gristis allowed in the world.

If you dont use your share,someone else will get it.

Then you cant get it back.

The hand you did not takeis a chair at a caf.

The whistle on the street becomes a bird.

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In science this is calledthe principle of scarcity.

Dogs,

Who do not have a whole lotto do each day,

get many scraps.

Children tagging at your heelswear the rags of your lost fortune.

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10/26

How It All Got Started Bill Roberts

I imagine my father said to my mother

something like, Would you care to do it?Go upstairs and start a family?

No, it couldnt have been that way.There was no upstairs to their two-room apartment in pre-war D.C.

Probably more on the order ofHey, good looking. Lets make a baby!Naw, my father didnt talk like that.

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He was kind of shy, probablycame at Mom from an angle. Afterdinner, I thought we might, you know

Nope, it didnt happen like that either.Probably after cooking dinner andwashing dishes, my mother confronted

him and stated, quite to the point, Say,handsome, Im in the mood. Howsabout putting down that stupid book!

First published in the fall 2001 isConcrete Wolf Vol 1

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12/26

An Early March Memory M. M. Nicholsfrom a 12-month sequence, Going on Nine

Is there any neighborhoodbut this? We want the way out of itto be secret and arduous.

Tomboys, legginged gang of four,we explore territory were

guessing is forbidden as we shin posts

and wobble the wood planks behind garages,squeeze past fencing barbed or beset withcantankerous vines or torn open

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invisible, we suppose,to all but cats & birds those fellow fugitives

from eyes of the dozen houses.

Spring and wetogether inch toward a new worldsudden with chirps of arrival

or muttered irk, or loudpoor mew, having climbedhigher than we can foothold a way down.

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14/26

Spiders in the Sky R. YurmanColumbus Day

just past noon a predictedpartial solar eclipsewe strain our neckspeering up

and sight tangled webs

strands hundreds of feet longthin as ghost trailsstrong as ships rope

filled with the millions

of eighth-inch widenewly hatchedriding currents of air

20,000 feetabove Christophers ocean

continent to continentthey glide

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Ends Patricia Wellingham-Jones

Thankful

that pizza with anchoviesstill tastes good,that baby jayslearn to snatch seedsfrom a suet blockwhile we watch,

that friends stop byfor a glass of chilledchardonnay on our deck,we live out our ends.

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Usurpers D. M. Ross

Business suit pants

Hang on nails in the basementAnd dress shirts with threads haywire at sleeve and collarFather clothes smelling of Old GoldsLoose tobacco stems in pocket seamsInitials on sweatband hats, broad-brimmedHats only fathers woreSweat on sweatbandsSmall feather like a fanIn the band around the crownJohnny Krieger and I put them on

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Stumble up the stairs, out the side doorDwarfed by fabric, clutching pant waistsHands swallowed by jacket sleeves

Hats riding the bridges of nosesAnd pose for their wives

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18/26

Boring or WorseAnselm Brocki

They must be always

happier and have lessneed to be in controlof their minds becausetwo very noticeabledifferences between

me and most peopleat work are that theychatter to each otherall day, sometimesstraight through lunch,

and often say how muchthey enjoy a day offwith nothing to do, not

even chores or takinga shower, whereas thatseems stupid, dull,boring, or worse yet,a perfect opportunityfor my worrisome mind

to take center stageand dredge up a lot ofgrudges and mistakesthat make me feel awful.

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19/26

Hammock Time Ida Fasel

Did I fly the Atlantic for colon reliefat a public latrine in an English town?

A Wendys hamburger at San Marco franchise?A picture taken before a moss-grownRoman fountain run (more efficiently thananything else in the city) by computer?

Airport delays, bus breakdowns,thin-walled hotel rooms, slammed doors,nightlong voices, showers, TV.My foot futilely rubbed cobblestone redpursuing a Tintoretto stolen, barelyconcealed scorn for my accented

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but respectable phonetic pronunciation.Off the beaten path museums open onlyat odd hours. Everywhere eyes avid

for the dollar by trade or snitch.It was the worst of times, the best of timesand the best of it, I need not go back again.Vacation now in hammock time, baskingin rope webbing, a baby seal in sun. Warmthworks its way within. In Avignon I standon the bridge and the old childrens songSur le pontcomes back loud and clear.

Lugano. Just the sound of it. More thana passing-by on the way to the Italian border:

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something in the air of here-long-before.I shop. I take an espresso amid flowers.I stroll under magnificent old trees.

The alps a glory. The Lake a familiar.Via Nassa, Piazza Riforma, Parco Ciani.Is anything real or sensed realtoo wonderful to be true?

Castle more than home to bishops.Cathedral where I walk the long aisleIn the pure thrill of faithUndiminished by the conversation of time,Durham not merely a pass-over to Edinburgh.Durham for another day.

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Called Back Ida Fasel

1.

I hang from the plane windowlike a spider plant,its ends avid to grip earth.

2.The island is hidden in morning hazebut the ferry docks in clear

as I am clear of the world I wanderedfor what I didnt know I was looking for,living free. Buoys in the sea worldclang sea-raw. Benevolent.

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3.Scarred bricks scribble the grassy slope.Crossed-out rooms, might-have-beens.

A panel of wood that glowedin its dark grain jagged, black-streaked.My father and mother framed in spacelook out at me.

4.At the solid oak dining room table

mother readingcoming to the partwhere the piano got stuck being moved inand they had to play it from outside,The best laugh of our lives.

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5.No clock on the shelf, no shelf.

They are there, and they are quiet.And now I am.

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The Cold Dawn Richard Spiegel

After leaving the Peace Corps,

I stayed a month in Moroccobefore traveling to Spain.

On the train from Madrid to LonI sat beside a soldier in Francos

army.

We spoke of women.He shared his sandwich.

Wearing a djellabah,

I arrived in Lon before dawn.

It was February,my eyeglassescracked as I walked off the tra

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ISSN 0197-4777

published 11 times a year since 1979very limited printingby Ten Penny Players, Inc.(a 501c3 not for profit corporation)

Subscriptions -- $33 for 11 issues.

Sample issues $3.50 (includes postage).

www.tenpennyplayers.org

Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream Vol.26 No. 2

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