Pantoum Poems

Laurence Musgrove Laurence Musgrove

First-World Guilt

Thomas Quitzau

November 26, 2022

When I think that I might utter something

Profound, provocative, of great import

Connected to millions in social sport

When I pretend, I am worldly knowing!


Profound…provocative…of great import…

Shame on me that most of my time is spent

(When I pretend I am worldly knowing!)

Not among the needy, the pained, the poor


Shames me to own most of my time is spent

In this minuscule mind to me You’ve lent

Not with the needy, the pained, or the poor

As gravity pulls me hard to hard floor


And this minuscule mind You’ve lent to me 

Tricked by Your Earth’s hypnotic false rhythm

Back hard to hard floor gravity pulls me

Home, fed, wondering why I’m not with ’em

Thomas Quitzau grew up in the Gulf Coast region and worked for over 30 years in Houston, Texas. A self-ascribed member of the ZenJourno School of poetry, Tom recently relocated with his family to Long Island, New York where he teaches and writes.

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Laurence Musgrove Laurence Musgrove

In Her Diminishing World

Betsy Joseph

October 29, 2022


“Where did you go?”  I once dared to ask

my mother grown small in her diminishing world.

Her eyes were ungazing, her features a mask,

as pieces of wordless thought simply swirled.


My mother, grown small in her diminishing world,

knows not the time or the day.

Pieces of wordless thought simply swirl

and she wishes they would settle and stay.


My mother knows not the time or the day.

As musical notes flutter and fall,

she so wishes they would settle and stay,

yet they tease her and float down the hall.


As she listens to notes flutter and fall,

her eyes ungazing, her features a mask,

the notes still tease her and float down the hall.

Wiser at last, I choose not to ask.

Betsy Joseph lives in Dallas and has poems that have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies. She is the author of two poetry books published by Lamar University Literary Press: Only So Many Autumns (2019) and most recently, Relatively Speaking (2022), a collaborative collection with her brother, poet Chip Dameron. In addition, she and her husband, photographer Bruce Jordan, have produced two books, Benches and Lighthouses, which pair her haiku with his black and white photography.

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Laurence Musgrove Laurence Musgrove

Shadow Mirror

Margo Stutts Toombs

October 22, 2022


Shadow mirror tucked in a back corner

Clothed in dust and cobwebs

A Dorian Gray to hold her nightmares

Frozen in glass and tarnished silver

 

Clothed in dust and cobwebs

Old fears hide in the dark

Frozen in glass and tarnished silver.

She feels it in her heart.  

 

Old fears hide in the dark

Growing like a virus

She feels it in her heart.

Salvation waits in the sunlight.

 

Growing like a virus

Her Dorian mirror horrifies

Until she thrusts it into the sunlight

And scrubs the mirror tucked in a back corner.

Margo Stutts Toombs enjoys creating and performing poetry. Her work lives in FreezeRay Poetry, Untameable City - Mutabilis Press, the Texas Poetry Calendar, Love over 60: An Anthology of Women’s Poems, The Ekphrastic Review, the Friendswood Library Ekphrastic Poetry Contest, Equinox, and Synkronicity. She performs spoken-word poetry at fringe festivals.

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Laurence Musgrove Laurence Musgrove

On Birthdays, She Wears Red

Amy L. Greenspan

October 15, 2022

A 90th birthday arrives,

unseen by the woman in red,

who once greeted this day with delight

and predictions of terrible weather.

Unseen by the woman in red,

our names fall through brain holes,

and predictions of terrible weather

repeat in looping cycles.

Our names fall through brain holes,

and words (“Where’s the time gone?”)

repeat in looping cycles,

meaning sucked into the void.

And words (“Where’s the time gone?”)

let us pretend normalcy.

Meaning sucked into the void,

we gather, celebrate the day.

Let’s pretend normalcy!

Ice cream, presents, cake!

We gather, celebrate the day

a 90th birthday arrives.

Amy L. Greenspan spent much of her career as Managing Editor for a legal publishing company. Her poems appear in multiple editions of the Texas Poetry Calendar, as well as collections including Weaving the Terrain: 100-Word Southwestern Poems, Lifting the Sky: Southwestern Haiku and Haiga, di-verse-city, cattails, and Haiku Presence.

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Laurence Musgrove Laurence Musgrove

Wednesday Blues

John Rutherford

October 8, 2022

The printer’s broken down again,

the copies crooked, the paper torn.

I straighten it out between phone calls

and cut my thumb for the trouble.

The copies crooked, the paper torn,

the service tech can’t come today, 

and cutting my thumb for the trouble

I put some sticking plaster on.

The service tech won’t come today,

so there isn’t much else I can do

except admire my plastered thumb

and twiddle it with the other.

There isn’t much for me to do,

some emails, maybe, answer phones

or just twiddle here about my desk

until I’m relieved for lunchtime.

John Rutherford is a poet writing in Beaumont, Texas. Since 2018 he has been an employee in the Department of English at Lamar University.

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Laurence Musgrove Laurence Musgrove

Night of the Pump Jacks 

Sandi Stromberg

October 1, 2022

The lamppost casts shadows through swaying trees. 

My eyes won’t close in this unfamiliar room.

Dark dressers, bedside tables, a trunk or two,

like a movie scene from an Egyptian tomb.

My ears won’t close in this unfamiliar room,

where metal scrapes and clunks, reverberates,

like echoes in a pillaged Egyptian tomb.

I curl under covers afraid of whom I do not know.

Metal scrapes metal with a screaming screech.

Is it the vengeful cry of an unchained spirit?

I burrow to hide from whom I do not know,

alone in this eerie, secluded room.

Is it the vengeful cry of an unchained spirit?

I shiver checking windows—closed and locked.

Alone in this eerie, secluded room.

The crank and clank continue their grating sound.

Windows closed and firmly locked, I shiver.

No one will know to come if a spirit enters.

The crank and clank resound, resound, resound.

Has the Mummy risen to take its due?

No one will come if a spirit enters 

this room of dark dressers, a trunk or two.

Has the Mummy risen to take its due

as the lamppost casts shadows through swaying trees?

Sandi Stromberg led a nomadic life until she arrived in Houston, Texas, where putting down roots in gumbo earth has been challenging and rewarding. Her poetry has been nominated three times for a Pushcart and twice for Best of the Net. Recent publications include Panoply: The Literary Zine, The Ekphrastic Review, MockingHeart Review, San Pedro River Review, and the Texas Poetry Assignment.

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