Unlike past Scars Publications poetry wall calendars, this spiral-bound poetry wall calendar is not stapled for binding, and this design makes the calendar hang better when on the wall, or stay open better when placed on a desk or table. And some of the writers in the 2011 poetry wall calendar also have artwork in this calendar!
The cover image is of graffiti on Greenwich in New York city.
The January images is of Tracy, with a poem by Junie Moon.
The February image is of the metal Holocaust entranceway sculture entering the Dachau Concentration Camp (Dachau, Germany), with poetry by Tom Roby (and an additional poem by Janet Kuypers).
The month of March contains of a photo of and a poem by Arthur C. Ford, Jr.
The April image is of Claire, with a poem by David McLean.
The month of May has an artisic photo of, and a poem by Sid Yiddish.
The June image is of a Frigate bird in flight at Darwin Bay on Genvesa Island (in the Galapagos Islands, December 29 2007), with a poem by Kevin Michael Wehle.
The July image is of ominous clouds over the sky (with the Moon, during the day), with a poem by Michael H. Brownstein.
The outdoors August image — and the poem — are from Michael Lee Johnson.
The September image, and the poem, are of/by Oz Hardwick.
The October image is of a computer monitor with a plastic wrap filter on it showing a photo of Randall K. Rogers with assorted layered lightly visible filters (including plastic wrap like the monitor and smudge stick and underpainting), with a poem by Randall K. Rogers, and an additional small poem by Janet Kuypers.
The November image is of a lonely boat on the water late at night, with a poem by Rose E. Grier.
The December image, and the poem, are of/by Jill L. Ferguson.
So enjoy the writings next year, and enjoy seeing sights from around the world in the Scars Publications 2011 Poetry Wall Calendar!
my Affectionate Addiction
It was those eyes
I could submerge
into those orbs
A voice, feminine
with a melodious timbre
absorbing me with kinetic energy
my heart knew when to beat
Skin, alabaster, smooth
the blush of youth
touched her cheeks
A euphoric scent of fine Tuscan lavender
on those weary days,
when on her lap I lay
looking into the face
of my affectionate addiction
cream floats on coffee
snow over Hiroshima
Dachau’s gas chambers
work every morning
as snow settles on ashes
Arthur C. Ford, Sr.
Whether white as light
Black or still another,
Only painters have the right
To be, biased toward color.
like a small girl
in a subway tunnel,
because it sounds like nothing here
she throws night sideways
over her shoulder and knows death is present
again, but it’s inside her, the murderer,
like it always is, a small girl
running in a subway tunnel
full of nothing, time to kill
As I spoke your name
You told me you were contemplating silence, knowing the end was near
Your life’s meaning so abundantly clear
I followed you, just humming while watching you slowly slip away into thin air
You never told me I’d be alright
But, later that night, I became you
The Spot Returns
Kevin Michael Wehle
This reincarnation of Lady Macbeth
Has tattooed wings on her back
These wings are not crafty
These wings are more like barren trees
It’s the symbol of her bad girl status
Which at first she tried to hide
She want to turn civility into a fraternity house
Shame the sweaty and different
Aline yourself with bad boys and horn dogs
Will your end be just as fitting?
Michael H. Brownstein
Day by day
only we can put out fire.
Clouds hunger for companionship,
a stain of precipitation.
Times slows to a penny,
a tone in the hand
Michael Lee Johnson
The wind chimes
on the balcony
sounds in all
my thoughts chase
Summer is Dying (Version 2)
Michael Lee Johnson
Outside summer is dying into fall,
blue daddy petunias sprout ears-
hear the beginning of night chills.
In their yellow window box
they cuddle up and fear death together.
The balcony’s sliding door
is poorly insulated, and a cold draft
creeps in all the spare rooms.
The Secret Library
Words hide behind a bland façade, carefully
arranged in codes of whim and chance, secret ciphers
for those in the know, as store fronts stand guard, distracting
prying eyes before blending into the Saturday crowd, arousing
no suspicion, and plain-clothes librarians smuggle lines
through edgy customers, creep unseen up the back stairs
to sink into leather armchairs, surrounded by books and silence.
Out in the street, frustrated car horns blare, irate
parents berate impatient children, and a homeless loner
raises his head to a sound like turning pages, distant
thunder, flowers falling hard from the cloudless sky.
screen of your personal
Randall K. Rogers
screen of your personal
(has you vague, in between
riddles, resource; shielded)
what’s more complex than self
the stirring world wonders
Here is Me
i have a secret
i have an awful secret
and i can’t tell anyone
you see, my life
would fall apart
if anyone knew
i’m some one different
but here is me
The Augury of Death as Portent
Rose E. Grier
We talk, a meditative mirage, our decades of dreams.
We watch them disintegrate before our hearts.
Like a slow sinking ship being vulnerably gulped.
A resounding swig.
Precious bubbles rising to the top.
You go. Come back.
I watch as helplessly as you.
My love, I am drowning in pre-packaged sorrow.
No words when, pithily, a look says it all.
The Two Halves of December
Jill L. Ferguson
Shop, shop, shop
buy, buy, buy
wrap, wrap, wrap
Party, party, party
gorge, gorge. Gain.
Exhale, relax, nap
because January = gym.