Life by Emily Butcher

Bluestone Review, 2009

Bluestone Review, 2009

Life is at the tree’s branches,

Swaying in the wind.

Wondering as a bird searching

For a landing ground.

Asking a small child in a

Clueless world.

Rising, falling, as the ships at sea.

As dark as a cave underground.

As hopeful as the beauty of sunrise.

As wonderful as hearts of pure gold.

Life.

Endless sorrow and joy.

A cycle of love.

Gone Fishin’ by Steve Warren

Bluestone Review, 2009

Bluestone Review, 2009

it’s really simplebait the hook-throw the line
no judgement
no remorse

in the silence
speak to our personal god
turn inward-listen sometimes
seek what we already are
when the line breaks
there are no tears
only laughter as
joy brings us power

when we land a catch
the power becomes
all the more
amazingly obvious

as we lose ourselves
the find ourselves
in the glory of the day
you think we are only fishing

The Other by Sean Lance

Bluestone Review, 1998

Bluestone Review, 1998

I saw him again today
You know the one I’m talking about
I see him every day
I see his knowing eyes glaring through me
He knows the things I have done
He knows the things I’m doing
He knows all the things I will do
I know every contour of his face as he knows mine
I turn to him for help; he doesn’t
I go to him to comfort me; he won’t
I reach out with trembling hand to him
All I feel is the cold lifeless surface of the
Mirror that separates us

Do I Smell Like a Poem by Salvatore Buttaci

Bluestone Review, 2009

Bluestone Review, 2009

Do I smell like a poem? Like flowers
or the scent of the sky and sea? What’s with me?
You who hold the pen, stare blindly at screens
in dark rooms, what do you know of pain and
hardship? I am a poem!  Forget what makes me
tick. The measures, the accents you might
dance me through. I live a full-life in
lines of desperation and of love (or hate)
but when all is said and done, on this paper,
on that screen, in this magazine, I stand
proud I’ve made it here, made it one more day.

A Little Note About Us by Hillary Oliver

We are
two strange creatures
to see and feel and hear
what others do not know exists.
A book is a wonderland of contentment
and words are joys we write.

Bluestone Review, 1998

Bluestone Review, 199

To us love is a deepened thought
we feel but cannot speak
and thus attempt to
touch each others heart with a smile.
Snow-white snow is a quiet dream
and hot tea is our pleasure.
We are geniuses of friendship
insanely full of life.
Music is a cloud we sail upon
and the moon our diamond sun.
Cold air brings our hands together
and gentle joy our lips.
And we often talk of little delights
like peanut butter is sticky
and snowflakes have ears.

Night Creature by Jim Clark

Another world from our own transpires each day,
In which nocturnal creatures live and play,

Bluestone Review, 1995

Bluestone Review, 1995

From dusk to dawn there can be found,
Within the night the varied sound,
Of the likes of possum, coon, and owl,

Foraging onward beneath the stars,
Driven by instinct these animals are

Free to roam, unbothered by all,
These creatures of the night follow their call

Free from agendas, that bind us to sleep
Forward to trudge, no schedules to keep,

Into this life, could I retreat,
Far away from the stress that I must meet.

There Are Two Moons

There Are Two Moons

By Marland Funk

 

There are two moons:
One in the sky, 
the other in the water.
The moon in the sky is befriended by
millions of twinkling stars,
whereas the moon in the water
has fireflies dancing around it.
Crickets chirp in the midst,
A fish jumps,
The wind whispers. 
The world sleeps.
The two moons and I still remain.
I do not know which
I am deceived by more – 
the true moon
or its rippling reflection.
I try to reach for them both
and in return grasp the dark nothingness.
Then I realize
I am not worthy to grasp the moon
and that I am deceiving myself.
So I go back alone into the cold.
And there are two moons.