​I saw you in the future holding another woman’s baby.
I saw you talking to her.
You were making her happy--
You didn’t know I was watching. Please
do not refuse this to say I’m overreacting.
 
In the past you gave a banquet just for me
inviting everyone I ever knew,
even Shirley Temple was there.
You thought of everything. I didn’t lift a finger.
 
You had the broccoli and cauliflower shimmering
on each plate with a single slice of bread perfectly
designed with its spread
and more of everything in the kitchen.
 
Didn’t you know it was never that I wanted?
I wanted to take you in my arms and love you to death. 
I woke up hungry from that dinner. And now there is the future,
 no denying it.  I saw it distinctly in my bad dream.
 
I was on a trip lost in work writing on a cliff,
seven miles away from anyone and you were at home

with your new heart – and for this nightmare there is no defense. 
​

In the vast white of Antarctica,
We ventured, hearts entwined.
On the Endurance, echoes of past eras,
We sailed through the Drake Passage,
A journey through towering waves,
A prelude to our union.
Amidst the penguins – Adélies, Gentoos, Chinstraps –
Witnesses in their monochrome suits,
We exchanged vows.
Their curious eyes, our silent congregation,
On the ice shelf of Blind Bay,
Where icebergs carve sculptures from the deep.
The air, crisp and clean,
A canvas of purity,
Breathed into us a new beginning.
Sounds of the wilderness,
The crackling whispers of shifting ice,
The only symphony we needed.
Under the gaze of a sun that barely sleeps,
The colors of the ice –
Blues, whites, hints of green –
Painted a backdrop of surreal beauty.
Here, in this frozen sanctuary,
Life thrives in its resilient dance.
Penguin highways, well-trodden paths,
Etched in the snow,
A testament to survival and grace.
New life, in the form of fluffy chicks,
A continuation of cycles ancient and revered.
As whales and seals graced distant waves,
We felt the pulse of this wild place,
A rhythm that echoed our own.
Lectures and studies of penguin life,
Words of scientists and dreamers,
Added layers to our understanding.
This journey, more than a crossing,
A voyage into the depths of our souls,
Where love, like the Antarctic,
Is vast, mysterious, and awe-inspiring.
In the land of endless white and midnight sun,
We found a love as enduring as the ice itself.

​Behind my house a cock
crows, boisterous, proud;
hens cluck and peck, unfazed.
 
From the window I watch
A gaudy buoy bob, gamely
Marking its vacant anchor.
 
His wine glass, smudged and empty,
Leaves a pale ring
On mahogany.
 
Life, ardent and disorderly,
Stanches the hemorrhaging
Of my concave heart.
 
The cock crows;
The buoy bobs;
The glass dries.
​

​Janice F. Booth is a writer and teacher. Jan’s poetry is included in The Song In the Room: Six Women
Poets, The Antioch Poetry Retreat: a Gathering of Poets, The Road Beneath Our Feet and periodicals,
including S/He Speaks and Avocet. As a journalist she writes a monthly “Gardens” column.

Into an iron cauldron
Placed o’er a burning brand
She sprinkled ingredients.
 
Web of a wolf spider
Gathered at the dawn,
Ten crumbled Christmas cones… 
 
Intuitive spell craft
She practiced, but a child,
As she stirred the bubbling brew.
 
Fungus from the fairy ring
found beneath the oak
Dried and powdered to dust…
 
Seen only by the wild things
Deep in her family’s woods
Sheltered by tall timbers
 
Lucky four leafed clover,
Dandelion fluff,
A shedded serpent skin…
 
Her sweat and tears tumbled
Into the iron pot
Making wishes come true.
​

Kerry E.B. Black, author of TAZ Award Finalist Poetic Nightmares, four short story collections (Carousel of Nightmares, Fairy Herds and Mythscapes, Nightmares on Holidays, and the TAZ winning Herd of Nightmares), and two YA Paranormal Thrillers (Awakening at Equinox and Spring of Spirits), lives in a cottage sinking into a swamp situated along the Allegheny River. 
https://www.KerryEBBlack.com

We stand two-thirds of the way broken,
and the airports are packed with ecotourists.
Inside our bodies, micro-plastics infiltrate
our blood stream, but our pants have never fit better.
 
Here, the world around us is mostly shiny, but
the kids still cry their pain and suffering.  The solution
is to take a loan and go to Disney.  We gulp ibuprofen
by the handful, and promise there will be better days
ahead.
 
Old Bobby Frost said, “Good fences make good neighbors.”
Wry Yankee wit, but he’s right . . . Having a boundary
is a reminder that we share the same land, same air,
and same sky.  There are limits.
 
Those New England stone walls that dot the landscape
Or are found along the half-worn trails in the woods,
artifacts of our agrarian past, were pulled from thin soil,
stacked to allow other things, a garden or livestock
to flourish, by keeping something in.
 

​

Gardeners don’t like to talk about it,
but their work is death as much as life.
Yes, the favored plants are nourished,
a sprinkle of water and fertilizer,
a string lightly tied to a stick.
But other plants are poisoned or pulled,
hacked or hoed, the word “weed”
pinned to their coats like a sentence.
 
And that's fine; that's the way of this world.
Some books are alphabetized on the shelf;
others are boxed for Goodwill.
Some clothes return to their hangers,
others tossed in the discard carton.
Some friends are invited to the next party;
some numbers are never called again.
 
Even this poem, which began with so many words,
contains only a few lucky survivors,
the others scratched out with surprising fury.

​

We have not gone paperless
We have gone people less
We do more and they do less
We check  ourselves out
We bag we pay we push their buttons
We put their  cart back
We thank ourselves
We don’t call
We chat with the bot
We travel over seas for customer service
We wait and wait wading through lousy music
And wait to speak to a person
Who knows less than  we do
I now know all the holidays in the Philippines
They are so kind and polite
While we eat our cell
Phone and cell phone ingestion
Stats rise
You get a three percent discount I’ll have to give you 5 percent
I don’t have a 3 percent key.
Is that ok. ​

​I miss you...
phoning
just to say hello.

I miss you...
calling
to hear about  your day.

I miss you...
coming here to stay
giving me
your precious time.

I miss...
our travels together
taking in the sights
like kids set free
on a playground
finding pleasure
in exploring new things.

I miss...
your smile
sharing
hearty laughs.

I miss...
your affection
warm hugs
when you greet me
at the door.

I miss...
lying next to you
the warmth of
your physical presence
feeling secure
your arm wrapped around me.

I miss...
life with you
loving you
growing older with you.

Knowing...
You were my ONE.
I miss you.

​