The Rainbow Journal
Issue 7
January 13, 2015
THEME: Tree/s
FEATURING: Craig Brandis, Joanna M. Weston, Janeswaree Sweta Maloo, J.D. Isip, Fred Zirm, A.J. Huffman, Paula Schulz, Janet Garber and David Subacchi
Wintering Over
by Craig Brandis
the wildlife refuge
has old oak trees
the way we
have relatives
gathered in clans
and spending decades
not
speaking
Biography: Craig Brandis is a singer-songwriter living in Portland, Oregon. His poems have been published in the Camel Saloon and the Friends of William Stafford newsletter.
The Leaf
by Joanna M. Weston
grab it
before the tree falls
catch that last falling memory
before it rots and leaves you high and dry
lonely
stuck waiting beside the passing train
holding one yellow leaf
Biography: Joanna M. Weston is married. She has two cats, multiple spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, ‘Those Blue Shoes', published by Clarity House Press; and poetry, ‘A Summer Father’, published by Frontenac House of Calgary. Her eBooks found at her blog: http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/
Dreaming Bark
by Sweta Maloo
A lone Pink Pigeon sat by -
witnessing life defile,
in half-sipped breaths, zinging to the call of Death,
feeding Black River, in dripping drops.
“Stop!” And coupling Calamindas clouds bumped
into their front’s back - then, faded quickly.
Two twining twigs soared
to Sega with the gusts - but failed lamely.
Wait became a warm infested blanket;
lasting so long that pariahs eating my soul hollow
were now common friends - when I saw
a chopped-off bark, dreaming of being
a full-grown Ebony tree again!
Its dead leaf was not so dead either.
I felt its tremor,
like a derelict carcass filled with vigour.
And if luck’s caress was not misplaced,
a pale consolation breathed in the cove of pain,
nestling the tender birds’ loveseat, albeit stained.
Then suddenly, I was a loose compass,
yearning to revive the Dodo with incantations,
ignoring cyclone Carol’s bad eye,
weaving tempestuous dreams anew.
Only dry laughter dropped wet sorrow
from my fading forefather’s absent bone-marrow.
Biography: Sweta Maloo is a young writer from Mauritius. She writes poetry as a hobby. She has been published by The Rainbow Rose and Dead Snakes namely.
Planting a Fruit Tree
by J.D. Isip
Plunging fingers into dirt – feel for life, soft soil
lifted like a prayer – to make the hole.
Moved topsoil, the spoiled elements, earliest emptiness –
Fingering potted lavender stocks to look interested, to look
unempty, unlonely, unaffected –
Filling time with lilacs and primrose, long projects, long
hours without connection…
Plant perennials – they last all year – sturdy, reliable
like the friendships, pets and God of the past
years when I didn’t notice gardens.
Border plants, dwarf shrubs, not all flowers – some story
being told in plants on the front lawn of each house
I never noticed –
How suffocating the void is.
Biggest hole so far – the first tree, a fruit tree
the gift of whole seasons of waiting:
growth spurts to gab over, blossoms for snap shots,
an hour each day to celebrate – the reason
dying couples get pregnant.
Pouring fistfuls of dirt, filling the loose spaces
packing every crevice, every moment.
Packing.
Every.
Packing.
Moment.
Biography: J.D. Isip’s poetry, plays, and short fiction have appeared in several online and print journals. His poetry collection Pocketing Feathers will be released by Sadie Girl Press in 2015. J.D. is a professor living in Plano, Texas. He is a California native who misses Disneyland very much. He is the editor for Ishaan Literary Review.
A Hazy Shade of Spring
by Fred Zirm
The leaves start as the lightest green
fog, caught in the trees’ bare branches,
then condense into darker clouds
summoning spring’s perfect storm –
the sudden shower of birdsong,
bright lightning of the newborn sun,
and the comic thunder of the frogs.
Biography: Fred Zirm is a recently retired English and drama teacher with a B.A. and M.A. in English from Michigan State and an M.F.A. in playwriting from the University of Iowa. His poetry and flash fiction have been published in Voices de la Luna, Still Crazy, and The Rejected Quarterly. He lives in Rockville, MD and is also an avid cyclist who has scaled many of the major climbs of the Tour de France.
The Tree Outside My Window
by A.J. Huffman
is a ghost, a hollow
echo of what it once was.
Graying decay, disintegrating
in wind’s bare breath, falls
in time to the chimes of midnight’s tolls.
Feigning sleep
in the perceived comfort of my room,
I listen to my own roots turning.
Will anyone hear me
when my limbs meet the floor?
I am sure the answer is buried somewhere
in the lack of ash, left
as we both disappear.
Biography: A.J. Huffman has published nine solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses. She also has two new full-length poetry collections forthcoming, Another Blood Jet (Eldritch Press) and A Few Bullets Short of Home (mgv2>publishing). She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and her poetry, fiction, and haiku have appeared in hundreds of national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, Kritya, and Offerta Speciale, in which her work appeared in both English and Italian translation. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press. www.kindofahurricanepress.com
Tree Talking
by Paula Schulz
What I like best about trees is their voice—
above all high color and heavy fruit, their
staticky chatter. They’re always passing
secrets to each other in a kind of
percussive music. This is what birds first learn
rocking in their airy cradles-- what they work
all their days to embellish. Leaves lisping,
in spring sliding lithe bodies past each other,
or in autumn, reaching with arthritic hands
to applaud their lives one last time. They speak
as maracas, scuttling down the sidewalk
with a raspy good-bye. Stepped into grass,
they shatter to a broken symphony,
and blending back to earth, they say to us:
this is the joyous song of becoming.
Biography: Paula Schulz lives in Slinger, Wisconsin with her husband Greg. She has spent countless hours loving the trees in her backyard.
Trees in a Hurricane
by Janet Garber
We can take anything you can throw at us
That’s what we were always taught.
Bend. Sashay. Flutter. Shimmy.
Do what you have to.
Beckon. Sway. Stretch out an arm.
Do the Cha-cha.
Play the fool –
Don’t forget what you learned in school!
The wind may blow
And lightning strike
First thing you know
The ground may move.
The mud may swirl
So plant your feet
Your roots will curl
Sink to your knees
But always dance for all you’re worth!
Biography: Janet Garber lives on the outskirts of NYC with her husband and two cats and whichever children happen to be visiting. She has published in several literary journals: Bohemia, Caesura, Contrapositions, Heyday Magazine, Minerva Rising, Newtown Literary, Up, Do Anthology, When Women Waken, Writing Tomorrow. Her poem A Cat and Two Aspirins in the Morning was nominated for a Pushcart Prize after it appeared in the Velvet Paws anthology.
Wild Cherry
by David Subacchi
In the end we took the saw blade to you
You bent it in defiance and the small
Domestic chain cutter suffered
The same treatment
From your enraged branches
You were not for yielding
With a sweet fruit prey
To every bird and mammal
A trunk that seals its own wounds
To exclude insects and infections
Toughness was a quality
Inbred in you from the outset
A stubborn hard presence
Crossing my neighbour’s boundary
You had become the object
Of unwelcome attention
An obstruction to goodwill
Reddish, brown wood
Prized for cabinet making
And musical instruments
For smoking foods
And tobacco pipes
You clung fiercely to life
And when finally
We prevailed with brute force
And deadly technology
You groaned loudly in protest
As we struggled to sever each limb
Our faces red with the effort
And with the shame
Of what our sticky hands
Had accomplished
Prunus avium, Wild Cherry
Rest in peace
Forgive our barbarity.
Biography: David Subacchi lives in Wales (UK). He was born in the medieval walled town of Aberystwyth on the West Coast of Italian roots. He writes in both English and Welsh and performs his work regularly. Cestrian Press has published two collections of his poems. ‘First Cut’ (2012) and ‘Hiding in Shadows’ (2014) and David has been widely published internationally.