Monday, December 28, 2015

Man with the Can by Donal Mahoney

Image (c) Carol Bales
Every morning
before the sun comes up
there’s a feral cat on our deck
waiting for a can of Fancy Feast.
It’s been that way for years.

It’s not always the same cat
because feral cats come and go
but barring a downpour of rain
or an overnight pile of snow
there’s always a cat
outside our door, looking
through the screen
waiting for service,
sometimes licking its lips.

The same cat can appear
at the door for weeks,
months, even years.
They’re close friends
with my wife but not with me.
We aren’t enemies but
the cats favor my wife.
I understand why.

The cats find our house, I think,
not because the cat underground
says the food’s good but 
somehow the cats know
my wife was a farm girl
that barn cats loved before
she went off to college and
took a job in the city.

I think they begin to believe
my wife is one of them
because almost every summer
she comes out in the afternoon
and sits on the deck and
the morning cat comes back
over the fence and hops up
on her lap for a serious petting.

Over the years the cats and I
have been acquaintances at best.
They know I’m the one who puts 
the can out before dawn
while my wife sleeps in.
But not one of them has ever
cozied up to me, the caterer,
or why not call it as it is,

the man with the can.
I have no problem with that
even if the best greeting
I can expect is caterwauling
on the rare morning I’m slow
popping the lid.

Friday, December 11, 2015

The Devil's Footman by Cosmas Chivandire

Image (c) :

Harangued by voiceless
apparitions from numerous 
encounters with his own limits 
as a man, the comrade ruminates,
considers his life.
In the days when tuxedos were all the rage
he could use a bowtie to suppress
the truth inside his epiglottis, a
Russian here-a Belgian there.
He still remembers 
that time when he would speak
or conjure, how his men danced 
as women wept while 
he, cool as a bassist
could raise a battalion with a finger,
a village with a thumb.
Today he collects
mostly smoked cigarette 
butts on Barrow Street 
for attempting to distort 
not only the truth 
in this world, but that 
which lives within the fields
of our imagination.

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Sterner Stuff by Gary Beck

Lust for power,
prestige, privilege
provides the energy
propelling the few
to outdistance many.
The urge to attain
fruits of ambition
drives seekers
to forget compassion,
ignore morality,
renounce decency
and crush whoever
gets in their way.

Tuesday, October 6, 2015

Endless thoughts by Collin Banda

Image (c) -

If  l should die
And you should live,
Because l could not stop for death
He kindly stopped for me,
Do not make the same mistake 
Least you end up being here with me.
Live life with a purpose,
To serve God and save humanity.
Seek pure joy and the rest will be added.
It’s so funny how all seems clear
As l look on from this place.
How l wish someone had told me
Just like l am telling you.
All is vanity.
Just like the mist in the air
It will all disappear.
Joy, love and happiness
This is the essence of life.
The place l am seems a bit quiet
And hence l took this time to write to you. 
I died and you lived,
Because l could not stop for death
He kindly stopped for me,
Do not make the same mistake 
Least we end up writing together from here.