Kirby Doyle:    Pre American Ode

 John Mueller; New Anchorage
                        Be Limber
                        Green Stem

 Tisa Walden:  Chapter VI. from Mothering a Hero
                        a novel in progress

 Beaudelaire (translation by-Oliver C. Dombey):
Sorrows of the Moon
Fantastic Engravings
Spleen

 Kaye McDonough:  George

 Neeli Cherkovski;    From an Amsterdam Notebook
                                 I've Begun a Revolution
                                 For Ordinary Prosodist
                                 For Ananda
                                 Five Loves
                                 For Diana
                                 Long-Haired

 Lawrence Ferlinghetti:    Paris Transformations

 John T. Chance:   One Side at a Time
                              Study of Yeats
                              Jesus
                              Xenphon Spoke Once
                              
 Bob Kaufman:   Poems

 Mel Clay:     Untitled

 Ken Wainio:    Buying a Car

 Howard Hart:   Ravel
                         Blue Parcels
                         Charmelle
                         Dexterity
                         Deja Vu

 Rilke(thanslations by John Mueller) :    3 of 7 poems

 Nanos Valaoritis:    Impossible Poem

 Anita Valerio:    Troubador - (This Silence is Deafening)

 Gary Johnston:  At the Beautiful Bijou
                           The Falling Snow Wore
                           Now it's Spring And

Poets have a continuing
relation with poetry
that the godly cannot
comprehend ) -

Thy altar is the page
of poem the poet writes.

Kirby Doyle, excerpt from Pre American Ode, 1st poem in beatitude #30"

 

 

 

 

 

Now, it's Spring and
trees float in the sky
we drink cool water with
the thirst of thundering
ponies
This morning you appear
like a bright flower
torn by thorns
the black light in yr
eyes give me a vision of a
Chicago nightclub &
dancing with a sudden
thunderstrom
we gaze snowblind at a
Russian ballet with clay
statues of Abraham Lincoln
falling silently on the
applauding audience.

~ Gary Johnston,
last poem in beatitude #30