CHRYSANTHEMUM / FIVE WILLOWS LITERARY REVIEW is an Online literary review of the Chrysanthemum Literary Society for selected works that fit the spirit of Mr. Five Willows. Send your work via email to koonwoon@gmail.com both in the body of the email and as an attached Word file. Response time is immediate to 2 weeks. Thank you. All donations are tax-deductible.
Friday, May 6, 2022
Heather Sager ______________________ poem
Friday, April 22, 2022
John Grey _____________________ three poems
CONFINED TO BED WITH BOOKS A-PLENTY
The heroes, the heroines,
the casts of thousands,
made themselves comfortable
on the blanket top.
Then they went to work.
It was December.
The trees outside were stripped bare.
Head cocked on my elbow,
I reported to the protagonist
as he scampered across the hillside,
pursued by soldiers.
Shots rang out.
He tumbled down the side of a hill,
Thankfully, the bullets missed.
Wind picked up,
rattled the windows.
It began to snow,
even in in my room,
but only for a page or two.
I KNOW IT’S STILL FEBRUARY BUT…
Another fake spring.
Some melting.
A bud here and there.
A sun worthy of the name.
But then temperature drops.
More snow falls.
Thawed liquid freezes into ice.
Buds retreat.
Old Sol is more trickster
than benefactor.
The calendar givers orders.
Eventually, weather does what it is told.
APRIL-TUDE
Wild rain and better things to come.
Bird calls from all over the globe
not just the wintry residents.
Inspired by wind,
I'm whirling and twirling again.
I can still be cold
but not the kind of bitterness
that moves in for the kill.
The nights don't smother the day any longer,
fit neatly into their appropriate hours.
The full moon is fuller.
The new moon is newer.
The half-moon ignores the other half.
From meadow to forest,
wilderness is wildness once again.
Soon enough, pollen invades my nostrils.
Long, languid days drag me sunward.
An old song sings in my mouth and my skin ripens.
Wednesday, April 20, 2022
Three poems ____________________ Julie A. Dickson
Not
like the Classics
[nods to Catcher in the Rye, The
Member
of the Wedding and The Fox]
I
don’t remember Holden Caulfield,
never
read of his disillusionment, dead
brother,
phony adults and failed schools
until
I met a real life Holden, nothing
like
the classic novel, full of wonder, I
was
a member of a wedding, a bridesmaid
twice,
never felt part of a group as a teen,
indeed
struggled for a place among adults,
not
like the classic, runaway begging to
be
accepted, sat on the wooded edges like
a
fox, observing life, no jealousy, just
marched
on, few women friends, men
entered
and left, some without incident,
others
leaving heartache, not like them -
classics
where a tree falls atop a friendship
Julie
A. Dickson
Exeter,
New Hampshire
Role
Reversal
She
suddenly had the feeling that she
was
somehow older than her mother
Gram
died only weeks before, not even
time
enough to grieve for herself, but
mom
was obviously lost, after months
of
hospital visits, time was empty now,
a
hole where her vigil used to be, daily
phone
calls from mom to gram, gone.
She
naturally stepped into a new role,
checking
on mom often, welcome calls
filling
a void also allowed them to bond,
a
new relationship was forming, a kind
of
role reversal; now she felt as mother
Julie
A. Dickson
Exeter,
New Hampshire
waiting to die
foot
turned in
stroked
out look
on
her pallid face
holds
the same book
for
hours
blank
expression stare,
without
seeing words
going
through motions
familiar
yet absurd
stumbles
through
endless day
even
longer night
sits
weary
no
more does she fight
to
speak
no
one hears
her
strained voice
barely
a whisper
given
no choice
waiting
to die
Julie
A. Dickson
Exeter,
New Hampshire
Monday, April 11, 2022
Poem _______________ David Gilmour
DEPTH GAUGE
Standing on the
sunlit bank
Throw yourself into
the stream, shadow and all
If you are in
substance ready to plumb the depth.
The experience you
suffer daily is enough to appall;
Immersion in that
material swamp—contents not forms.
Viewing the
off-season family theatre from the crack
In the stage door;
star-struck neighbors hanging round,
Stiff with drink,
animated bags, stalking before the flood-
Lights and
backtracking into the barren set.
There’s furniture,
sure, the place is packed,
Furniture and
pictures just for the sake of mood.
You are seeking
contact with the wild world,
Aren’t you? I mean
beyond the daily tragedy,
Where unnerved Furies
can be temporarily tamed
By gutbusting
laughter, or where a saint, crowned
By an atom-bomb
blast, stands as an icon on a knoll,
Glowing like the
beaming Dalai Lama in Dharamshala.
Hey! Forget those
black-light dashboard skeletons.
In this scene The
Presence smiles a happy refugee.
Do you really need
the wisdom of bombastic Agamemnon?
Foreverafter fearful
of the backyard bathroom?
That cannot help
much. Noooooooo!
For the scientist and
the poet,
Creative data abounds
To study humankind in
ways beyond the norm:
You know, fragrant
thoughts of forests in Borneo;
An FM-band humming B.
B. King, the blues bard,
Singing “Hummingbird”
just on the verge of twilight
Greening.
Come on then! The horned Bull has been sacrificed,
The Ram has run,
The Fish have played
upon the horizon
In spring morning’s
celestial stream.
If you are going to
enjoy the Waters,
Fall, sun at your
back,
Throw yourself in,
shadow and all.
David Gilmour
Friday, February 25, 2022
Koon Woon in Quail Bell Journal: http://www.quailbellmagazine.com/the-unreal-20/poetry-seattle-3-poems-by-koon-woon
Tuesday, February 1, 2022
Julie Dickson ________________________ three poems
Earth
sadly
I
am the earth sadly waiting to die
below
a vast canopy of green leaves;
flee
from here into expansive blue,
revel
in the view, expanse of kestrel
wings,
shimmer of sun in knowing eyes;
he
sends me back, time not yet over.
Sit
upon my rocks far out on sea
island,
jagged edges biting flesh, raw
memories
run marathon, overlap,
collide,
reality crashes - the past
cannot
separate until a whale breach
sends
spray, sea mist awakens; stand
high
on melting glacier, feet frozen, boots
rated
for below zero don’t cut it, won’t
feel
toes nor fingers, numb like each time
gunshots
heard, screams of children, knives
slice
silent shouts of protest, unappeased
masses,
more weapons amassed to destroy
what
semblance of calm remains as blood
drains,
rivulets careen down streets, footprints
mark
path of humanity, destined to
destroy
species without habitats, elephants
perform
under duress, bears feast as birds
peer
down from canopy of leaves, I expire
slowly,
painful floating waves of plastic,
discarded
refuse in belly of sharks, oil
slick
pelicans suffocate, death on sand –
no
matter ancient commands of worship,
humans
once knew my worth; still progress
into
state of ruination, await my demise.
Julie
A. Dickson
Exeter,
New Hampshire
freezing to death
if i lie down in snow
will fire still burn,
harsh embers
igniting
a frightening
explosion, white flames
erupting, disrupting
coherence
will fire still burn
if i lie down in snow?
Julie A. Dickson
Vigil
Barren the dunes,
landscape of emptiness,
devoid of humanity,
lighthouse keeps vigil,
watchful over ships and sea birds,
blue horizon meets sea of hopefulness,
lighthouse calls out, answering the waves
Julie A. Dickson
Thursday, January 27, 2022
Poem __________________ David Mason
A Mathematical Abecedarian Poem
A problem is to calculate the
Beta function at alpha = 1/2, where it is
Continuous, has a transcendental value and is
Divisible by Beta at 3/2.
Easy enough using
Familiar properties of this function.
Galois theory does not come into play nor do
Hilbert spaces and their special properties.
Indivisible numbers, as well as,
Jordan curves should be avoided. You might get sucked into a
Klein bottle and never get out.
Latin squares may befuddle you or
Manifolds on Lie groups.
Never try to understand
Ordinary differential equations without
Practice in Fourier analysis and knowledge of
Quaternion valued matrices.
Riemannian metrics are essential in talking about
Space that is very curvy.
Time and time again they are
Useful in describing unexpected worlds.
Vector spaces are helpful too
When defining one’s place in space.
Xeno did not know about them when he fashioned his paradox.
Yet it confused philosophers long ago. By the way,
Zeno came up with the famous paradox, not Xeno.
Heather Sager ______________________ poem
Bring the night I, the poet, did walk around that day living like I was actually alive. And the next day, I the poet lived rather like I wa...
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Click on Poetry above to view Thomas Hubbard's two poems
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Bring the night I, the poet, did walk around that day living like I was actually alive. And the next day, I the poet lived rather like I wa...
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Koon Woon in Quail Bell Journal: http://www.quailbellmagazine.com/the-unreal-20/poetry-seattle-3-poems-by-koon-woon