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, December 13, 2019
$1,200 Grant from the WA State Arts Commission
The WA State Arts Commission has just granted the Chrysanthemum Literary Society $1,200 for its Chrysanthemum 2020 Poetry Anthology and a public reading at the C & P Coffee in West Seattle. We deeply thank the WA State Arts Commission for its clear vision in meaningful and necessary poetry for the times we are coping with.
Sunday, December 1, 2019
Julie A.Dickson ---- four poems
Rejoice
Single
bird perched upon snow covered tree
he huddles,
head nestled out of the wind
swaying
his thin frame ‘mong branches blown free,
desolate
landscape, lone bird wonders when
this
storm will subside, the sun to emerge.
Snow
covers feathers, his beak under wing.
Lifts
up his head, storm seems on the verge;
sun
breaks through snow sky, he’s ready to sing.
Flies
over meadow now coated with snow,
straight
to a farmhouse with silos of corn,
scattered,
the seeds, they call from below,
landing
to feast on this cold sun-filled morn.
Recalls
the chill night he spent in the tree,
rejoice
the morning, when storm set him free.
Julie
A. Dickson
Exeter,
NH
Survival
When
words escape me like so many dreams
everything
changes, different it seems.
Travel
upon memory buried in snow,
while
drifts blow over wherever I go.
I
trip over roots, hidden -- I fall
on
my knees but I realize that overall
the
whole point of a journey varies;
some
may stumble while others tarry,
confused,
might wander among the rubble,
pick
through detritus that caused this trouble,
reminisce
smiling past times when I knew
a
trembling voice, from one of a fool.
Isolated,
alone in a din,
Ignored
or passed over -- turn myself in-
to
the fray, if I write about life,
will
they recognize, imagine my strife?
Yes,
overcome, I’ve lived onto this age,
earned
the right to own all of my rage.
A
pass is issued, somewhat of a badge,
a ticket,
an entry to lift up this latch.
Open
a new door, within my own time –
appreciate
brilliance, begin to unwind,
unravel
the voices beneath the snow,
whisper
survival through words I now know.
Julie
A. Dickson
Exeter,
NH
Secret Melon
Lying on the floor in the hallway
unseen
I saw grownups in black slacks,
lace collars
a party in my parent’s house
hidden
I wanted sweet cantaloupe melon,
watching
mother cut fruit all afternoon
fruit salad
for guests she said and only smiled
at my request
for a bite of melon, ripe and delicious
wait, she said,
the leftovers, you can have breakfast
I frowned
I crept into the dining room, under the table
reached up
quickly grabbed a piece of melon,
juicy cantaloupe
I popped it quickly into my mouth,
so delicious.
I crawled back to my bed, still tasting,
happily
I went back to sleep now, waiting
for breakfast
Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
Ashes
I know just where my father’s ashes are interred,
but I wonder if I really knew him.
My mother’s ashes were buried next to his,
but while his were in a faux-granite urn,
hers had been dumped, unceremoniously
from a cardboard box directly into the ground,
by my father ten years earlier.
I thought of this atrocity, this role-reversal,
how much my mother hated dirt,
would have preferred the clean sealed urn.
It was he, who would have wanted to be dumped
into the ground or over the lake he loved,
but instead he was locked inside an urn.
Sometimes I wish I could have torn open his urn,
thrusting him to the wind, scooping up the memory
of my mother, to capture her essence
but then I realize that she is more free
than my father will ever be.
Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
Sunday, November 24, 2019
Jackie Anderson ----- four Cinquains
DAYBREAK
Daybreak
Sipping warm mug
Silent awakening
Newborn day shining pure white light
Clean slate
---------------------------------------------------------
JOLTED
Jolted
Shocked and shaken
Cruel attack rends my heart
Healing faith revives, I will rise
Stronger
--------------------------------------------------------------
MOVED ON
Moved on
Went your own way
Voice smiling through my phone
Like a visit at home today
My son
BROTHER
Brother
Charms, aggravates
My reaching out falls short
In deep abyss of chasm wide
Love hides
Saturday, November 23, 2019
George Held -------- poem
No Light
“To Hell in a hand basket”
“This is the end, my friend”
1.
Only clichés and other folks’ words
come to mind in the lowering dark
of a world gone to pot or to black,
as the pot calls the kettle,
but what are clichés for if not to bring
succor to us suckers who long for light,
not necessarily at the end of the tunnel?
But there’s no light in sight, none.
2.
We who are doomed to die salute you
who motor on in the face of bomb
threats, mass shootings, frightening
policies drawn up by crooked governments,
you who warmly welcome a new child,
you who go to church, synagogue, or mosque
to pray, to receive succor, you who feel divine
peace in the presence of God, a god.
3.
But no god’s in sight, none. So what
if I can’t pray or find peace without,
only rarely within, where there’s no
light, just a reptile response to life?
That’s no question for a lyric;
save it for an ode or an epic
or a drama; stow it away
from the gray light of a new day.
Tuesday, November 19, 2019
Mary Anna Kruch ------------- poem
Angels in the Evening Woods
Far from the city
noise,
I walk the woods,
try to block out a
president
who has made life
hell
for the least among
us --
allowing my
imagination to wander
Night approaches;
I do not fear the dark.
At twilight, the
evening woods
create profound
silhouettes,
they rise, a line
of stiff, solemn soldiers,
heads touching the
navy blue of sunset.
I study how the
towering red pines
shelter families
of deer who live
beneath their
fine-scented branches –
how the trees supply
sanctuary
for even the least
among them.
It is night, but I
cannot close my eyes.
Even during the
hunt,
deer, owls, and rabbits
will sleep in the
shelter of my soldiers,
angels in the
evening woods.
It is night, but I
cannot close my eyes.
I think how
differently guards
at the border view
themselves --
follow orders
blindly
strike fear in the
hearts
of families with
no place to hide in the night.
Where are
humanity’s protectors?
Who supports and
defends families
who flee violence and death?
Those families are
hunted; they fear the dark.
They may be moved
out of sight,
but they cannot be
erased.
The woods cannot
shelter them.
Where are the
protective arms
of civilized duty?
Who supplies sanctuary
for even the least
among them?
Even as I walk far
from the noise
my eyes remain
open.
We must learn
from the angels in
the evening woods.
Thursday, October 24, 2019
Editorial by Koon Woon on Contradictions by Mao
If I can remember well, Chairman Mao said many years ago, there are two kinds of contradictions in the world -- Contradiction between the people and contradiction amongst the people.
Sometimes if a murderer is at your front door, you need to stop arguments inside the house and deal with the murderer at the front door first.
Sometimes if a murderer is at your front door, you need to stop arguments inside the house and deal with the murderer at the front door first.
Monday, October 21, 2019
Haiku --- Lenora Good
Like thin chocolate
the Rio Grande pours past me
I thirst.
Dragonflies
tango above the water
tiny
scarlet flames.
Thor's hammer bounces
across the clouds—
puppy
shakes in fear.
Why is it easier
to accept my death
than yours?
Thursday, October 17, 2019
Three Haiku ----- James Roderick Burns
How dear
the small, lit window!
How distant!
*
Mossy cobbles
flatten and shine under
the wash of tyres
*
Stillness –
the night-bird’s cry flits
from wall to wall
Saturday, October 12, 2019
Julie A. Dickson --- three new poems
The Brand for Real Change
The brand I wear is for freedom
with elephants roaming wild
of dolphins and whales breeching,
living in family pods at sea.
I can’t abide a captive life for them,
behind logos of SeaWorld or zoos,
circus tents with hook-handed handlers
dishing out abuse among rings of fire.
The brand I wear is for fairness for all
gender identities and persons of color,
to live without fear, to gain and maintain rights,
to move forward instead of losing ground.
I can’t abide the fork-tongues of leaders,
daily barrage of violence and hatred;
people yelling across widening chasms
disregarding beckoning hands of friendship.
The brand I wear is a barren beach,
clean sand with pink shells and pebbles,
free from decaying fish and sharks,
dead sea turtles that ingested debris.
I can’t abide the sight of trash,
plastic washing up on the shore,
sea water a floating raft of death,
collateral damage of human waste.
The brand I wear is for real change
for enough people to care and listen,
to stop environmental destruction,
abandon cruelty, protect the earth.
I can’t abide the human apathy,
silence condoning their behavior
to appear deaf and blind to the chaos;
isn’t it time to wake up and change?
Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
Gray
Gray skin sags over a large frame,
skin and bones you might say
I’m not allowed to graze, forage
as nature intends – I wait.
They throw dried grass, sticks.
I amble over to the pile slowly
as my feet are sore and cracked,
pavement hard; it’s been so long
since I felt dirt and grass beneath.
Where are the trees for my itchy hide,
branches to pull on, pungent leaves?
I crave to wander; my eyes close.
I see my herd, ears flapping, rumbles
through the ground, joyous voices,
but when I look again, I am alone -
lonely and penned in, no herd here
just the loud voices of my captors.
Julie A. Dickson
Exeter, NH
Song
of Mother Earth
A
wonderland of nature
sings
a song of mother earth
plants
and animals grow
celebrating
every birth
Listen
to the river
flowing
out to sea
rustle
in the tree tops
birds
call out to me
Hear
the cattle lowing
and
dogs up on a hill
footsteps
in the forest
beneath
the walk until
whispers
from the cloudy sky
cool
breeze blows my hair
scan
the distant mountain range
across
lakes and valleys there
Like
ancestors from our past
worship
moon and father sky
cherish
earth our mother
don’t
let her beauty pass you by
Sit
upon the granite rock
contemplate
the far off plains
sing
a song of mother earth
in
this land where nature reigns
Julie
A. Dickson
Exeter,
NH
Friday, October 11, 2019
Friday, June 28, 2019
Chrysanthemum Poetry Anthology 2020
Submit poems to Chrysanthemum Poetry Anthology 2020 by directly sending Word file to:
koonwoon@gmail.com
You can send up to five poems (under 60 lines each).
There are no required themes, just send the best poems you have now, sort of reluctant to see them go like your child going away to attend college. You and they will be the better for it.
Payment is one copy upon publication and extra copies at a discount.
Wednesday, June 26, 2019
New book by Ivan Arguelles
New release from Goldfish Press
Ivan Arguelles is the winner of the William Carlos Williams Award and the American Book Award.
with an introduction by Jack Foley
Ivan Arguelles is the winner of the William Carlos Williams Award and the American Book Award.
with an introduction by Jack Foley
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
Resurrecting Chrysanthemum Anthology
We are resurrecting Chrysanthemum poetry anthology. Please send poems to or inquire at koonwoon@gmail.com
Please send 3 - 5 unpublished poems to koonwoon@gmail.com
Deadline 12/31/2019 Please no multiple submissions
Reading time is less than 30 days.
Payment will be one copy and additional at discount.
Chrysanthemum 2020 anthology
Please send 3 - 5 unpublished poems to koonwoon@gmail.com
Deadline 12/31/2019 Please no multiple submissions
Reading time is less than 30 days.
Payment will be one copy and additional at discount.
Tuesday, February 19, 2019
Sherry Rabbino Lewis ------------------ five poems
Click on "Poetry" in above menu for poems by Sherry Rabbino Lewis
Five new poems by Simon Perchik
Click on Poetry in the above bar to view Simon Perchik's five new poems
Sunday, February 17, 2019
Sunday, February 10, 2019
Wednesday, January 16, 2019
David Fewster ----- poem
REDISCOVERED MAUDLIN POEM DATED “FREMONT FAIR SUNDAY SUMMER
SOLSTICE SALMON BAY PARK 2000” WRITTEN IN THE MARGINS OF A TORN-OUT STRANGER
COVER AND FOUND IN A PAPERBACK EDITION OF LI PO THAT I STOLE FROM THE VASHON
LIBRARY AROUND THE SAME TIME
by David
Fewster
Saw them get out of their Lexus
to pick up their 10 and 11 year-old daughters
fat, affluent, they were out of
a George Grosz painting,
hands on porcine hips, obviously giving the girls
a lecture on the American
Way .
Disgusted, I bent back over my book,
a biography of the Marquis de Sade,
and surreptitiously took a slug
from my bottle of Hakusan saki,
fermented in the lovely Napa Valley ,
and wouldn’t you like to try it
chilled?
I was interrupted by the sound
of elephants stampeding up a
mountain.
It was the couple,
each with a happy, childlike glint
in their eyes,
running toward the park restrooms.
“Geez, they must have to go
really bad,” I thought,
having been in that situation
15 minutes ago, but the bastards
in the Ballard Parks Dept.
had the damned thing locked,
even if it was Sunday at noon ,
so I pissed in the bushes myself.
But no, they weren’t
there to piss—
their daughters soon
came up, and it was
obviously a game of
hide & seek, and the
look of joy had been from
the game and their love of it.
And I was abashed.
Where I had been
trying to find evil,
when the surface was scratched,
I only discovered
old hippies who
had not lost the
capacity for
having fun.
What the fuck’s
Wrong with me?
Tuesday, January 15, 2019
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
New Forum for Poems: Chrysanthemum Poems (above)
Submit poems to Chrysanthemum Poems by email to koonwoon@gmail.com
-
Submit poems to Chrysanthemum Poems by email to koonwoon@gmail.com
-
Koon Woon in Quail Bell Journal: http://www.quailbellmagazine.com/the-unreal-20/poetry-seattle-3-poems-by-koon-woon
-
A Mathematical Abecedarian Poem A problem is to calculate the Beta function at alpha = 1/2, where it is Continuous, has a transcendental...