Brand new work by Mary Anna Kruch
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.
Tuesday, September 7, 2021
Friday, August 13, 2021
The editor is taking a hiatus trying to learn logic. Please check back later. https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.6435-9/233414522_10159314495969920_4659910229964571291_n.jpg?_nc_cat=104&ccb=1-5&_nc_sid=8bfeb9&_nc_ohc=nSza12huRj8AX-vCtL3&_nc_oc=AQnpFCSQKGE2OprpnQUH7v4uWm43VdKO8zSa28CobuR70Lb45te3ZSzbmbw7NZo5B3Y&tn=qeR2eExDsmyxugoE&_nc_ht=scontent-sea1-1.xx&oh=f0dcf5c17d680dae7027f3db817e0671&oe=613CD1C9
Thursday, July 15, 2021
Three poems by George Held
Dust under the Rug
How
Mom loved that tale
of
“Dust under the Rug,”
with
all its didactic
clamor
and finger-shaking
accompaniment
to
instill fear in her
dopey
kids, that is, me
and
my little sister.
Sis
was a sucker
for
such dire threats and took
them
to heart, while I shook
them
off with precocious
cynicism.
My mind
translated
“dust” into
gunk,
crud, dirt, crap, trash,
or
roach carcasses, mouse
turds,
squashed peas, and, older,
into
lines of metered prose
memoir
poems, neo-
Beat
bombast – other stuff
I
then stuffed under the rug.
Kawagarasu
in
Japanese
are
the Big and Little Dippers
or
Ursa Major and Minor,
seen
by the Greeks as bears.
Would
we love them more as
Momma
Bear and Baby Bear,
Teddy’s
that inspire insipid
cartoons
and commercials,
Or
do we embrace them
because
they seem close enough
to
dip water from a barrel and pour
it
into a glass or because
they
are so terribly far away?
“Boss”
The ticket taker says, “Thanks, Boss,”
The laundry man says, “No starch, Boss,”
The cleaning lady says, “Next time, Boss,”
And you grate at being called “Boss,”
Because you used to be a soda jerk,
gas-pump jockey, delivery boy –
The Reporter-Dispatch, special-
delivery mail, pharmacy prescriptions –
and got chased by the snarling Doberman
in the yard (“Don’t worry—he’s quite friendly!”)
and called “You Fock” by your rotten boss,
so you smile and squash the urge to say, “Don’t
call me ‘Boss,’” and squelch the itch to
reply, “You’re welcome, Mother Fucker.”
Sunday, June 6, 2021
Poem by Keith Holyoak
Keith Holyoak
Out of Kilter
All day the world felt just a bit off
balance. And yet, nothing was really wrong—
the late summer sun shone at least as bright
as yesterday (though not for quite so long).
Barbecue weather—kind of day to loaf
outside, tracking a hummingbird in flight.
The sun blazed crimson, dimmed, and then was gone.
Tonight, lying beside my wife, I caught
a knife-edged moon peering at us. I held her
tight to my chest, as though we both might float
away without seeing another dawn.
Hard to sleep when the world’s gone out of kilter….
Been meaning to catch up—figured to give
you a call soon. Your voice inside my head
retells a story. Smiling, I’m amused to
hear it again—till I recall instead
how this day was the first I’ve been alive
when you are not. Takes some getting used to.
in memory of Edward E.
Smith, 1940-2012
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Submit poems to Chrysanthemum Poems by email to koonwoon@gmail.com
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Koon Woon in Quail Bell Journal: http://www.quailbellmagazine.com/the-unreal-20/poetry-seattle-3-poems-by-koon-woon
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A Mathematical Abecedarian Poem A problem is to calculate the Beta function at alpha = 1/2, where it is Continuous, has a transcendental...