Question

Old lovers often want to know

where did the good of old love go

in which space beneath the heart

did the death of old love start

could it have been solved or cured

with incantation or resolving word;

but we who live in the age of treason

are fools to look to love for reason

there is no button we can press

that offers the broken dead redress

so how can something mad as love

as mad as soldiers on the move

conform to potions, ritual, prayer

when so much blood hangs in the air?

- FRED JOHNSTON

Winter Sonnet

It has become imperative to laugh:

Now that the decades are nearing seven

And sleep snatches up in armchair or couch,

Bed is a black and scratchy, fretful bin.

When fat tears spill at trifling sentiment

And knee joints yelp down steps to genuflect.

Rainy mornings, no man’s lands of torment,

Cold, a sadistic courier of sick.

Essential then to seize on sunny days,

Seek out sharp comedians, crazy clowns,

The big-eyed amaze on a baby’s face,

An indignant panjandrum upside down

And laugh, an unfettered howling guffaw,

Feel the sun so close, kiss the shining star.

- DANIEL REARDON