One poem by Peggy Trojan

BOOK LOUSE

Reading at the dining table,

I saw from the corner of my sight,

one of the periods moving

across the page. 

I watched it make its way

over the paper.

It had some destination in mind.

Did not run around like ants do,

but headed straight east

onto the tablecloth’s

four feet of white desert.

I could not think of how to help it,

as once I saved an orange

caterpillar from sure death

by turning him at the edge

of a hot two lane blacktop,

heading him back into the grass.

But this speck of being?

Where did it come from?

Where was it going?

In the vast world,

would it ever find a lover,

or a friend?

Peggy Trojan, former English teacher, enjoys retirement in the north woods of Wisconsin. Widely published in journals and anthologies: Boston Literary Magazine, Naugatuck River Review, Echoes, Your Daily Poem, Wilda Morris Poetry Challenge and others.  She is the author of two chapbook collections: Everyday Love (2014) and Homefront (Evening Street Press, 2015). Her full length poetry collection, Essence (Portage Press, 2015), is the most recent publication. 

One poem by Richard Doiron

A MODICUM OF KNOWING

Don't look on my surface side,

concluding you have discovered
the true landscape of my being.
While walking the valley floor,
one does not have the vantage
point of the eagle that soars.
The earthworm deep in a burrow
has a greater understanding of
that which is at the core of life.
If you must look into me even
in the least, far better to close
your eyes and listen to my heart.
Connect with my soul, which
scampers as it will - and must -
or fail in your conclusions. Think.
Still waters run deep while, more 
often than not, ripples in streams
denote not depths but shallows. 
As such, then, be not be as ripples, 
rushing into conclusions. In the end,
too, know that it is the stillness in 
your very own being that allows you 
to fathom even a modicum of that 
which is my true essence.

Richard Doiron is poet from New Brunswick, Canada. He is the author of 17 books. Twice nominated for the Governor-General's Award; work read at the United Nations, the 4th World Congress of Poetry & Cultures; winner of several International literary competitions; an estimated 1000 poems published in books and anthologies; recipient of the 2012 World Poetry Lifetime Achievement Award.

One poem by Saloni Kaul

CURVATURE

(A Promised Sonnet)

Always well ahead of trickiest curve

That sees the glinting road ahead clearly stretch,

Mapping, planning, plotting longest route with verve

To stay a head ahead of curves that promises flash fetch;

Curvacious as those promises that sprightly look ahead,

Without confines of locked immediate commitment;

Glowing and beautiful, rosy and ever-red,

The setting sun leaves its own light as temporary settlement.

At rising, old sweetness forgot, as promise light at dark,

It storms forth blazing on its course’s curves.

Its beams stream well ahead of each curve point plot in the arc,

Quite unlike us on road, from its path it ne'er swerves.

Is it worthwhile to be promiser or one promised?

Neither gives nor gets! Promise’s curve is compromised.

Saloni Kaul, author and poet, was first published at the age of ten and has been in print since. As critic and columnist Saloni has enjoyed thirty seven years of being published. Saloni Kaul's first volume, a fifty poem collection was published in the USA in 2009. Subsequent volumes include Universal One and Essentials All. 

One poem by Sylvia McCullough

SWEET EARTH'S

spicy powers, sweet remedies,

sweet almost as love.

Touched by Venus, her perfumes

bewitch us with their sorcery.

She gives us love potions,

nosegays brightening our shadows.

Her opium fragrance,

lures us, half dreaming,

to our earthy bed carpeted

with wild flowers of marjoram.

We drink in her sweet aromas,

intoxicated with her wine

of earth born pleasures,

delighting in the sweet spiciness

of one another.

Sylvia recently retired after an eclectic career of part time teaching, antiques dealing, and volunteering with the homeless. She has been published in "Indiana Voice" and won the Charles Opple Prize for Poetry for her poem "First Memory," published in "Poet's Night Out," a chapbook sponsored TADL,s annual juried event in Traverse City Michigan. Sylvia is a member of the Bayside Poets in the Traverse City area.  

Two poems by Todd Mercer

IN THE HARNESS

Since a river swept away our horses,

Susannah and I broke new ground ourselves,

moving in tandem. She proved strong,

guided the plow. I pulled, the harness

‘round my chest and shoulders.

Every morsel of food that yielded

tasted extraordinary. There was just enough,

or honestly almost enough. The children ate

‘til sated, but Susannah too often claimed

she wasn’t hungry to stretch what we had.

We recovered; other years were easier.

Only once was I a beast of burden

and my wife the straining counter-weight

You should have seen her persevere

out there, bear down with all her being.

We reached the first row’s end,

she told me, “Let’s keep on going.”
So we made our garden spot here

out of bare prairie. The disaster

at the river fording, and the miracle

of choosing the perfect helpmate—

these facts are what set us apart,

they made us what we are.

WIDDICOMB FASHIONS A CHAIR

       (Grand Rapids, 1911)

I turned these spindles on the lathe before today’s tour.

They fit tight once pressure’s applied—like so—

secure into the seat and pre-drilled holes

in the curved outer rail. There. And there.

We clamp the joined members ‘til the glue dries hard.

I won’t walk you through it today, but next

comes sanding. We’ll smooth all surfaces,

stain and seal the chair, deliver it. A clean process.

There’s no task in this shop that I won’t jump in

and do myself, if the workers fall behind rate.

I sweep shavings when the floor’s dusty.

Why not keep a hand in the works? If the scent

of fresh-sawn wood fails to invigorate you,

we could have trouble finding much to talk about.

A tree comes down, we turn it into

a houseful of furniture. It’s built to last,

by careful hands. I don’t ask the craftsmen to

do anything harder than what I love to do.

Todd Mercer won the Grand Rapids Festival of the Arts Flash Fiction Award for 2015 and was runner-up in the Palm Beach Plein Air Poetry Awards. His digital chapbook, Life-wish Maintenance appeared at Right Hand Pointing. Mercer’s poetry and fiction appear in journals such as: Apocrypha & Abstractions, The Camel Saloon, Cheap Pop, Dunes Review, Kentucky Review, The Lake, The Legendary, Main Street Rag, Midwestern Gothic and Spartan.

Quick Note

Dear readers and contributors, the seventh issue (odd issue) of Misty Mountain Review is here for you to offer a different taste this time around. There are altogether twelve poems by nine poets, and a translated poem of Mishra Baijayanti, a prominent female voice in contemporary Nepali poetry. Hope you will enjoying reading this issue.

Please make sure to scroll down to find 'the older posts'. Blogger.com is showing only 4 posts at maximum! For the translation work, please see at the blurb (VAPOR). Thank you!

Happy reading!

Haris Adhikari

One poem by Richard Luftig

Practice

I was ten and playing

the piano when he

walked out the door,

down the drive.

I waved but don’t think

he saw. He died

that day. Now,

I can’t let anyone

leave without saying

goodbye, saying

I love you. If you

are going to work,

going to war,

it does not matter.

I must give you a kiss.

I think it drives most people nuts.

Richard Luftig is a former professor of educational psychology and special education at Miami University in Ohio now residing in Pomona, CA. He is a recipient of the Cincinnati Post-Corbett Foundation Award for Literature and a semi finalist for the Emily Dickinson Society Award. His poems have appeared in numerous literary journals in the United States and internationally in Japan, Canada, Australia, Europe, Thailand, Hong Kong and India.

One poem by Klaus J. Gerken

what i do

i don't
write no
poems no more
i got no
syntax
and i got no
grammar
they took my
education from me
at college
tried hard to
get it back but
ain't no use
all them fancy
words disappeared
one night
and i was left with
nothing but the
elaborated
openness of sky
and mud of earth
and strawmen
walking around
like zombies
in a ts eliot
poem falling
over each other
because
religion
is the truth
and nothing
can be done
about it but
to kill
so i don't
write no
poems no more
i scribble
observations
no one wants to
think about

Klaus J. Gerken is the editor of Ygdrasil, A Journal of the Poetic Arts. Founded in 1993, Ygdrasil is the first ever literary journal published on the internet. KJG lives in Ottawa, Ontario.

Two poems by Gordon Hilgers

Inside and Outside

To be solidified and approximate a life
as fixed as stone. To withstand the entire night,
the nocturnal black rose,
revolving endlessly with no need for light,
and then to dwindle. To discard the baby-blue
umbrella as pointless and to move-out
from under sky.

Perhaps death exists as an end in itself, exemplary
of a squall too formidable for the breath
we must inhale,

only to impel our collapsing lungs until we grasp
ourselves awake on the landing
in the papery dusk, the tangle-headed gray
tussled,

a crone's bed-head, as we overlook the atrium
surrounded by questions, outside only
screaming emptiness as we meet-up with strangers
and shower-off this sweat

called life. 


Killer

To hold a poem inside like a rattlesnake,
thumb clamped against its throat as venom
drools fang to beaker, and to clasp multiple feelings
like locked lovers; this is to call-down threats
of lightning

with a house key crooking kite string, you being
the fool in the rain.  Interlocutor of the starry night's
near-blinding irritant, luminously fearsome, attractive
as rattler tambourines, you must bleed-out
your hurt, fever dreams mystifying a fibrillating
banal heart

until you burst-free like illumination struck by sunlight,
vacant lot become cathedral, nervousness transformed
into the orgasmic, brief liberty that confuses
dull reason

and which defeats prison walls of obscurant cloud banks,
the noxiousness a cure, witcheries bleak and satiate,
reptilian body snaked around wrist and pen. 


Gordon Hilgers has published poetry in three anthologies, has been nominated for the Sundress Press's 2014 "Best of the Web" contest, is currently a featured poet in Edgar Allen Poet Journal, and has also had poetry printed in Boston Literary Journal, Red Fez, Red River Review, Deathlist 5 and several other magazines and journals.  He lives in Dallas, Texas.