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Ascent Aspirations Magazine Friday's Poems February 24, 2017 Cover Art: Body Cadence by Mori McCrae Friday's Poems will be published weekly. Submissions are now open. Send your work to firstname.lastname@example.org
Mori McCrae is a student of poetry and of drawing and painting. It is difficult to say which takes precedence, for her work centers on the borderland between poetry and visual art. She is a graduate of the Ontario College of Art in Toronto, 1986. She is anticipating the release of her first chapbook of poetry entitled Shelf Life, which will be launched in the spring of 2017, published by Grey Borders. She is a founding member of the Jordan Art Gallery, which showcases Fine Art and Craft from the Niagara Region, where she lives.
A Dog’s Home
live in my heart and pay no rent - Samuel Lover (1797-1868)
Cordy settles into her temporary corner between storefront and the fierce north wind, between her master’s backpack and strangers’ feet pacing without watching the plebeian sidewalk. There goes a well-rounded – no, fattish terrier so exquisitely groomed, you know it has a home with roof and walls. It growls in passing. It could learn manners from a homeless mutt. What’s home? Shakespeare would have a word for it. Her master converses with Cordy in Shakespeare as they walk the moor of this stranger-city, on their way to the next spot of green – the growing, giving grass a dog likes to roll in. Not shattered green like glass in the gutter, or parched green of a dollar bill. Her master’s getting old. Lear, he’s called, as it rhymes with near and here, a sound of welcome. Soon the two of them will be on their feet again, into the bright unknown, a gleam as of the moon in transit. Cordy is her master’s home.
Taylor Graham is a volunteer search-and-rescue dog handler in the Sierra Nevada. Her poems are included in the anthologies California Poetry: From the Gold Rush to the Present (Santa Clara Univ) and Villanelles (Everyman's Library). Her latest book is Uplift (Cold River Press, 2016).
Dressed for Success
I remember having my pussy grabbed coming from a party my skirt was short but my arms interlocked with friends in a wall of merriment he reached up and grabbed anyway before we beat him with his own radio this is for our daughters
who we send out to the concrete of The Mission The Fruitvale The Financial District the inner cities now suburbs suburbs now ghettos invisible from golden towers silky white faces packed into the belly of The Town when asked who was from here only one replied all else transplants what are we running from
the pussy grabbers are everywhere 80 percent of posts refer to anxiety this Indigenous People’s day the hate so palpable redder than red face red states there are scary clown warnings on the news the scariest clown of all threatens on all channels zero
what a time to carry your pussy like an ax to mother like a polar bear in this endangered fall come hurricane season come storm of my eye I come swinging baseball bat a pussy bow at my neck a knock-off Gucci sweater to hide my naked rage inside.
Cassandra Dallett lives in Oakland, CA. Cassandra is a two-time Pushcart nominee and Literary Death Match winner. She has published online and in many print magazines, such as Slip Stream,Sparkle and Blink, Chiron Review, Stone Boat Review, and Great Weather For Media. A full-length book of poetry Wet Reckless was released to good review from Manic D Press May 2014. In the past year she authored Bad Sandy (Lucky Bastard Press), Pearl Tongue (BeAbout It Press), The Water Wars (Pedestrian Poets Series), On Sunday, A Finch (Nomadic Press), and most recently Armadillo Heart (Paper Press) with MK Chavez.
In the high New Mexico desert stand plateaux, buttes, and pinnacles; between them, vast canyons and valleys – all that remain of what were once thick layers of stone, and at their summit, an inland sea. Erosion is time’s final judgment upon the upward thrust of invisible plates. Even mountains are mortal.
I view this void from the long valley below; I can almost feel the slow, indomitable attrition of stone by ice, snow, rain, and wind. As if by magic, my eyes fill in what history has erased. If only for a moment, I reverse time.
Howard F. Stein, Ph.D.
Professor Emeritus Department of Family and Preventive Medicine University of Oklahoma Health Sciences Center Oklahoma City, OK USA;
Interdisciplinary Seminar facilitator, American Indian Diabetes Prevention Center (AIDPC)/Adjunct Professor, Department of Health Promotion Sciences, College of Public Health, OUHSC, Oklahoma City OK; Research Associate of the Center for the Study of Organizational Change, University of Missouri, Columbia Poet Laureate, High Plains Society for Applied Anthropology