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  November 2005
volume 3 number 4
-table of contents-
  home   (archived)
  featured poets
  L. Ward Abel
  Rafael Alvarado
  Deborah Edler Brown
  D.J. Carlile
  Yvonne Garrett
  Marianne LaValle-Vincent
  Eric Steineger
  Evan Traiger
  Rev. Dave Wheeler
  mailing list
L. Ward Abel November 2005



photo by michelle mazzetti

    L. Ward Abel, poet, composer and performer of music, teacher, retired lawyer, lives in rural Georgia, has been published hundreds of times in print and online, and is the author of Peach Box and Verge (Little Poem Press, 2003), Jonesing For Byzantium (UK Authors Press, 2006), The Heat of Blooming (Pudding House Press, 2008), Torn Sky Bleeding Blue (erbacce-Press, 2010), American Bruise (Parallel Press, 2012), Cousins Over Colder Fields (Finishing Line Press, 2013), and Roseorange (Flutter Press, 2013).
L. Ward's website




The Burma Road,
long, hot and viperic,
did witness some levity during the War.
Old Uncle Ryan was known to crack jokes
about those Buddhist monks,
and even later in India, he met Gandhi himself
(or so he said),
commenting later about
the Mahatma wearing a bed sheet on that train.
But I wonder,
when he stole, in glee, a little golden Buddha
from one of those zany monasteries
(I can just hear the guffaws down
green canopies):
IF turnabout reared its ugly cranium
in sweet last-straw revenge;
IF what really went ‘round came ‘round
when his grandson blew his brains out;
IF there was just reward for him
when he watched his dear sweet first wife
wither away in agony;
IF Karma was in the wind
that pushed his ashes
into a hasty digging
out on a remote Ware County grave-patch,
an afterthought of a resting place;
IF humor and disregard
has a deadly serious side
that returns.

copyright 2005 L. Ward Abel



The Slope

Gray sun
checkered the hillside,
like highlighted brain-matter
that glows here and there
when thoughts arise, then strays,
all happening in a quiet way
for me alone.

(previously published in Farsight July 2005)

copyright 2005 L. Ward Abel



Already Wednesday

I’ve known serenity
from the revolution in my heart,
from upheaval during curfew,
listening to the rain
through an open window.

Telling myself to hold fast
to wait for daylight,
for the fire of dreams,
for birth. Out there
in cobalt

and on the way here tonight
the car didn't hesitate,
you see,
it couldn't:
even though the lightening webbed
side to side in the dark air,
my foot was control
my arms were direction
my mind---a strategy.
Spinning reckless
post war / cold war / world war / no war / our war
in my livingroom.

Through this opening
I now see MY war,
its faddish
changed a world that had to change
changes a world that had to change...

it’s already Wednesday.

copyright 2005 L. Ward Abel