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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