Poetry Commons^™

Ballad Of St. Stephen's Green, James B. Nicola

Westview

While loitering in St. Stephen’s Green, Watching the youth pass by, I spied an elder gentleman In a blue suit and bright tie

Beetles In Moonlight, Gordon Grice

Westview

This rooted cliff is riddled and pocked. On August nights, you can watch the moonlight clatter into shards that move apart and come together to couple.

Blimps Are Cool, Molly Sizer

Westview

Today we saw the Goodyear Blimp. It flew above the roofs of town.

Carved Door, Dennis Ross

Westview

I stagger with a heavy door, thick, ancient oak with six carved panels: a dove, a plow, flowers, wreathed acanthus leaves.

Health Care, Dick Bentley

Westview

On this hill, in this clump of trees at the edge of the golf course, I sit with the wind swaying the daisies.

If Ever, Dilvin Işiki

Westview

If ever this sadness unbraces the ties between me and you, I’ll hang myself to your happiness;

Midnight Run To Nacogdoches, Robert L. Penick

Westview

He is sitting in a fast food restaurant, pining for a woman who has never had an original thought in her life. It is Christmas Eve, and she is five hundred miles away, celebrating with her new in-laws. He is a damned fool, but hasn’t quite realized it yet.

Naming Southwest Oklahoma, Molly Sizer

Westview

Young Andrew Carnegie invested years steeling money; in his old age, he built imposing music halls on the east coast and libraries in rural towns out west.

The Choice Is Mine, John Grey

Westview

I wear mismatched clothes, fill the sink with dirty dishes, sit and watch football on the TV until all hours

Lampyridae, Donna Emerson

Westview

As I walk down the June steps of the farmhouse, fireflies flash close to my face.

Commemorate, Nan Byrne

Westview

We learn by losing The dead—first one becomes many The truth we knew becomes the truth we suffered

Doughboy And Jenny, Donna L. Emerson

Westview

Our summer horses, five-gaited warm-bloods. Alert, easy to ride.

Green, Richard Dinges Jr.

Westview

Green is cool to gaze into, woods strangled in undergrowth

Part One, Diane Glancy

Westview

The Man Who Loves Dreamsicles

Rains, James B. Nicola

Westview

One kind of rain wears moccasins and comes in quiet as a ghost then leaves your cheeks-nose-forehead moist with an unremarked kiss.

Summer Thunderstorm, Richard Dinges Jr.

Westview

A cold pierce, bolts crack sky’s lids, a brief glimpse at eternity

Satori 2019, Winona State University

Satori Literary Magazine

The Satori is a student literary publication that expresses the artistic spirit of the students of Winona State University. Student poetry, prose, and graphic art are published in the Satori every spring since 1970.

The Promethean, Volume 27, Blue Apocalypse, 2019, English Department, Concordia University-Portland

The Promethean

Like any other, this past year was full of many hard lessons that were difficult to swallow. It's easy to feel like the world is falling apart sometimes, or worse, that you're alone in the devastation. However, remember that when it feels like the end of the world, you will find sanctuary in your community, your loved ones, your passions, and in yourself.

It is my greatest hope that you also will find sanctuary throughout these pages, a collection of our voices coming together to create something beautiful.

This issue is dedicated to the College of Arts & Sciences. In …

Contributors, Westview Staff

Westview

No abstract provided.

Birds Of Light, Jack Cooper

Westview

Autumn streams of rain hit the maple tree and red and yellow leaves wing off in all directions

Drifting, Nan Byrne

Westview

On the bed my eyes closed I am letting drift take me

Festina Lente, Jack Cooper

Westview

I once laid a stone path in the yard and unearthed a spadefoot toad in hibernation

Here And Now, Dennis Ross

Westview

Driving along an Iowa gravel road I am sometimes jolted wide awake as from a forever sleep, struck by the immediacy of the world,

Hometown, Kenneth Beck

Westview

My hometown is a monochrome. Pack rats on every block with vintage Whatever-you-have from whatever-year.

Human Rib Bone, $10, Shiann Dawson

Westview

A little gift shop, nestled into a house of death Filled with…well, Trinkets, mostly.

Imperfect English Composition, Anne Babson

Westview

Thesis: While in love, no matter what my mother says about the milk for free, I have discovered that he is prose, not sonnet. While having sterling qualities, he is not perfect. Remind the reader that no one is. Remind self.

Interactive Sonnet, James B. Nicola

Westview

This is the place where I’m supposed to say a thing I have to say, and soundly, then expound upon it like a pregnant hen with fourteen eggs she cannot help but lay.

Ire Man, James B. Nicola

Westview

When the life is mostly moor, make it poetry.

Irises Planted On A Grave, Gordon Grice

Westview

The irises lick the wind with fragrant tongues…

New Barista, Dennis Ross

Westview

She moves like a half-grown colt, all legs and skinny arms…