The Poem of the Month for August 2023, selected by 2023 Anthology Editors, Maria Vouis and Rob Ferris, is Loose-limb Man by Martha Landman The commended poems for August are Haiku & Senryu by Nigel Ford, Cliché Clambake by Veronica Cookson and White Thrift by Geoff Atkin.
Loose-limb Man
Martha Landman
Mother wouldn’t approve.
Not yet old wine, she’d say.
She was taught the virtues of shepherd men
guiding their flock, heavy feet,
calloused hands.
She followed a man of the land,
made good the harshness of his tongue,
watered the trees he planted.
Her virtue woven through sufferance,
a basket holding blame.
Her long fingers should’ve played piano,
mastered freehand brush strokes.
Still, she wouldn’t choose willowy men
who make music, pen poems,
wearing a dancer’s swagger and bare feet.
Devotion and duty drowned her.
A car in front of me swerves on a muddy track,
certain it will roll
then it doesn’t.
That’s how it is, mostly.
A crystal ball sees futures —
herdsmen, ponytail men, saxophone men.
I only have rearview mirrors.
Hindsight makes me cringe.
I know what it’s like pondering too late.
Even in music you must decide which note comes next.
But I only have rearview vision
blurred with herdsmen
flaunting their charms.
And I run,
I run, I run
for the loose-limb man.
Haiku & Senryu
Nigel Ford
lakeside
blue sky reflecting
blue sky
mountain lake
snow capped peaks reflecting
snow capped peaks
steam rises from
broken ground and broken limbs
fallen forest
alarm clock
a noisy gecko
wakes me
a child’s view
the front yard
ends at the gate
elephant steps
my baby brother
in cowboy boots
steaming brown liquid
swirling in my coffee cup
the scent of morning
two trails
along a river
reflections
seagulls standing
on a No Standing sign
feathered defiance
two men with rods
their reflections
catching fish
flashing blue and gold
flying by in formation
a flock of joggers
red bellied black snake
slithering through undergrowth
outback trail blazer
Cliché Clambake
Veronica Cookson
It was a dark and stormy night
when she had the wool pulled over her eyes
and the rug pulled out from under her feet.
Mark my words, it was not a pretty sight,
head over heels, so blinded by love,
poor dear couldn’t see the forest for the trees.
Always the bridesmaid, never the bride
and being a loose cannon, in a perfect storm,
he paid lip service to that can of worms.
It is said, ignorance is bliss.
But better to find out just in the nick of time,
there’s no point in flogging a dead horse
if your love is dead as a doornail.
Although you can take the tiger by the tail,
realise every cloud has a silver lining
and there’s plenty more fish in the sea.
Take it or leave it, it all comes full circle.
Though it’s easier said than done,
try not to judge a book by its cover.
Win some, lose some, take a chill pill —
good things come to those who wait.
Perhaps we should put our best foot forward,
buckle down, think outside the box.
And yes, you’re right —
I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it
and avoid clichés like the plague.
White Thrift
Geoff Atkin
it costs more
and takes longer
to prosper
in this work
the waitress
explains
unpredictable
general struggle
restricts
lifestyle conversance
i step away to write
the fresh taste of mocha
in her words
alert to
cost increases
and time taken
so i add the ambiguity
displayed
in the Armeria maritima ‘Alba’
at the café entrance.
Note: White Thrift is one common name for Armeria maritim