Undertow Tanka Review: Issue # 2

UNDERTOW TANKA REVIEW ISSUE # 2

Artwork by Sheri L. Wright, United States. Two-time Pushcart Prize and Kentucky Poet Laureate nominee, Sheri L. Wright is the author of six books of poetry, including the most recent, The Feast of Erasure. Wright’s visual work has appeared in numerous journals, including Blood Orange Review, Prick of the Spindle, Blood Lotus Journal and Subliminal Interiors. In 2012, Ms. Wright was a contributor to the Sister Cities Project Lvlds: Creatively Linking Leeds and Louisville. Her photography has been shown across the Ohio Valley region and abroad. Currently, she is working on her first documentary film, Tracking Fire.

the lady next door

a Holocaust survivor

tortured yet again

by TV news coverage

of her grandchild's suicide

Debbie Strange, Canada

she kneels

in the spangled grass

listening deeply

to the opening hymn

of a monarch chrysalis

Debbie Strange, Canada

he is fading

his teenaged daughter

keeping vigil

paints his toenails

while he sleeps

Debbie Strange, Canada

moonbeam quills

through our windows

transcribing

the grammar of shadows

into the poetry of light

Debbie Strange, Canada

we walked

through the waterfall

in moonlight

behind veils of grace

the nakedness of mountains

Debbie Strange, Canada

the slow spin

of one maple seed

d r i f t i n g

in a downward spiral

another runaway child

Debbie Strange, Canada

a dreamcatcher

hangs above our bed

in that thin place

we are lingering between

hanging on and letting go

(note: "thin place" refers to the sacred space between heaven and earth)

Debbie Strange, Canada

was it absinthe                

that green glass bottle

on the top shelf

did it swing my mother

in the belly of the sea?

Carole Johnston, USA

clairvoyant friend says

look for her in lunatic

asylums but I think

demon suicide took her

family bible stained by blood

Carole Johnston, USA

we'll take

the dog and the Malbec

we'll find

the highest hill for moonrise

enthralled in ancient magic

Carole Johnston, USA

pink pearl

rising translucent

enormous

butterfly moon

drunk on milkweed

Carole Johnston, USA

didn't know

I was a hedgewitch

secluded

behind a creaking gate

whispering butterflies

Carole Johnston, USA

ripe scent

of full dumpsters

the night

before garbage day

super moon light

Carole Johnston, USA

summer ending               

I'm still butterfly crazy

kaleidoscope

all the colors of the sun

in my whirligig eyes

Carole Johnston, USA

high summer

poems about butterflies

fluttering

across computer screens

we feel them touch our fingers

Carole Johnston, USA

is this

the summer when

the world

incinerates itself

of just the beginning?

Carole Johnston, USA

Merlin

stars shimmering on

his purple robe

I loved the runic picture

in that antique book

Carole Johnston, USA

the dandelion

trapped beneath a rock…

a swell of tears

from the child not picked

at the adoption fair 

Mary Davila, USA

her chest rising

as if she took a breath

in her casket

can she see the torment

in my parched heart

Mary Davila, USA

that window

we escaped through

fifty years ago

finally boarded up…

my fears ready for demolition

Mary Davila, USA

her soul teeters

on the edge of this world

afraid of addiction

her long stare at morphine

left by a hospice nurse

Mary Davila, USA

smoke billowed

through the treetops

I can only imagine

what I looked like

as a baby

Mary Davila, USA

the constant crash

of waves on rocks…

surges

in our argument

topple a sandcastle

Mary Davila, USA

endless meows

from the blue-eyed feral

under my empty sill…

how do I tell him

Pio’s gone to heaven

Mary Davila, USA

puddles on the asphalt

after the rain

she's not

ready to

let her sadness go

Dave Read, Canada

water leaking

through cupped hands

I tried to

hold you

to your promise

Dave Read, Canada

the first white hair

I pluck

from my eyebrow -

some souvenirs

we choose not to keep

Dave Read, Canada

twirling spaghetti

onto your fork

the little things

you do to

reel me in

Dave Read, Canada

a scratched

record

my memory

skips back to

how we lost our groove

Dave Read, Canada

the candles on

his birthday cake

are only dim

in the light

of his excitement

Dave Read, Canada

noting how

we've both grown

the creak of

my knees bending

to lift you

Dave Read, Canada

a finger trap

me and this sadness

unable to pull

away

from each other

Dave Read, Canada

tracing tracks of rain

down my office window

I ignore

the rising tide of

unaddressed requests

Dave Read, Canada

with the nothing

he had

on his mind

he filled

our conversation

Dave Read, Canada

my heart

grows wearier each day...

a kite flutters

in these vast skies

as though mockingly

Shloka Shankar, India

your voice

fills the blank spaces

in my head...

did we always repel

each other so much?

Shloka Shankar, India

a reprise

that constantly runs

through my mind…

how much is enough

till I quit?

Shloka Shankar, India

you unveil

a smokescreen before me

once again

those comforting lies

I still believe in

Shloka Shankar, India

desert winds...

in this wilderness

the plumage

of my desires

take shape

Shloka Shankar, India

Artwork by Sheri L. Wright, United States.

this pattern

of leaves

in every puddle

reflections of

a lost dream

Vibeke Laier, Denmark

silent morning

growing freely

this rose

a reason

to live

Vibeke Laier, Denmark

spring morning

the name of a flower

i always remember

taking her

last breath

Vibeke Laier, Denmark

beneath

the moon of

a quiet night

the secret of

my poetry dreams

Vibeke Laier, Denmark

trying to express

childhood's

nuances of light

footprints on

the seaside

Vibeke Laier, Denmark

the secrets

we share

in this moonlight

a dream

on a distant star

Vibeke Laier, Denmark

The first blackberries
Fat, deep purple, promising
Stained fingers, stained lips
It is just Assumption Day
Early winter, coming soon

Bee Smith, The Republic of Ireland

stirring the ashes

I burn my fingers

how foolish

even now

to think the fire is out

~after Antonio Machado

Kenneth Slaughter, USA

Loud music. Fake trees.

Grim shoppers push through the crowds.

Food smells compete with

perfume. Windows show beach scenes.

Tan models lie – Luck’s for sale.

 Alison Stone, USA

Late April
(a tanka sequence)

Across the kitchen

table, a miniature

ping-pong net. The girls

giggle as they hit wildly

or miss. Puff leaps for stray balls.

Outside, bleeding hearts

dangle white valentines near

clumps of dark green shoots

we don’t remember planting.

The first daffodils are dead.

The cherry tree fed

by my daughter’s placenta

poofs with pink blossoms.

The girls begin to argue.

Their sharp voices join the birds’.

Alison Stone, USA

Daughter

(a tanka sequence)

          I watch you inch out

further onto the ash branch,

wait for the swaying

to subside before you reach

& pull yourself to the end.

          You always did think

yourself a bird. Sparrow, crow,

hawk: the great hunter,

always prepared to take fight—

for your wings to unfurl you.

Jenifer DeBellis, USA 

albatross

(a tanka sequence)

“y hay cuerpos que no deben repetirse en la aurora”

                        Ode to Walt Whitman, Federico Garcia Lorca

there was a beginning

an invitation to play pool,

the maneuver

to have another beer

on our first night together

there was a middle

complications—a need to

see you on my bed

running your hands through

the carapace of my skin

there was an end

A Farewell to Arms

of forgotten names

the last clown in a parade

you taking down the marquee

Sergio Ortiz, Puerto Rico

fear

(a tanka sequence)

as punishment

he locked me in the closet…

little did he know

I was more afraid of the shadow

behind the door

to keep from peeing

a treasure hunt inside his shoes

a roman coliseum

a few garments that smelled

like fish offal and scissors

there was

no such thing as terror,

a stutter,

or my mother’s empty

embrace

Sergio Ortiz, Puerto Rico

Artwork by Sheri L. Wright, United States.

Photo by: Xiao. Tanka by: Sergio Ortiz

Debbie Strange, Canada

Debbie Strange, Canada

Debbie Strange, Canada

Mary Davila, USA

Pat Geyer, USA

fear 
(tanka sequence)

as punishment

he locked me in the closet…

little did he know

I was more afraid of the shadow

behind the door

to keep from peeing

a treasure hunt inside his shoes

a roman coliseum

a few garments that smelled

like fish offal and scissors

there was

no such thing as terror,

a stutter,

or my mother’s empty

embrace

Sergio Ortiz, Puerto Rico

albatross
(a tanka sequence)


there was a beginning
an invitation to play pool,
the maneuver
to have another beer
on our first night together

there was a middle
complications—a need to 
see you on my bed
running your hands
through the carapace of my skin

there was an end
A Farewell to Arms
of forgotten names
the last clown in a parade
taking down the marquee

Sergio Ortiz, Puerto Rico

blue shibori scarf

dances in swirling zephyrs

your glistening skin

between mine and naked sky

before we swim together

Alan Gann, Plano Tx, USA

seven seconds left

and with outstretched arms catches

fifty yard touchdown

cheering fans head for their cars

the home team beat the point spread

Alan Gann, Plano Tx, USA

took the back roads home

stopped to walk along the beach

barefoot in the tide

dolphins roll beyond the point

sand dollars fill my pocket

Alan Gann, Plano Tx, USA

flat rock does not care

for warming sun or bodies

inspired intertwined

like virgins looking into

depths of a patient quarry

Alan Gann, Plano Tx, USA

summer leaves falling

too tired and hot to hang on

the long days stretching

sky and soil and plum

waiting for the cool breeze

Alan Gann, Plano Tx, USA

Wet morning, August

Has slipped away, dragged summer

Into soaking woods

Where small rabbits hide themselves

And squirrels bury rich fruit.

Steve Klepetar, USA

In the land of ice

A pale goddess rides her throne

Into winter’s night --

Wind moans in new ecstasy

And cold stars mock frozen earth.

Steve Klepetar, USA

My tongue on your thigh,

Your hands caressing my hair –

Only the slow death

Can shake us loose from moments

Grasped with such passionate force.

Steve Klepetar, USA

A bright fish struggling

On my line sends splashing spray

Over the gunnels of my

Small boat, where I have waited

Patiently for this brief gift.

Steve Klepetar, USA

Sun rises over

Knife River. Mist breaks and fades

To wisps and is gone.

Small boat glides along green reeds

Merging with the song of frogs.

Steve Klepetar, USA

Here in the garden

Pumpkins blaze beneath tall corn.

An old woman bends

In cool morning to gather

Plump tomatoes for her feast.

Steve Klepetar, USA

She walks a long mile

Aching in stiletto heels.

Her car has broken

Down on a dark country road

Far, far out of cell phone range.

Steve Klepetar, USA

boxes waiting to be filled

others waiting for labels

I know you have to leave

but just yesterday

I nursed you at my breast

--Terrie Leigh Relf, USA

sirens. . .

then fire trucks, EMTs, police

gather like carrion birds at the shore

they come too often now

at summer’s end

--Terrie Leigh Relf, USA

the rattle of ice

scent of lemon

how each sip of tea gives rise

to stories you shared

stories I wish we’d written down

--Terrie Leigh Relf, USA

we soak our feet

in a tide pool

a rogue wave rises

but you reach out

before the cliff claims me

--Terrie Leigh Relf, USA

rain blows sideways

trees shiver and crack

I light a candle

sit by the window

listen to Brahms

--Terrie Leigh Relf, USA

only a few weeks

since last we spoke

I bake you biscotti

reach out for the phone

remember you have passed

--Terrie Leigh Relf, USA

The stripes cup my breasts

like a dozen moons searching

for a sky to hold

them, as if a heavenly

body could ground them. As if.

Jenifer DeBellis, USA 

—for Emily Dickinson

I wonder about

this wind, if, while you’re laughing

in your knowing way,

the softness of your sigh is

the bitter taste on my tongue.

Jenifer DeBellis, USA 

Rushing through the door

as water flows from hoses,

I find the children

bickering like mockingbirds—

rankled song notes taken flight.

Jenifer DeBellis, USA 

Secret garden blight

Winter’s raucous breath blows north

Snow turns into rain

Gargoyles spot warnings atop

Our upturned, curious heads.

Jenifer DeBellis, USA 

Rose coals line the pit.

Poked, prodded, a smoke line lifts

from the pit’s center

in cursive swirls as if they

were written by ancient hands.

Jenifer DeBellis, USA 

Eight arched windows frame

the garden room. Look upon

rolling greens lined with

balsam firs & lavender.

Hold back summer floral winds.

Jenifer DeBellis, USA  

japanese maple

burns gold, citrus, vermilion

a silent witness

in the calm of afternoon

filters sunlight, sifts for truth

Jenifer DeBellis, USA   

changing my

missing person’s report to

stolen property

my husband

found with yours

Susan Burch, USA

towering

over everyone

my gigantic dad

who spends his free time

making miniature figurines

Susan Burch, USA

making her look like

their kidnapped daughter

the adopted girl

never sees a photo

of herself

Susan Burch, USA

a rubix cube

a silk flower, a mood ring –

in grandmother’s purse

the things she carried

without knowing why

Susan Burch, USA

a single thought

of my father is

all it takes -

a teardrop in his urn

before I notice

Susan Burch, USA

too much cinnamon

in the applesauce

I gag

if only it were that easy

to catch you in a lie

Susan Burch, USA