Cantos a Literary and Arts Journal
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Cantos A Literary and Arts Journal EDITOR John J. Han ASSISTANT EDITORS Glory Castello Abigail Crane EDITORIAL ASSISTANTS Ashley Anthony Mary Ellen Fuquay Douglas T. Morris EDITORIAL CONSULTANTS Ben Moeller-Gaa C. Clark Triplett COVER ART COVER DESIGN Carol Sue Horstman Jenny Gravatt Cantos: A Literary and Arts Journal is published every spring by the Department of English at Missouri Baptist University. Its goal is to provide creative writers and artists with a venue for self-expression and to cultivate aesthetic sensibility among scholars and students. The views expressed in this publication are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent those of Missouri Baptist University. Compensation for contributions is one copy of Cantos, and copyrights revert to authors and artists upon publication. SUBMISSIONS: Cantos welcomes submissions from the students, faculty, staff, alumni, and friends of Missouri Baptist University. Send previously unpublished poems, short fiction, excerpts from a novel in progress, and nonfiction as e-mail attachments (Microsoft Word format) to the editor, John J. Han, at [email protected] by March 1. Send previously unpublished artwork, including haiga (illustrated haiku), as an e-mail attachment to the editor, John J. Han, at [email protected] by the same date. For more details, read the submission guidelines on the last page of this issue. SUBSCRIPTIONS & BOOKS FOR REVIEW: Cantos subscriptions, renewals, address changes, and books for review should be mailed to John J. Han, Editor of Cantos, Missouri Baptist University, One College Park Drive, St. Louis, MO 63141. Phone: (314) 392-2311/Fax: (314) 434-7596. Subscription rate for both individuals and institutions: $5 per issue purchased at MBU and $7 per mail-ordered issue. ISSN 2327-3526 (print) ISSN 2327-3534 (online) Volume 21—2015 www.mobap.edu/cantos CONTENTS Poetry 4 Haiku Ben Moeller-Gaa 6 “Morning Light” and other haiga Donald W. Horstman 12 “Listening to the Sky” and “Lacking an Organist” Bob McHeffey 14 “Hard of Hearing” and other poems C.D. Albin 18 “River, Slough, Brook and Creek” and other poems Mary Kennan Herbert 20 “Second Looking” and other haibun John Zheng 21 “Black Heels, Black Cat” and other poems Marcel Toussaint 24 “My Perspective” and other poems Velvet Fackeldey 26 “New Orleans in the Moment” and other poems Richard C. Keating 29 “Mona’s Smile” Janetta R. Lower 30 “The Heron” and “Whip-poor-will” Lori Becherer 31 “Heels” and other poems Linda Tappmeyer 33 “Red Birdfeeder” and other poems Faye Adams 37-47 FEATURED POET: James Fowler 48 “the setting sun” and other haiga Carol Sue Horstman 56 “Cat Is Fading Away” and other poems Terrie Jacks 64 “Change” and other poems Roselyn Mathews 66 “Numb Along the River” and “In Fracturing Pecans” Harding Stedler 67 “A Sparrow” and other poems Pat Durmon 69 Haiku and “September Garden” Phillip Howerton 70 “Rainstorm Sparrow” Melany Nitzsche 71 “Mirror” and other poems Billy Adams 74 Haiku and senryu Gretchen Graft Batz 75 “Dinner with Friends” John J. Dunphy 76 “You Were a Fool!” and “No Name” Choong-hee Choi 80 Ten sijo from the Goryeo and Joseon dynasties Trans. John J. Han 84 Succinct poems Multiple authors Short Stories 89 “The Golden Coin” and “Falling Skies” Kaitlin Shanks 91 “Picnic Nostalgia” and “The Never-Ending Staircase” Glory Castello 93 “A Night with Mark Twain” Kaylin Bade 94 “Hey, I’m a Pencil” Terrie Jacks Nonfiction 98 Before and After Faye Adams 2 Cantos: A Literary and Arts Journal 106 My Burning Bushes Billy Adams 109 Book Review Jessica Wohlschlaeger 110 “Divine Discontent”: Foucault, Derrida, and Timothy Sedore the American Gospel of Positive Thinking On Writing Creatively 119 You Too Can Write Poetry: Naani and List Poems John J. Han Photo Art by Kaylin Bade 5 Havenvale Farms 1 17 Havenvale Farms 2 36 Finding Luck 75 Havenvale Farms 3 87 Farmer Dylin Keeping Watch 87 Just Like Daddy 93 Shamrock and Roll 95 An Open Gate to God’s Love 96 Butterfly House 96 A Creek in Femme Osage Visual Art by Terrie Jacks 83 June Tulip 116 Bouncing Boardwalk 117 Owls 133 Leaves upon the Water 127 Notes on Contributors 134 Submission Guidelines 3 _________________________________________________________Poetry Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry. —W. B. Yeats “Therefore” is a word the poet must not know. — André Gide A poem begins with a lump in the throat. —Robert Frost 4 Cantos: A Literary and Arts Journal Haiku Ben Moeller-Gaa morning sun filling the room with meow ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ mid flight: haiku sequence mid flight taking in the view across the aisle ~*~ mid flight the roar of the engine from a matchbox car ~*~ mid flight opening a can my ears pop ~*~ mid flight watching a kid watching a movie ~*~ mid flight the setting sun reshaping clouds 5 ~*~ mid flight reading a book across the aisle ~*~ our plane slow over the clouds slow over the plain Kaylin Bade, “Havenvale Farms” 1 6 Cantos: A Literary and Arts Journal “Morning Light” and Other Haiga Donald W. Horstman 7 8 Cantos: A Literary and Arts Journal 9 10 Cantos: A Literary and Arts Journal 11 12 Cantos: A Literary and Arts Journal Two Poems Bob McHeffey Listening to the Sky There is a forever voice A note that dips and swells Changes pitch and tone But never pauses to take a breath It is the voice of gray and green It is the voice birds sing to It is the voice that pushes the wind It is not the voice of God From church But it might be the voice of God As God hears it I know the voice is there I’ve heard it a few times— While sleeping next to a lake in Montana While lying in a grassy field As the sun evaporates the dew While sitting on a swing in a suburban park At dusk Usually, though, I can’t hear the voice Over the hum of air conditioning And the drone of traffic Over requests for this And orders for that Or even over the chatter of my own voice Filling the universe With words that dissipate and disappear There is a forever voice That dips and swells But never stops To take a breath Listen. 13 Lacking an Organist He had never been good At call-and-response, Fumbling along at church, mumbling words He hoped matched the devout person next to him. In Spanish class as a kid He mouthed the conjugations of verbs While the teacher intoned them to others Who knew what to say. Only at baseball games Did he read the clues correctly Responding back in perfect time To the organist's call, confident and true. So when she said to him after dinner “I love you” He hesitated. He knew this called for a response. But he was again standing behind wooden pews Hoping someone with faith Would say the words for him. He did not know how to conjugate that verb. If she had only said it as a chant, “Na na na na” (Na na na na) “Na na na na” (Na na na na) “Hey Hey Hey” (Hey Hey Hey) “I love you” (I love you) He would have repeated the words to her, Even screamed them if needed, And he would have meant them, too, Because he knew he did love her. But he hesitated. So she just heard her call And not his response Her invitation fading out over empty plates. 14 Cantos: A Literary and Arts Journal “Hard of Hearing” and Other Poems C.D. Albin Hard of Hearing As children, jokes came easy about the near deaf, aunts and uncles from my father’s side who shouted Louder! Speak up! during every discussion. At family gatherings we concocted contests meant to prove which cousin could cause the most frustration. Pitching our voices low, we mumbled into hands casually held near our lips, then ran to hide beneath lacey willow limbs near the back porch, recounting our cruelties with manic zest. For me, already pronounced deaf in one ear, our jokes seemed harmless, the humming world as loud as ever. I’d never known a need to strain after words that vanished like fleet birds secreting in leafy woods, my one good ear preserving sound and conscience unassailed. But years later, visiting my dying Aunt Grace in her hospital room the day I left for college, I struggled to make myself heard, to say I would be thinking of her 15 along the road, and after— words that failed to reach her ear. She lay marooned in silence, although her own voice—soft, sharp— lingered like a chirping bird’s. Let me hear from you, she said, her smile stretching delicate cheekbones while I left, fleeing the hard echoes of my steps. The Late Love Song of Cicero Jack How could I forget Ross Pentecost is a widower now, wife gone since summer? Today I failed to place him as he shuffled down the coffee aisle, stooped farmer come to town in Sunday boots and straw Stetson, mirror image I avoid. When he spoke—thin-voiced, face a wrecked ship—my tongue grew stone-heavy. I couldn’t think past her absence, how without her he looked cleaved in two, a torso shorn of arms, legs. I nodded before slinking away like a thief, shame no comfortable coat to wear. Shedding its weight has led me to this shadowed place, Ann’s plot of ground we chose together. For half my life I passed each night reclined at her side, her flesh woman-warm beneath my hands.