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Welcome to Garden 0808 in

Click the links below to read the winning poems for July/August, 2008.

Poetry Gardens of Fame Index

First Place
Second Place
Third Place
Fourth Place


Sonja Smolec

Golden Grape-Vine
by Sonja Smolec

Gold grapes trapped within your mouth,
sweet smells of childhood summer
on your fingers.

The narrow place between market benches.
Scents in the air...
With eyes closed I can see
spots of sweat on your t-shirt,
in the basket

onions between spices
tied with white strings,
five tomatoes, garlic, dill,
parsley and thyme...
carrots, only two.

In the pot, chicken soup.

Two of us
connected like Lady and the Tramp
                    before our lips touch.

Just a dream...

Depression hard, dense and hot
like dark summer clouds
entered the windows
in the middle of the afternoon.

Between my fingers mashed potatoes,
my revenge on innocent vegetables.

I miss you.

Feelings like the sacred oil on water,
never fading never ending always growing,
like grape-clusters on the golden grape-vine
at the entrance to my sanctuary.

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by Sue Percival

June drips away
to join the other missing months
lost in a memory of pain-filled thoughts
supposedly a time of healing.

I aim to give myself up to it
but my aim is errant
since my trust is lost, deserting me.
How hard this is; how cruel.

Time is mapped out for me
in a rhythm beyond my choosing.
I must dance to music which jars
and jangles in my head.

Patterns forming,
life evolves outside my door
moving, breathing, shifting
while mine stands still and stunted.

Submission is not easy
I want to rail and shout and scream
and make demands that can't be kept,
yet weakly I retreat and hide.

Within this lonely world
my longed for summertime
disappears beyond my grasp
cruelly eluding me.

Resentment comes easily,
healing is invisible
trusting impossible.
hoping intractable.

June will become winter
and winter brings new life;
spring, an alien memory,
summer, a forgotten wasteland.

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An Executive Meeting
by Lisa Maloney

Control, seduction -
she letters them out individually
twined, hopeless, in their scales.
When the serpent shivers so does she,
writhing like Medusa, hair in passionate curls
that ring her face and coil tightly round them both.
They're joined, now -- a one-way street full of mistakes
and success: Wild, passionate discovery!
Â…until the statement of ecstasy screams to a halt in her throat.
They're watching her. Have been all along.
Can they see where she's been?

She stammers an excuse, brushing lint off her suit.
All ten toes fit, naked, into her shoes --
tucked modestly away from the object
of her desire. He has a polite smile, nearly bored;
waiting on a presentation, no doubt, of an entirely
different sort than what she'd had in mind.

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by Arlene Mandell

Inhaling pale autumn sunlight
    I bend, stretch, listen --
        a rustling cascade
            gold, russet, copper
                falling, falling.

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