Greetings!

Please share widely:

The Cosumnes River Journal is accepting submissions... Are you a writer? A photographer? An artist? Please consider contributing your creative work to Cosumnes River College’s literary publication.

We want your:  - short stories  - essays, including autobiographical narrative,  criticism, + interviews  - poems  - art (we need black and white jpeg or other image files, at least 150 dpi)

Submissions: Please forward your contributions to Heather at hutcheh@crc.losrios.edu.

Include: No more than 5 poems or photos per entry; limit your short stories + essays to 2 contributions per submission deadline.

More Information: Call 916.691.7492

Deadline: For the Spring 09 issue, e-mail by 03.06.09

We are committed to publishing emerging + established writers, including Cosumnes River College students, faculty, staff, + the rest of the world.

Please reply to hutcheh@crc.losrios.edu.

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Feel free to email me poems, poetry reading announcements, or poetry links.

jamesleejobe@gmail.com

ALL GOOD THINGS - JOBE

Cynthia Linville - Two Poems



Working on a Commercial Fishing Boat
the Summer I am 17

Since the night I left, I've been lost
in the wrong hemisphere –
even the stars are different.
One glimpsed out the corner of my eye
fills me with fear
seemingly a large freighter drawing too near.

I'm in lull where grey sky meets grey sea.
No separation
no perspective
no motion
no notion
of forward movement.

I'm in the middle of a raging storm –
waves taller than the pilot house.
I turn, phosphorescent light darting about.
The window:  a deck-side aquarium
I am under, then up,
then under.

I don't know where I am exactly
or what the weather will be.
The radio croaks with distortion –
no one can hear me.
I am alone
at sea.



Drum Circle at Antietam

In northern Shenandoah Valley
women bundled up in dark cloaks
pick our way across creeks
and stubbly fields
with candle lanterns,
blankets, and drums.
No fire tonight
no incense
the cold darkness is enough;
starless, moonless fog blankets us
as we settle down
into a rustling circle.
Out come the wet skins
and soft thumps –
awkward at first
out of sync –
slowly catch a rhythm
sparking heat
until we begin to soar
and soloists break off
to wing us into a trance
of war whoops
that carry through the mist
to the adjacent battlefield
where muskets boom
in memory of the bloodiest single-day battle
in American history.
Those cold soldiers
dressed up in the past
must wonder
if time really has slipped
and this time
the Indians have come.



Cynthia Linville is a Facebook buddy of mine. Oh yes, she also edits Poetry Now for the Sacramento Poetry Center, teaches at Sac State, and is one of the editors on the Convergence website, please click here. And she's a helluva poet, too.

The photo is Antietam Bridge.

Did I miss anything, Cyn?

jamesleejobe@gmail.com

ALL GOOD THINGS - JOBE