In Art, there can be no standard. There can be understanding, or no understanding.
Chess Player Suddenly Distracted, by Dave Sims
Backyard Familiar #5, by Mason Bondi
Mother’s Rain, by J. Ray Paradiso
PLEASE NOTE: WE ARE RE-POSTING THE FRANCIS PONGE POETRY PRIZE WINNERS BECAUSE WE LEFT OUT THE LINK TO CLARE CHU’S BEAUTIFUL POEM – “SMALL GEORGE”. PLEASE CHECK IT OUT!
(click titles to read)
by Dara Elerath
The potato is afraid of light and movement. It would like to stay hidden forever, fattening slowly in its soft cocoon of soil. Its life is a life of sleep—do not begrudge it this simple existence. It is kin to stone in shape and nature, but softness betrays it. If a worm, seeking moisture, tunnels through, the potato, uneasy, says nothing. Its eyes are scars, they do not shift or lift their lids to note the damage; they do not try to understand. This misshapen lantern dangling from roots has no wish to illuminate anything at all. It is no use unearthing the potato before its time. The vegetable goes slowly. It does not tremble at the pressure of feet aboveground. It does not pray picturing the spade or the farmer’s rough, indifferent gloves. Rain falls, sun shines—the potato does not miss these things. Sweetness pours in through its stem, smoothing, straightening the brown paper of its skin.