Good Morning, Evening of Afternoon and welcome to theSpring issue #17 of Lightwood Magazine. Let’s celebrate our art in its many forms and the healing it can bring to the world.
In this issue, along with all the others, you’ll read and view a wide range of poetry and articles including the works of two visual artists featured in our ongoing Artists in Space series.
I hope you’ll take in all the pieces and then please dip into past issues. We keep everything online since we began in the Winter of 2020 and there’s much for you to discover. And, of course, your donations help to keep us going. I wish you all the best and a deeply creative Spring.
Laurence Carr, publisher, Lightwood Magazine at
Lightwoodpress.com
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Welcome to Lightwood magazine Spring Issue #17
Good Morning, Evening of Afternoon and welcome to theSpring issue #17 of Lightwood Magazine. Let’s celebrate our art in its many forms and the healing it can bring to the world. In this issue, along with all the others, you’ll read and view a wide range of poetry and articles including the works of two…
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Artists in Space/ Edward M. O’Hara
My art is a physical process inciting a metaphysical result. Mydrawings and paintings avoid all recognizable imagery, allowing the viewer to explore and feel the work without the articulation of a specific narrative. Edward M. O’Harawww.oharaart.com@edohara.art I see my art as a membrane through which the viewer passes,revealing notions about the origins of nature, the…
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Traverse: A Touchstone of True Friendship and Conversation/ interview with Power Boothe and Laurence Carr by Leora Armstrong for Main Street Magazine
Please go to the link below to read an interview with artist Power Boothe and writer Laurence Carr for Main Street Magazine by Leora Armstrong. The article focuses on the process that Boothe and Carr shared in the creation of their art and literary book, Traverse. Traverse is available through Lightwood, contact larrycarr521@gmail.com or through…
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When You Left, (for Sue)/ poem by Mary Beth Hines
April hungon by a threadthin stripof almost bluetwined through stillwinter-bare brancheshorizon leached pale beast trackspetrified in months old mud and born-again rocked on haunches thirsting leftover March marsh water soaking skin through tangle of hair vagrant dropletsplashed like prayer //////Mary Beth Hines is a frequent contributor to Lightwood. Read more of her poems and reviews…
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tea ceremony #12/ poem by Laurence Carr
veiled in bags, a shroud of dustthese unknown leavesfrom unknown climessealed in paper boxeslike old tut’s poor relationstheir perfume long wafted offits nose long lost like mr. sphinx closer now to compostthan shiny leaves in tropic airwe drink in memoryof those past dayswe held the chariot’s reins ///////// This poem was previously published in the…
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Tom Waits Got Rained On By His Own Bomb’s Fate/ poem by Dennis Doherty
He smells, the sputtering smoke and spit of rolled tobacco,the jerky sweat of hieroglyphic tangos under flood lightsand insistent loser-tears of his own faults that he believesearn and deserve your loving body: nurse that articulate pain,the ironic growl of romantic sentiment in song’s exposure,our own nude psyche, child. We always witnessed our guilt.You miss wanting…
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The Bob Dylan Bootleg Series Retrospective: A Totally Subjective Retrospective, Part 5/ by Mike Jurkovic
The Bob Dylan Bootleg Series: A Totally Subjective Retrospective (finale) The Rock n Roll Curmudgeon Rides Again/ by Mike Jurkovic I’m willing to accept that many of you have opposing reasons for this installment of a totally subjective retrospective being the last. Some of you I’m sure are breathing a sigh of relief that the end is…
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The Stones of Summer 1950s/ memoir by Denise Collins
The Stones of Summer 1950s1.The warmth of the sun penetrates my shirt. I find my stone from yesterday and patiently resume my task. Rock against rock, slowly, deliberately, I etch my name on the large, flat rock that lies atop one of the three stone walls on the farm where we live. Maybe one day,…
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Night Owl (for Donald Lev)/ poem by Guy Reed
I love to put the stars to bed like family.Usually, an early morning in the late darkwhen no clouds hover between the lights.At the zenith, the near future, stars of next month’s primetime evening hours.The stars who’ve had all night in our skytuck into the western horizon. I noda drowsy goodnight as they’re off to…
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Artists in Space/ Suprina/ an interview with Stephanie Russell
The Atelier Questionnaire featuring SUPRINA by Stephanie JT Russell Suprina employs a dizzying array of found objects—in her words, plain old trash—across her sculpture, installation, and performance works. The daring spectrum of her output is rigorous and purposeful: phrases constructed of cutlery, rusted tools, and tiny detritus, floating on a wall with no visible hardware; delicate, plastic-feathered…
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Preparing for Another Season/ poem by Matthew J. Spireng
It’s the first day of spring and I’ve been cuttingwild roses and barberry around large ash treesdying from an infestation of emerald ash borersthat are killing all the ash. It’s preparationfor summer, when I’ll be harvesting treesfor firewood, though some are alreadytoo far gone to be used even for that.I’ve too many on my woodlot…
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When She Falls To Her Knees/ poem by Victoria Sullivan
Ninety minuets ago, I met the Count of Monte Christo. I entered this life a redhead but may depart a blonde. The crises of life are not catnip and overalls, but rather the violence of a thousand petty lies:little acts of subterfuge, mice in the walls, funerals in the hills, and all the pretty girls…
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Imagine That, a poetry collection by Judith O’Connell Hoyer, reviewed by Mary Beth Hines.
To read Judith O’Connell Hoyer’s collection, Imagine That, (FutureCycle Press 2023) is to travel through time—from World War II to the present—with an observant, gifted storyteller. Largely anchored in Massachusetts and Texas, with travels to Europe and elsewhere woven in, Hoyer’s poems are steeped in emotion delivered through color, fragrance, taste, and touch. Her words…
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Kyoto in Cherry Blossom Time/ poem by Bruce Weber
Walking along the embankmentSerenaded by phosphorescence Of color and lightTo the house of Mr. ChuThe silent potter Of glazes that shimmerIn the night like far away starsI watched as the crowd moved Quietly amidst the stir of leavesParasols opening like fansAmong the courtesansTipping lightly on their feetIn the dimming sundown eveThe poetry of BashoRinging in…
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