Edited by Phillip Levine.  You can submit up to three poems to Chronogram at a time.  Send via snail or e-mail.  Poetica.  314 Wall St., Kingston, NY 12401.  E-mail: poetry@chronogram.com.  Subject: Poetica.

To trick
the sea
they promised you
tomorrow
swam far
rerouted the waves
and sent you a pail of water
laughing to themselves
preparing for the larger heist
in your house
when steel disk
the sun
would drop neatly away

- Roberta Gould

A bride, married to destruction is still, after all,
a bride.

See how she sits, hands folded primly
on a black lacquer table.

See how she chews with her mouth closed, sips
                    with pinky up and ankles crossed.

How she is careful to dab the corners of her lips
with fine linen!

As she ponders the possibilities of married life.

- Susan Pilewski

He transcended his monsters
and packaged the sun
in a grid called perfect

His colors charmed
There were no more depictions
The splotches and splashes
dream of the game
made us happy
almost

We played
one foot on a high
rung of our ladders
flinging our arms up
over the trees
trying to sing

- Roberta Gould

I was thinking of calling this one
"Reasons Everyone Out There Should Pity Me"
or perhaps
"Tales From My Mousey Life Part Eleven"
or better yet maybe
"125 Lines Concerning My College Girlfriend"
I've considered
"The Sexual Longings Of The Married And Boring"
but how much room does that leave for interpretation?
How about
"The Sublime, Symbolic Properties Of An Old Toy I Found In My Parent's Garage"
Too Chinese in its lack of brevity?
I tried
"I'm Doing This Just Because I've Never Had Any Confidence"
but how does that make the reader feel about themselves?
My wife thinks
"Gimmicky Poems About Poetry Suck"
is way too forward, but I'm not sure.
What the Hell, nobody reads poetry anymore.

- W. J. Internicola

i am just so angry
that my vocabulary
has shrunk to
one word
fuck

maybe it is just
what i need

- Claude Convers

He gave her a doll for Christmas
but Christmas never happened.

Her father died on a Tuesday
but maybe it was a Friday.

Her mother had pink potholders
but she could never make a rump roast.

Her friend has no hands
but still calls her.

New York smelled like hot dogs to her
but there is no meat on the road.

Maybe it was a Saturday
Maybe it was a Saturday he died?

She ate lamb chops in April
but can't feel the bonnet.

She had a miscarriage
but can't remember the window.

She's from Tennessee
but can't see the color of the road.

Can't see the color of the road or the lawn
or the stories of the house in the distance.

- Amanda Latrenta

Black feet
Trading river
For snow
Walking on
Hunger
Met
I feed
Swan
Is

- Wolf Bohm

Costless love doesn't cost a dime
Just a little time
Love is precious and free
It's gentle yet easy to see

Costless love means a lot
And you don't have to give it all you've got
All Costless love needs to be worthwhile
is a little heart and a fraction of a smile

Costless love is the most important love
and it doesn't push or shove
It is a most precious thing
I always sing about Costless Love without a doubt

- Myriah LaTourette, age 11

That's dinner?  he shouts, my father,
at pale mounds on the pocketed tray.
His brother waves a stroke-stiffened hand
over egg salad on white, potato salad,
cold creamed soup
as if in benediction, as if to say
- there is no help for this
the lasagna years are gone -
My father sighs,
lifts the fork to his brother's mouth
as if he has always been doing this -
this tender fragile gesture,
potato salad on the tip of a fork
at the lips of the brother
who will not feed himself again

- Leslie M. LaChance

It smells of skunk
as I step outside
into the lightening morning.

I survey the landscape with caution,
not wanting to startle the creature
if it's still lurking about,

and equally opposed to the thought
of the skunk startling me,
its tail raised in defense at the perceived threat

of a hairy man wearing only boxer shorts,
sitting on a porch,
gathering his thoughts -

though, in this case, I can see
how my actions could be mistaken
for hostile gestures,

face tightened with effort
and lips pushed forward in a pout,

like some cartoon cloud
in a newspaper weather report
indicating the approach of heavy winds,

as I try to make sense
of that which I may never.

- Christopher Carolei

The monster
In my closet
Used to scare me.
I used to hide
Under my covers
And hope he wouldn't
Eat me.
But he doesn't scare me
Anymore.
Now when I see him
I just laugh, because
I remember that time
I caught him
Trying on my mom's dress.

- Greg Schwartz