Iris Literary Journal: Volume 1, Issue 4

By Iris Literary Journal

Contributions to this collection creatively address the theme of wisdom.

Featuring: 

Cover Art by Serge Lecomte

Poetry by Nancy Cook, Terry Cox-Joseph, Winston Derden, Hugh Findlay, Erika Girard, Duane Herrmann, Ann Howells, Sandra Kacher, Thomas Mampalam, Kenneth Pobo, Jennifer Thal, Maya Tobi, and Brian Yapko.

Fict

• Language: English
• Publisher: Iris Literary Journal
• Release date: Dec 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781954573307

Book preview

Iris Literary Journal

Iris Literary Journal

Volume I, Issue 4

Assure Press

Iris Literary Journal

Volume I, Issue 4

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Cover Art by Serge Lecomte

Editor-in-Chief: Darius Frasure

Assistant Fiction Editor: Aerial Hobson

Assistant Drama Editor: Camika Spencer

Assistant Visual Arts Editor: Darryl Ratcliff

Assistant Creative Nonfiction Editor: Delonte Harrod

Iris Literary Journal is published quarterly in print and ebook.

Each journal includes poetry, short fiction, creative nonfiction, drama, and visual art—which includes photography. Some of the work may not be entirely in English.

For more information, visit the website of Iris Literary Journal:

Publisher’s logo

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www.assurepress.org/iris

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An imprint of Assure Press Publishing & Consulting, LLC

www.assurepress.org

Publisher’s Note: Assure Press books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use. For information please visit the website.

Copyright © 2020 Assure Press

ISBN-13: 978-1-954573-29-1

eISBN-13: 978-1-954573-30-7

A note about the Poetry in this E-Book

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The poems in this electronic version may appear in a different format than intended by the author and publisher. However, you may always adjust settings on your device to adapt your view of any poem.

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This e-book is licensed for your enjoyment only. Thank you for your support of Assure Press Authors and Artists!

Contents

Iris Literary Journal

Poems

Hidden Economies

Nancy Cook

Maid Service

Terry Cox-Joseph

Chaos

Terry Cox-Joseph

Exception

Winston Derden

Wiseness

Hugh Findlay

Listen

Hugh Findlay

The Cloaks You wear on Yourself Daily

Erika Girard

Don’t Forget to Breathe

Erika Girard

Let Me Scatter the Shards of Reality

Erika Girard

Shards

Erika Girard

I Didn’t Know

Duane L Herrmann

Wanting to Be Dead

Duane L Herrmann

Not the End

Duane L Herrmann

Think Robert Frost

Ann Howells

Tree Therapy

Sandra Kacher

Pain Scale

Thomas Mampalam M.D.

Neurosurgical Instruments

Thomas Mampalam M.D.

Porch Light

Kenneth Pobo

Dulcet Tones in Private

Kenneth Pobo

I Was a Rich Man’s Plaything

Kenneth Pobo

Childhood Semantics

Jennifer Thal

The Whore of Babylon Talks to Her Therapist

Jennifer Thal

Impossible Staircases

Maya Tobi

New Eyes

Maya Tobi

Oak Trees

Brian Yapko

Through Better Eyes

Brian Yapko

Creative Nonfiction

The Strange Emotional Depth of One Child’s Heart

Terese Brasen

Military Blues

Martha Clarkson

Everything Ashes

Jennifer Hildebrandt

I Try Using Philip Lopate’s Advice to Writers to Cure Myself

Lisa Lebduska

Three Days Underwater and inside the Witch’s Belly

Kimberly Horg

Visual Art Gallery

I Can Do That Too

Martha Clarkson

Placement

Martha Clarkson

What We're Up Against

Martha Clarkson

1941

Briana Gervat

Biloxi

Briana Gervat

Makamah

Briana Gervat

Look up-Follow Instructions

Christian McCulloch

Rear View Mirror

Christian McCulloch

The Crowman’s Dream

Christian McCullough

Blue Period I

George Stein

Blue Period II

George Stein

Candy Cane in Winter

Michelle Brooks

The Way Home

Michelle Brooks

Forest without a Name

Serge Lecomte

You Snooze You Lose

Serge Lecomte

Your Turn

Serge Lecomte

Fiction

Second Genesis

Hillary Chapman

My Employer

Rosalind Goldsmith

Remembering Izzy

Allen Weber

Drama

Pinpoint Wisdom

Joan Leotta

Contributors

Iris Literary Journal Summer Logo

Volume I, Issue 4

Wisdom

Poems

Hidden Economies

-Nancy Cook

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On Wall Street stocks dropped

more than ten per cent today.

That’s my retirement. Oh well,

I tell myself, it’s only money.

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Except is isn’t. It isn’t money.

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It’s company ownership

of a sort. A piece of the pie.

Or crumbs. And no one knows

how big the pie is. Or even

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what it’s made of. Abstract

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ingredients like confidence,

optimism, pessimism,

expectations, & a strange

brand of popular magnetism.

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Even money isn’t money.

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The U.S. Mint spits out coins.

The Bureau of Printing &

Engraving takes the word

of big government and spins

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its promises into dollar bills.

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All that gold at Fort Knox

just for show. The Feds

are the parents in the room -

they control the piggy bank.

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But I have questions.

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What if the parents can’t

be trusted? Pocket profits?

Trade in forests and facts

for personal favors? Take

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quids from tyrants for quos?

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How many ways are there

to go bankrupt? Money won’t

buy love, but is faith for sale?

Can anyone buy a presidency?

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At what cost?

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If money were no object

I would buy: a quiet room;

a cure for nightmares; wings;

hugs on demand; & a wheel

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that spins promises into truth.

Maid Service

-Terry Cox-Joseph

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He’s got 253 pair of socks (unsorted)

110 motivational books on tape (gathering dust)

75 ties (shoved and wrinkled)

one wife

who is lighting

a match.

Chaos

-Terry Cox-Joseph

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Today

when I couldn’t get the dogs

to stop barking

the doorbell to stop ringing

find the volume control on the radio

get my son to do his homework without sassing

my daughter to put down the phone

stop the kids’ piercing arguments

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I suddenly realized

why you

drank

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and I sat on the steps and cried.

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For a moment, I wore

your uncontrolled chaos

and understood

but instead of a vodka martini

I poured myself a glass of iced tea,

made a list of things to do

gave them to my daughter

sent my son to his room

put the dogs in the kennel

unplugged the radio

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and breathed a prayer of thanks

to you

for teaching me

by accident.

Exception

-Winston Derden

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i before e except after c

is a convenient mnemonic

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to receive for accurate spelling,

but is not without its deceits

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or reliable as science, given

that either i or e can seize

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the reins seemingly

without conscience.

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Perhaps reinventing the rules or a reincarnation

would help resolve deficiencies,

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though in faith or doubt of a higher being,

atheist and deity each demand an exception,

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and history would have us believe that

ancient deities in the height of their reigns

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insisted on having it both ways, though

it’s not inconceivable we’ve all been lied to.

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Seeing their order turned

either which way, these vowels might

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rightly inveigh against this

vein of piecemeal logic.

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So veiled and weighted are the rules,

it’s weird that i and e are even neighbors.

Wiseness

-Hugh Findlay

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Because I know a few things that you don't,

and am grey in beard,

and can hold your gaze steadily,

I am considered wise as God. 

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But I lay claim to differ,

and refuse your youthful admiration

of these wrinkled hands, and brow

and cheek. 

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Too long have I taken to learn repeated lessons,

and full of regret my life is writ. 

I grunt and think and spit,

now pass me a tissue. 

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Overlook me, 

run by me, 

make grand plans,

don’t worry me!

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Listening to my speech is like deciphering wind chimes. 

Following my walk is like convulsing to broken rhymes. 

Reading my life is a tragic plot of

nap after nap after...zzz

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Is the turtle wiser than the sparrow?  

Does a whale's heart beat slower than mine?  

Is the Baobab's reward just more and more time?

Check your phone and let me know, I'll be in the bathroom. 

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Oh, and drink vinegar daily — it will harden your bones. 

Eat a snowball in June. 

Sleep with your clothes on because, well, you never know. 

Pull my finger and fetch me a beer. 

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I can tell you a story if you like. 

One with your beginning, my middle, and no end. 

Yes, there is the lesson, that I am no teacher. 

Do not listen, just sit there and be quiet.

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Score!

Listen

-Hugh Findlay

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I am old and know what I have to say is not always urgent.

Nor do you need to hear me.

Nor must I be understood.

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I am thinking of things good and powerful in my mind.

The things that matter.

The things that endure.

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Today you speak of endless tomorrows, and grudges to hold.

I reach out anyway, in any way.

I share a tale of regret and rebirth.

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What can be told or taught or thought

that is instinctively

survivable?

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Old like me is strong oaken whiskey.

New like you is sparkling pink champagne.  

Listen.

The Cloaks You wear on Yourself Daily

-Erika Girard

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Remove the cloak of

             darkness

                                        that soothes but steals

                            your beautiful soul

                                        from my light caress

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Shrug off the cloak of

             invisibility

for invisible you are not

                          and silent your voice will not be if

             I have any say

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Take off the cloak of

             immortality

                                                    you once bartered for life