Mehtab Mowgli

Spectrum Duck Luck Club

I started writing a novel

The ducks don’t bleed from my pluma

Capturing the duckling kisses

Left an indelible impression on my lillypads 

When I was a teen age poet

My parents gave me strict beak bites

“No Liberal Arts- Science or Mathematics and maybe…Law School”

I ducked into an English Literature degree

Prematurely panicked.

I thought my poetic wings were too weak.

Pelicaned to the Dot.com disastrous bubble.

I surrendered not believing in my sing song quacks.

When I landed in the chaotic orbs of the business world.

My neck was almost guillotined 

I almost became the Thanksgiving duck dinner 

The SVP interested in crushing my delicate willow bones

I flew back to Midsummer’s Night Dream

Mesmerized and dazed by Ariel’s musical spells.

Connected with the Spectrum Poetry Society.

We share our chalices of French brioche bread

And get drunk from the shared ambrosia words every Saturday afternoon.

Even though I struggle with the pace of my duck luck club.

Swimming alongside, or behind, is sweet breadsticks

I have discovered I have the grit to keep swimming the pond

Because weaving poetry is such sweet bliss.

Coco

Take Flight

My little ducklings…

oh, my how you’ve grown.

Mallard men with proud wings 

soaring across the ocean of sky.

I ponder in the pond 

dabbling my head below 

the surface of strength 

to bow at harbored fears.

 

Tidal waves of grief 

I have kept from you 

in the stillness of fathoms 

yet to be explored. 

Quack, quack, quack 

Quack, quack, quack 

Quack, quack, quack, quack 

at all the predators that would breathe in our direction. 

We were never the ducks 

to sit still and wait 

to be served as dinner. 

We were always proud birds. 

Fierce protectors of 

other orphaned or 

weak nested 

late hatchlings. 

Filtering through our pectin 

the truths and tender protein 

filled underbellies of misfortune 

into nourishment. 

Togetherness is our strength 

and as you have learned 

to take flight I see 

how you circle back for me. 

My sweetest gentle drakes 

the time draws near 

for you to fly solo. 

Take wing, keep heart 

and know that you never 

have to circle back 

for what is always a part of you…

The divine love and affinity 

of creation that pulses 

your wings in flight 

I am there with every breath. 

Every stride 

along your journey 

I will continue 

to step with you. 

There is no me without you 

and I understand 

you may feel there is no you 

without me. 

Dear one hear me 

when I say the creation 

of the parts will forever stay 

connected to the whole… 

This is why we fly in V formation.

Hôpital de Cane

I have to keep all my ducks in a row

…

Dot my eyes and

place a cross over my tea

Count my blessings

in feathers collected

into this pillow

I lay my head on

Here in my hospital gown

A green pasture of etchings

sketching’s of how many

close call moments recorded – in near death misses

I’m a lucky duck they say

…

still waddling amongst

vicious predators in this mote

But as I piddle paddle

all I see is my beautiful pond

life’s glory in every breath

wind blowing fates of divinity

Radomir Vojtech Luza

Red Rhino

Lying bed C here in room 23 

In Grand Valley Healthcare Center

In Van Nuys, CA

For over three months

I often discount my luck

And wonder what I did to

Put myself in this helpless position

Where lucky and unlucky are merely words

Disappearing with the birds

My bipolar mental illness and Lymphedema have

Put me here

Like a young King Lear

Emperor or king

President or Prime Minister

It matters not

Nature rules the lot

Tears flow down sharp cheekbones

And I talk

But please God

Let me re-learn how to walk

Lucky Duck

Some sprint through this life

At their own pace

Others seem to lack grace and

Rip their leather lace

Gazing at their face

There is no saving base

Only trembling palms

Knocking knees

Always reaching for a can of mace

When they should be placing their faults and flaws

In a platinum case

Won in a desert chase

For there was nowhere to win a civilized race

G T Foster

 Book the Show on Fox at Five

 (Scat thematic music of the Mickey Mouse Club television program)

      Mickey was blocked by term-limits so the MM Club leadership ran Minnie and billed her as the

 natural successor. Never modest, Donald Duck ran but was seen, on the other hand, as a clown

 playing for laughs. His candidacy was not taken seriously by club insiders and know-it-alls. They

 called him out of species names like Loose Goose and Popinjay Peacock, unfriended him on Face-

 book, scheduled the big parade without him and then totally ignored his loud drum. Official club

 spokespersons said he was an orange feathered ostrich with his head stuck in the sand and would

 eventually suffocate.    

      But low and behold! I mean, behold just how low. Although Donald promised to drain the

 swamp along the Tiki Village lake and turn Fantasy Land into a reality TV show, his rustler

 outsiders and foreign herd friends were also tired of Mickey and his kind and had their own plans.

 They twisted trails and painted tales with deadly diatomaceous earthy lies meant to frame and

 defame Minnie as a frightened rat not fit to captain a ship, then sent poison pen letters to many,

 many of her minions, supporters, and friends.

      Jiminy Cricket, the MM Club conscience and international greeter, died hopping just past

 the flagpole on his way to vote on Election Day as did Mr. Grasshopper, somewhere up the road

 from there, joined by another dozen or so of their creepy-crawly clubhouse friends. All dropped

 undesirably dead along the multi-fold paths of their designated neighborhood polling places.

      Elected the lucky duck turned the tables upside down trumpeting, “Fat meat ain't greasy! Eat all you want. I know a doctor guarantees good physicals. I'll give you a list. Fat meat ain't greasy, fracking is good, temperatures rising is a joke, and Global Warming is a hoax. Shrinking ice caps, rising tides? Are you quacked? Don't make me laugh. I'll tell you what's in, follow me on Twitter. Hotel bed sheets and head lice. Gonna make millions. What this nation needs is more Duck Nation Pride.”

      Two too many! Mickey was out, as was Minnie, too; tutus and all. Gone was the good life, but as losers the Mouses were louses. Their foundation shaken, left to garbage and scraps they couldn't

 take it. Quickly running afoul, they promptly found themselves ensnared, entangled, entrapped

 pinching peanut butter. Nutty! With their necks caught in the noose, both soon lost their heads,

 squealed each other out and expired shortly after.

  (Scat thematic music of the Mickey Mouse Club television program)

      Yea, Donald.Yea, Donald. Yea, Donald Duck Club! Yea!                                                                                    

                                                                                              

Club Cheer

Walt and Roy conjured dizzying joy

with sulking cats and talking rats

endowed with a Cold War strife 

upending candle life

Weekdays at 5 o'clock 

every adolescent on the block 

would gather at the Roberts' house

there to watch Mickey Mouse

Halting play at the neighbor's door 

we massed like kelp on the Pacific shore

We sat, stood, squatted, leaned, and swayed

from initial song and opening parade thru 

the clubhouse closing cartoon—every kid stayed 

The show retold old stories in animated art 

with a hypnotic, psychotic, neurotic start

Poor Donald, unlucky duck, would break 

my heart daily in an unsolved riddle: 

Why must he always be second fiddle?

Every fellow adored Annette Funicello 

but as for me, so far as the Triple R

I wanted the less hardy Spin to win 

not Marty 

Then at the end came 

Miska Mooska Mousekateer 

closing an hour of fun and cheer

selling soup, soap, cereal, and 

peanut butter but never beer—or ever 

my reflection in those Mouse Club ears

Emil "Gene" Schultz

 

 

What is a Lucky Duck?

 

This brought many thoughts into my mind

the first of which is called the firing line

a remote place just north of California

across the Ady Canal onto a long dirt road

this was out in the sticks and to our six

the Lower Klamath National Wildlife Refuge.

 

It was affectionately called the firing-line

because scores of eager hunters in fine camo

armed with shiny shotguns and lots of ammo

staked their claim to the spot they thought

would bag them the most ducks on that day.

 

Darkness began to fade, and the sky turned gray

the sound of eager hunters chambering rounds

broke the chilled silence like a crack in the air.

The sky almost became light before turning dark

with wave upon wave of ducks and geese

as far as you could see blocking all the light

have you ever seen such a sight?

 

Bang, boom, bang bang, they did shoot

the only thing that fell was the expended lead

falling on the dried crops in the adjacent fields.

The game birds at 50,000 feet, probably on oxygen,

as they approached a steep glide path to the safety

of the game preserve just to the south.

 

Bang, boom, bang, bang the hunters did shoot,

box after box of empty shells fell to ground,

and yet, with all the lead that flew

not one feather ever fell.

What the hell!

 

My thoughts then turned to Jack

on the morning of our first mortar attack.

It was a cool gray morning on Ubon Air Base

when the dull, hollow, low thud of a fired mortar

the calm silence broken with shouts

Duck, Duck, get down, take cover.

followed by a faint whistling sound as it flew

ending with a Big Boom

that was looking for you.

 

I was still in the rack when I heard

that unmistakable sound

and rolled onto the floor

pulling my mattress to cover my back.

 

Johnny had just arrived at work

when he heard that sound

and dove to the floor

trying to get under ground

he heard the sound of shrapnel

passing through the wall

it went through the filing cabinet

and landed hot on his back

 

He was one lucky Duck.

 

Richard is another story.

We would walk to breakfast

and work each day.

When I arrived at his hooch

I thought he had gone away.

 

Much to my surprise

I found him perched atop

a locker dressed in skivvies

and a look of fear on his face.

Oh, what a place!

 

When he awoke to the alarm

and reached for the clock

he was alerted by a soft hiss

and looked through the screen

to see what was amiss.

 

A king cobra standing tall

swaying with hood expanded

ready to strike.

 

Rich jumped onto the locker

just as the cobra struck

and hit the screen -

a lucky blocker.

 

Rich was one Lucky Duck!

Patricia Murphy

Lucky Ducks

I have my lucky ducks all lined up. 

They are all in a row.  

Exactly as I want them.  

They talk to me.  

They respond to my commands.  

They agree with me.  

They obey me.  

They are good company.  

Sometimes they have good suggestions. 

I can run things by them.  

At times, they are tenacious.  

I keep them all in order. 

I prioritize each one.  

They are important to me.  

I see only good in them.  

They are special.  

They are spoiled.  

They are electric.  

They are mine.  

Lucky

To be lucky is a great thing.  

Its wonderful to have all the luck 

and objects in the world.  

We should be thankful for 

what we do have.  

Sometimes its hard earned.  

Its important to make a grateful list. 

To be self sufficient is wonderful.  

To have a miracle is great.  

Prayer is also good.  

We make our own luck.  

Luck be a lady tonight.  

For the night is young. 

To be alone is a drone.  

But we have to atone.  

We create our own advantages in life.  

We can attain our goals.  

We are our own best friend.  

Beverly Higginson

Peeking Duck

Eavesdropping girl on her mother's call

hears rapid voices rise and fall

curious young ears, sometimes misled

'peeking duck?' had her mother said?

"Peeking duck?" the girl did wonder

a sneaking duck, peeking yonder?

at a lily pad afloat on a watery reef

with a perching duck on a birch tree leaf?

or a lucky duck, free not stuck

in some oily mildew sandy muck?

or a peeking duck seeking luck

to keep his head attached to the butt

outside the sound a thwack, a quack

a squawk from the sky "get back, get back"

Mallards with unclipped wings spread wide

lifting aloft, their amber wings glide

Freedom for them

could she save one from slaughter?

a peaking duck

with his head under water?

Tousling and turning in a tangled sheet

feathers tickled her nose, her feet

her slumbered eyes still closed and shut

she reached in vain for the unlucky duck

from out of a dream, she shook her fuzzy head

this awakened girl in her rumpled bed

Oh peeking duck that cannot fly

your fate is set - you're doomed to die

only in dreams would you get away

no more peeking, no more play

someone's dinner, sad but true

oh PeKING duck, that dinner is you 

Lori Wall-Holloway

Early Morning Wake Up

Early morning silence

Odd

I wake and start

to get up when I feel 

the floor begin to shake

Trembling, I race to grab

my two children

and push them to duck

cover and hold under 

our dining room table

The ground moves beneath

us and sounds like a freight

train roaring through our home

I begin to pray with my son 

and daughter to fight our fear

Earthquake stops

I check outside to see

flashlights shine in the dark

One neighbor turns

on his big wheel truck’s 

headlights to bask 

the area in light

I return inside to hear 

a small eight-year-old

voice praying furiously 

to combat fright

Anxious thoughts penetrate 

my mind because my young adult 

is not home and I don’t know 

his whereabouts

A big black Oldsmobile 

pulls up 

My mother quickly 

jumps out to make 

sure we are all right

Upset at hearing her grandson 

was not with us, she proceeds 

to do her detective work

We discover my oldest is sound 

asleep across the street at his buddy’s

having slept through the quake

Summoned to the door, he emerges 

rubbing his eyes, only to be met 

by his grandmother’s wrath

Lucky Bird

A small blue parakeet

with long tail feathers

sits on the edge of a plate 

to share a morning meal

with his owner

my mother’s father

Lucky has the freedom 

to fly through the house

and sits securely

on his shoulder 

while a black and white 

television show is aired 

or music flows from a radio

The small bird’s life 

is such a contrast 

to the lives of the grey pigeons 

my mom brings home as pets

When she can’t find them

after school, she asks her Italian 

grandfather what he knows

since he lives with them

He smiles and simply opens 

the oven door

Luck or Miracles?

“What you do?! Win the lotto?!” 

exclaims my former manager

I beam with excitement 

when I share with him 

my good fortune

A new home 

in a condo I just bought

A brand new car

after trading in a vehicle

purchased at a yard sale

Everything obtained 

within a month of each 

other

Was it a fluke 

for me to receive

such lucky breaks?

I say they were miracles

wrapped in love from God

Answers to prayers I prayed 

for myself and my family

over the years 

Little did I realize 

an even greater 

blessing was waiting

to be revealed

Joseph Nicks

Camptorhynchus labradorius:  the unluckiest of ducks

OK, so Daffy had to be duckin’ Elmer’s duckshot 

every damned duck season 

Donald works for a corporate juggernaut out to

buy up every independent franchise until it

monopolizes the film industry

and, Howard, well how much less fortunate can you get

than to be “trapped in a world that you never made”

but at least he had his own Marvel Comic 

and was immortalized in a Pretenders song

of course, just about anyone with the surname Duck 

can vouch for what a drag it is to be the subject

of playground poetry with such handy rhymes

as suck, yuk, fuck and schmuck

but I can guarantee you’ve never heard a tale 

of greater anatine woe than the real life story of: 

The Labrador Duck 

a handsome black and white species

(though, as with most waterfowl, the far sexier ♀ 

had much more modest plumage than the ♂)

that once thrived foraging for mollusks in the shallow

coastal waters of the western North Atlantic, 

it has the dubious distinction of being the first

animal endemic to the western hemisphere

whose extinction can be directly traced

to invasive European hominids

as is generally the case with these not-so-bright

animals (the invasive ones), they apparently

finally noticed by the mid-1800s that they weren’t 

seeing these ducks but on rare occasions anymore

damned if they could figure out what to do

about that, though, and one not-so-fine day 

in December 1878 on Long Island NY, some 

green young duck-hungry Fuddite went out 

a-huntin’ an’ came home with a whole passel 

o’ ducks, including an odd-looking black and 

white one that no one recognized

word got around town but, by the time a local

naturalist got out to the house to check it out,

all that was left was the head and neck – 

enough for ornithologists to later confirm that

this was indeed the last known Labrador Duck

in all fairness, it was probably never very common 

and, being a sea duck that was rarely seen inland,

wasn’t very well known

apparently, the flesh wasn’t very tasty and it had

a distinctive clammy odor to it, so the species 

probably wasn’t a favorite of hunters

 

what most likely did it in was the disappearance

of its favored molluscan prey due to a rapidly-

changing coastal habitat resulting from the 

burgeoning human population

still, it’s a too-often-retold story:

here comes Homo sapiens...

there goes the neighborhood!

Jeffry Michael Jensen

 

Lucky Ducks in a Row!

Altadena was worth 22 years or maybe 23

never worth any more than 25 unless she was a redhead

West Covina was all clowns and not worth a plugged nickel

I always attempted to respect my elders

I never could sleep easy with a fool on the loose

it is not very original or even close to traditional

when the top is down on the getaway car

midnight should never push couples into sex

but then again sex should stay as diverse as possible

I slipped across the border into Pasadena before sex got

real complicated and the cook headed for the hills before first

light could believe that the ingredients could turn sour

someone tried to push the menu on the innocent

without having anyone go green around the gills

I had expected good luck to give me a gaggle of braless customers

but it was always bowling for a six-pack that made me come up blindly naked

I pushed back at time as far as it would go

bending reality can be such a hoot in the noonday sun

with my sixth sake in hand, I counted all the orange ducks

that could fit in the backseat of a Sierra Madre hearse

before it could hurry into the slow lane of a lucky life

R A Ruadh

Midsommar

In Stockholm At midsommar

When night never quite falls On the harbour

By the Maritime Museum The quayside is full quiet With a soft gathering

Of dozing eider ducks

In the gentle gloaming

The tide kisses the pier goodnight And delicate duck down

Drifts lazily in the half light airs Between land and sea

As the almost silent eider ducks Huddle sleepily on the quayside By the Maritime Museum

On the harbour

When night never quite falls At midsommar

In Stockholm

Crystal Lane Swift

I’m the Lucky Duck

Memories of you are tainted by what you did to my mother

She was the one always there

Mom and I had . . . have an unbreakable connection

It doesn’t matter how many fights, things we’ll never agree on, frustrations we cause each other

She is home

She is safety

She is Mom

When she wanted to divorce you, it bruised your ego

You couldn’t handle the downsizing to your lifestyle

You hated our mother more than you loved us

So you fought

You won our house, our college funds, “your own time” with us, our dog

who you gave away without letting us say goodbye

At 13, I got to choose not to see you

My sister didn’t fair so well, so now she lives in a world torn between Mom and Dad

A world where she continues abusive relationships to avoid being alone

A world where marriage doesn’t matter

A world where she won’t put down roots in any city

A world without home

And I’m angry and make predictably bad decisions

Mostly with the wrong men

Yet you sent my daughter a Christmas gift

A game

Lucky Ducks

The ducks go round and round quacking

You have to collect all the ducks with a red dots or green diamonds

Evelyn loves it

You expect her to call you grandpa and your wife grandma

I get to choose whether to call at all

Was the fight worth it?

Did you win?

I’m the lucky duck

One Lucky Duck

My sister can push my buttons like no one else

We’ll just be having a pleasant conversation

Then suddenly we’re yelling

No matter how tenuous my point

Once she counters

My heels are buried 

Then there was you

You found buttons 

Even my sister isn’t aware of

We can fight

You and I 

We rage

A fire like I have never known

Then we go off to stew

You come to apologize first

I’m one lucky duck

Christmas Lucky Ducks

I hadn’t heard much from my dad in years

Just a text here and there

Mostly my choice

He always sent strange gifts

Maybe they were only strange because he didn’t really know me

I never really let him

Then one Christmas my dad sent a gift to my daughter

One she plays all the time

Lucky Ducks

Charles Harmon

Lucky Ducks

O Fortuna, goddess queen of Luna

luck favors the prepared—so Hallelujah!

with Zoom we’re lucky to be connected

this Spring the world feels resurrected!

Sitting ducks, like decoys in a lake

they look so real you’d think that they were fake

but hunters who believe that make a big mistake

she’s a lucky duck to have a handsome badass drake.

When Elmer blasts them with his fuddy dud shotgun

not out for food but out to have some fun

returning fire, the ducks have him on the run

turnabout is fair play, the lucky ducks have won.

Lucky ducks floating through the tunnel of love

drifting down a river like angels from above

these ducks fight back when pushes come to shoves

ducks make their own luck, like eagles not as doves.

This is no cake walk but they take the prize

awarded to the best swimmers a couple of pies

they’re lucky ducks, you can see it in their eyes

seeing right through the hunters’ dumb alibis…

Lucky ducks make their own luck, don’t take it lying down

even out on the water they stand their ground

take the fight to the enemy, bomb the hunters’ own town

they’ll kick the hunters’ asses and never back down.

I was born at the crossroads under a bad sign

guess it’s bad luck or was it God’s design?

I’ve made a few mistakes, but I refuse to resign

if you can’t stand the pain there’s happy hour time…

I only got shot because I forgot to cover and duck

end of the road, hope we’re not all out of luck

take to the water, take to the earth and sky

a lucky duck refuses to lay down and die.

Lucky Duck Tape

 

I always thought it was “duct tape,” at least when I was a kid

and I used to repair heating and air conditioning ducts

or whatever, it was endlessly versatile, anything could be fixed

or at least held together with this magical tool.

Dad heard and corrected me, it was “Duck Tape,”

used a lot during WW2 to fix nearly anything that broke

and it was waterproof, so water ran off like off a duck’s back.

 

When I was a kid on a camping trip, we entertained ourselves

by making homemade shoes from enormous rolls of the stuff

sandals, boots, moccasins, and naming them for Biblical figures:

“Jesus Jumpers, Moses Movers, Samson Sandals, Biblical Boots.”

But the tape also worked great to repair broken boots on hikes,

broken back packs, ripped clothes and tents, a mean kid even

taped the outhouse door shut when someone was in there

but luckily the trapped kid cut his way out with a pocketknife.

Another kid made a duct tape hat to keep off the sun, but

he forgot to back it with foil and stuck it directly onto his head.

Wonder how anyone could be that dumb?

I do not recommend this technique for hair removal, however…

 

Even in outer space or on the moon astronauts take the tape

along on a rocket ride to repair the Lunar Excursion Module

or the lunar buggy or even a hole in a space suit.

No jokes about a fart in a space suit, but that does bring to mind

a possible solution to avoid breathing the poisonous gas…

 

My kids got into making duck tape wallets when they were in

junior high trying to earn money to help pay for the field trip

to Washington D.C. which was rather expensive but fun.

They had a lot of wallets in various colors and sizes going

for only five bucks apiece, but they only sold one or two.

They made great Christmas and birthday gifts—I still have mine

although with no money in it after paying for the trips.

 

Then there’s Halloween costumes. Duct tape and cardboard robots,

mummies, monsters, silvery aliens, a walking talking chessboard…

 

Cardboard and Duck tape boats made by my physics students

to study density and buoyancy and have fun in the school pool!

 

Some things you should never use duck tape for:

underwear, socks, gloves, prophylactics, eyebrow enhancers…

 

Semper Paratus, be prepared, luck favors the prepared

you make your own luck, be a lucky duck!

Keep a roll in your car in an emergency bag just in case

your pants rip or a heel comes off your shoe or you break a leg.

After an earthquake during a rainstorm when traffic is blocked

waterproof your “Freeway Flip Flops to walk home in the mud.

In Duck Tape we trust, even if everything goes bust!

Jim Babwe

Answering in the Form of a Question

The Winnemucca muck

is tough to duck

and with a little luck

you can duck the muck

unless you happen to be

a woodchuck already

stuck in Winnemucca.

No.

I'm sorry.

You did not answer

in the form of a question.

What if the Winnemucca muck

that's tough to duck

requires a little luck

to duck the muck

but the woodchuck's

already stuck

in Winnemucca?

That is a correct response.

Alex adds the following:

If you drive a truck

and get stuck in the Winnemucca muck

along with an unlucky woodchuck,

you may be able to refrain

from voicing a vulgar epithet,

but considering the circumstances,

it may also be impossible

to avoid thinking about

this same vulgar epithet.

I wish he would be right back

after this commercial break. 

Mark A Fisher

 a young man

swung a duck tape sword

rescuing damsels

from book cover chimeras

in the ruins of ancient lands

beneath a cursed and broken moon

till darkness settles down

on memories of magic

faded and yellowed

like the books read

in those formative years

now lost in the dust

of another lifetime

Alicia Viguer-Espert

 Watching Poets at Work

           listening to Don Kingfisher’s workshop on YouTube            

I listen to Don ask questions

To writers who explain music to be

Their inspiration, or dreams, that dark 

Mine of unconscious riches. What pickax,

Should poets use to extract veins of silver,

What wheeled cart carries gold, they wonder,

Or only the golden hour will do, that instant

Before waking, or before the day’s end, 

That disappears under horizontal horizons,

Balances the lucky world in a trapeze, stirs

The emotional soup of loving, and losing, 

Genesis and the terminal moment we dread?

Elated, I read hope in the flamingo-colored sky

As clouds shift, birds attempt their last flight

Before darkness covers feathers, well-hidden 

Seeds, the new partner they just wed for life,

At least flamingos do take their time courting,

Initiate dance steps in stilt legs, migrate across 

Time, space, to escape my jam-packed mind.

I write distractedly, still listening to Don’s 

Questions as poets undress themselves, a little, 

Share techniques, dreams written on pages 

Of the book sitting at their night table, which 

Nobody uses because they either forget to dream,

Where the book lies, or the object of sleep soundly 

In bed with partners who will never know why 

Poets get out of a warm California King to rhapsodize 

The moon, or capture the trembling beauty 

Of the night inside the tea cup of perfection.  

Alicia grew up in a bilingual family in Valencia, Spain. She learned English as an adult, began writing in English in 2017 and that same year won The San Gabriel Valley Poetry Festival Book Contest with her book Holding a Hummingbird. She has been a featured poet at numerous venues within the greater LA. Her work has been published in Colorado Boulevard, Lummox Anthologies, Altadena Poetry Review, ZZyZx Intersections, Panoplyzine, Rhyvers, and Spectrum Publications, among others. Her chapbook Out of the Womb of the Sea was recently published by Four Feathers Press. She’s a 2019 and 2020 Pushcart Prize nominee. 

Jackie Chou

Bad Duck (inspired by Billie Eilish’s Bad Guy)

White page now blue my rusty pen scribbling

You’re sitting at your desk listening 

Pretending I don’t know 

Think you’re so critical 

Callous on both my hands for you 

Don’t have nice things to say

I write what I want when I’m wanting to

My words so flexible 

 

So you’re a wise duck 

Like your girl so smart duck

Head always so full duck

IQ so high duck 

I’m that bad duck

Will disappoint you duck

Poems so cringe-worthy duck

Brain always a fog duck

 

I’m the bad duck, duh

I’m the bad duck

 

I like it when you share photos

Lying on a cozy mattress

Your daughter in a satin dress

Dream of a perfect childhood

With what you post on Facebook

I'm no homewrecker or pedophile

Won't read this poem to my friends

They'll pity me for what I am

 

So you’re a wise duck 

Like your girl so smart duck

Head always so full duck

IQ so high duck 

 

I’m that bad duck

Will disappoint you duck

Poems so cringe-worthy duck

Brain always a fog duck

 

I’m the bad duck, duh

I’m the bad duck

Rick Leddy

 

Click on image to enlarge

Ducks

A flotilla of breadcrumbs 

Released from the small fingers of our children

Into the frigid, gelatinous pond

The cold steel morning reflection more solid than liquid

They dropped, creating circles

That dissipated out 

Small splashing tremors 

Rings intersecting rings 

Venn diagrams of motion dissipating

Waves disappearing with time and distance

into the whole 

Our children were small, concentric circles then

Sharing the epicenter of us

Before they expanded and faded into other lives

Feeding ducks once more important than diode light and texts 

They awaited the kaleidoscope of ravenous prismatic heads

Delighted at feathered ships silky through water

A flock racing to genuflect before tiny deities

conferring gluten benediction

The Gods squealed 

Ripping off chunks of bread

Thrown soft and white into thirsty water

Falling between the cracks

Of temporary, gliding beggars

Creating ripples

That would expand all too quickly

Then fade away

Shih-Fang Wang

Somewhere

Looking for love

It is out there

Somewhere 

Maybe reticent 

Timorous

Running faster than a hare

Quietly approach it

No haste

Slowly nurture it

With care  

As gentle as a light feather

As sweet as a rose petal

Grow it like a delicate plant

Requiring stringent nutrients

And when finally it blooms

You will be the lucky duck

If it does not survive

No blame to anyone

Maybe you have a brown thumb

Maybe it is not suitable for you

 

Unwelcomed Drosophila

You little nuisance

How dare you darted across 

In front of my eyes 

Then soon disappeared

I thought it was my floater 

But you reappeared in a defiant manner

Like claiming your right in my quarter

Must you sneak in between

Opening and closing of the door 

When I ventured out to the yard

Must you be allured by the musky smell of

Honeydew I had earlier

You thought you were the lucky duck 

Winning a chance to savor a gourmet treat

Rather you fall into a trap

You are not welcomed in my walled realm 

As you are way too distracting

You don’t know what you miss

Just look out the window

In the yard your pals are 

Bathing under the balmy sun 

Inhaling rich fragrance of 

Ripe apples and citruses on the trees

Imbibing mellow fruits juice of your favorite

See their jolly courtship dancing and 

Luscious mating to their desire 

While inside you are but a prisoner

Tiny and erratic like you

How can I usher you out

I am going to leave no food scrapes around

So you will starve to end yourself

And leave no room for your kind to slip in 

As to snip your chance for breeding

Soon you will be out of my sight forever

Bio

Shih-Fang Wang: After retirement from medical profession in 2016, I shifted gears and entered into the fascinating art world.  I enjoy writing and watercolor painting.  In Dr. Mira N. Mataric’s  creative writing class I started to write poems.  Through expressing emotions, depicting humanity, exploring life and nature with poems I am able to gain more insight into my inner world.

  

Mira N Mataric

 Memories of Childhood

Lucky Duck, Lucky Duck where are you?

I have not seen you since childhood

in the backyard of my grandma’s home

I liked to watch the way you walked

waddling from side to side across the yard.

It was so cute I visited you every day

after coming from school.

 

One day when I came you were not there

I rushed into the house yelling Baka

Baka, Baka, my duck is missing.

Do not worry, my child,

he is not missing.

 

He was with us for dinner last night,

in the soup and roast you ate.

 

Only now I understand,

I was the lucky duck.

Baka does not have ducks now

she has changed to rabbits.

On the table, it all looks the same.

 

 

A Real Lucky Duck

I was a real lucky duck

on the afternoon

when I ducked

to avoid being struck

by a low hanging limb

and not knocked down.

 

I was a lucky duck

on the day I fell off the curb

and landed with my knees

on my big soft purse.

 

I was a true lucky duck

when mom made my brother

and me hide under the bed

as soldiers went house to house

collecting people to slaughter

 and throw into

the powerful Blue Danube.  

 

I have been a lucky duck

many times in life

but never considered

myself to be lucky

except,

I am still alive.

Dean Okamura

 

All ducks go to the same place

Ducks must go to the same place when they die 

They are such orderly creatures as ducklings 

Walking in a row behind mother duck 

Learning to waddle in safety 

Avoiding the vicious ducks and predators 

 

Soon they take flight 

Live independent lives 

Never forgetting the sound upbringing 

It's nature. Biological. We call it imprinting. 

 

One favorite book, Make Way for the Ducklings 

Tells the story of a duck family 

From an island in the Charles River (Boston) 

The ducklings embark on a grand adventure 

Swim to the shore 

Walk the city sidewalks 

Always in single file behind mother duck 

 

Kind folks say, "Ain't that nice!" 

"Look out for the automobiles!" 

Proud mother duck is not cautious 

So, a police officer escorts them 

Puts up a firm hand to stop traffic 

 

The duck family arrives at the Public Garden 

"Quack… Quack" duck lingo for 

"Thank you… so much" to the police officers 

Meanwhile, father duck waits on an 

Island of the Garden Pond 

 

Nice to have such a disciplined life 

Lucky to be a duck 

It's so natural 

For all ducks go to the same place

 

Lucky ducks

Love is a duck that flies. 

And where it lands is never sure. 

 

They try to put it in a cage. 

They try to tell you who to love. 

They try to mate you with their choice. 

 

They fail. 

 

Those controlling plans fail. 

 

Love begins in the heart. 

The spark. The beat. The pure delight. 

The pain. The loss. The lone-some dark. 

 

It's each and ever — there. 

It's each and ever — real. 

It's each and ever — lasting. 

 

Never failing. 

 

And the duck, she flies. 

She finds her way. 

Even if she's blind. 

Unlucky duck

Two female ducks discussed recent events about a certain drake, 

although drake refers to an honorable male duck, 

and this one was a real bastard, 

but the word bastard 

does not exist in duck parlance. 

 

"You don't know how lucky you are, honey. 

He never-never could make you happy. 

A beautiful duck like you… Don’t you see… 

You could have your pick of the colony." 

 

But those words did not comfort Scarlett. 

For her heart-pounding love, Rhett, 

had flown North and love 

perished, gone with the wind. 

 

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." 

 

Those words would haunt this proud duck 

for the rest of her living days. 

Every part of her demise was a product of her charm, 

cheating, lies, deceit, treachery, but most of all:     fear. 

 

Never trusting luck. She 

kept on manipulating constantly. 

Poor lonely Scarlett O’Duckie! 

You are so unlucky! 

Joseph Grieco

 

Drawing by Marsha Grieco

French Luck

I’ve been daydreaming, picturing the streets around the Sorbonne

I’ve been smoking in bed again

I’ve been aching to go to the racetrack

I’ve taken to drinking again

I’ve been cleaning my gun and imagining the hunt

Get me to a barber who knows my name, and how to cut a flat top with fenders

I want to sit in a barber chair, listen to a ballgame on the radio

I’ve been craving the hard jaunt of a Harley shovelhead

I’d like to hear the crack and echo of nine ball

I’ve been wanting to lean on a cue

It feels like I ought to be someplace else, n’est pas?

I’ve been blowing French smoke rings in bed again

I’ve been dreaming my luck would change

Maria A Arana

Lucky

 

to be living

celebrating sunsets

seasons

 

to be lying

departing from truths

breaking hearts

 

you’re lucky to be

 

 

 

Ducks on a High School Football Field

 

scrounge green grass

swallow hard

gulp

100’s of ducks

waddling on high school property

minding own business

pesticides not used

 

ducks maintain grass

for weeks on end

where’s the water they so desperately need

with only a pool nearby…

duck tanning

what are they doing there

across the sky

 

feathers

 

 

 

careful or not

 

it’s here

taking lives

changing the world

unrecognizable

 

the end of the world commences

and the lucky ones can only cringe

at their survival

 

the first wave

the second

third...

a return to normal is only the test

 

passing it will be the jolt

 

Don Kingfisher Campbell

Shower

 

hot summer day

turns to dripping evening

we walk in park mist

kiss in newborn drizzle

 

the rain in the kiss

feels elemental

like we are fish

in a primordial ocean

 

it's so natural

water and tongue

tongues and saliva

combine to sense life

 

our fins

i mean arms

wrap around our bodies

we breathe clouds of ecstasy

 

it's like we're in the sky

now i understand

the ecstasies of clouds

as drops drip down to skin

 

we share our fluidity

movements evolution

given muscularity

and the ability

 

to form words

like love in the air

no need for an umbrella

wet orbs in our heads

 

provide electricity

by lingering long

like a lake

after a late afternoon

 

the sun falls

into the mountains

the heavens become

a dark mass

 

ducks rest by the shore

we don't make noise

instead puddle on a bench

create a witnessed scene

 

lightly soaked trees stand happily

while we appendage up

to stroll away from paradise

holding hands locking smiles

 

look forward to our return

to the moistened earth

where we will grow together

again like sprouting plants

Collection

 

Flowers of a bush open like a firework.

Each solar receptor’s pink petals outstretch

to welcome power.

The center of the flower mimics the sun itself.

While lily pads scoop light through green skin,

the higher lifeform ducks, like us,

have stored energy and float

on the water in the shade of a tree

so as to not get too much of the life-giving force.

The grown pumpkins sit unable to do anything

about the passing of day into night,

merely absorb illuminated until phased cold shadow.

The photographer enthusiastically employed

the resultant spectrum.

The poet wasn’t even there, didn’t have to be,

thanks to the charged transmission

of colors and shapes saved to a swollen brain.

The Big Pineapple!

 

Under a blue and white streaked sky

In a city of crosswalks, motorbikes, SUV’s, and buses

Palms line the street in front of high-rise residential buildings

And what looks like a gigantic metal pineapple nestled nearby

It’s a shopping mall you can walk into in torn jeans and sneakers

Past the red sash wearing masked security guard who guns your wrist for a fever

The first thing in front of you, a yellow arching M for McDonald’s

Stores lined with plastic items, a jewelry stand adorned with little red flags

Pick up a flyer for a Cali Burger, then walk in shops featuring stuffed yellow Pikachu’s and portable plastic fans

Another has hard liquor, wire racks of bottled wines

Cans and bottles of beer, baby care products (a logical progression)

Packaged Strawberry Bear Cookies in a register line bin

Now on to the market, cheerful music piped in, bags of dried food

A rainbow of produce piled inside imitation bushel baskets

Plums, lemons, limes, a father picking up one to try

as he holds his baby daughter in the crook of his arm

A carton of eggs just 9.90…strangely enough, fat black urns too

Each variety of bean can be scooped up and zip-lock bagged

Pizza slices and buttery rolls on aluminum warming trays

Roll your full cart to the checkout, I see you are buying roast duck and dumplings

Get your receipt, only 84.80 for all you wanted (that’s $12.50 American)

Wander some more through boutiques of

flowery dresses, wrapped bikinis, comfy cotton shorts and tees

Again small red flags on the rack corners (it’s National Day)

Take a selfie as you encounter a tall mirror by the door

to show off the bulging satchel over your shoulder

Find a white beanie for a mere 4.50 that says Comfortable above the brim

Cute hand towels seem like tiny soft hanging dresses

Colorful curvy bras hang held up by clipped hangers

A silky black camisole feels right with your waterfall of long hair

Pass a capped teen girl in a red Michigan Wolverine blue helmet emblazoned sweater near the cosmetics display

Back home on the 11th floor, think to yourself

These butter cookies could have been better

But this is not Monterey Park, this is Sanya

Where a communist can be a capitalist every day

All three of these poems were published in an 18 poem e-libretto available for no cost by going to http://bobbyjohnpress.blogspot.com