Friday, 18 April 2025

Five Poems by Sterling Warner







Manhattan Walkabout Cadralor

 

1)    Ceiling fans circulate dust in a four-star cafés

scatter housefly exoskeletons resting in corners

refracting iridescent colour like dragonfly wings;

spring pollen sailors

blame mesothelioma

short breaths, itchy pores

 

2)    Children toss peanut butter lids as if frisbees

at the beach, skipping waves, blitzing sandcastles

vibrating, rattling like cicada sound box castanets;

green ghostbuster slime

grease rollercoaster wheel tracks

guide sturm and drang thrills

 

3)    Chalk garden portraits drawn on cement by blind artists

tactile strokes create rainbow graphics from gypsum sticks

pedestrians accent walkway vistas with leather soles;

flowerpots yield to

helix hummingbird feeders

bright feathers zip by

 

4)    Collapsed land sink hole sucked muddy fissures, spread like fingers

on a keyboard as cracks grew wider, molten lava rose, fire alarms

wailed & police sirens filled the night air like crying Banshees;

quad camera air drones

navigate through evergreens

piece low hanging clouds            

 

5)    Commitment severed, wedding bands sat in velvet boxes behind

the pawn shop’s display case—below gaudy class rings, pocket watches,

& fine jewellery…fond marital memories faded & gemstone lustre gone;

new year miasma

fog a melancholic cloak

auld lang syne pledges 

 


First Hill Neighbourhood: Seattle


Privately funded research labs

branched off Alder Street’s throughfare

like titanic ribcage bones protecting

the toxic exaltations of Seattle’s

lungs rising, falling, gasping beneath

the naked legs of homeless trekkers

hovering above antiseptic craniums

that stared down alley ways searching

for grails to nourish emaciated spirits,

renew phantom lives, gift wandering barks

mariner astrolabes that measured

the sun’s noon altitude, estimate

longitude and latitude as they calculated

distances between hope, despondency,

despair and rendered GPS devises obsolete

in a world where technology and progress

strove to persist beyond a footnote

as change made former industrial miracles

passé, turned its back on yesteryear’s wünderkinder,

christened human memories enduring benchmarks

that AI preachers tried to absorb and emulate.





Resilience


Annas Bay Salmon

seek the Skokomish River

run and spawn upstream

 

In heated times when red-wing blackbirds

and chirping sparrows grow hoarse then quiet

low-flying aircraft from

Naval Base Kitsap Bremerton

fills the silent void with booming, rumbling jet turbines

buzzing then uttering high-pitched roars justifying

their endless noise pollution all in the name

of strategic training and essential research;

as they skirt granite-blue skies above Puget Sound

lording over the Hood Canal, sometimes taking mock

reconnaissance photos, other times parachuting

into water where boats awaited pin-point skydivers

thoroughly puzzled why any sane person would

desire to jump from perfectly good airplanes,

certain comrades engaged in surface vessel

and submarine training exercises—even at

nuclear shipyards—would offer sailors people

friendly, climate controlled luxury compared

to perpetual Naval Aviation Enterprise hardships

even though mute birds

might disagree, they’ll

eventually burst into song like boreal chickadees

demonstrating resilience, overpowering complaints.

barking sea lions

defend their territories

warn seals and strangers 

 



Au Naturel

 

Twins firmly embraced at twilights bidding, pushed apart

sunburnt bodies blending like two

scarlet chameleons

longing for

aloe

to

soothe

scorched

pores

relieve

angry skin

moisturize ourselves

reclaim healthy, supple, physiques

albeit enriched with nature’s dose of vitamin D.

 

Too hip for Coppertone, they challenged common sense while

ultraviolet rays drilled pale hides,

sapped natural oils;

roasted like

briskets

on

a

long

thin

skewer…

heat blisters

radiating from

head to toe; they both slept solo,

watching The Snow Queen, visually chilling fiery shrouds. 

 




Good Night & Good Luck

 

—Apologies to Edward R. Murrow

 

…Good Night & Good Luck.

 

News anchors mystified by “cool brat” meaning 

utter misleading titles & sound bites they can’t control:

Australian Surfer’s Leg Washes to Shore;

Disciplined Army Reserve Officers Admonished; 

Wolf of Airbnb Defrauds NYC Landlords.

 

…Good Night & Good Luck.

 

Relinquishing the role of trustworthy reporting

to shock jocks, podcasters, DJs & tweeters,

information floats across fancy monitors 

dominates social media platforms, 

drops freely from misinformed lips during 

water cooler conversations where people discuss

sensationalized headlines repeat false, distort facts 

& elevate falsehoods couched in phrases 

dominated by dangling, misplaced modifiers: 

Student Excited Dad Got Head Job;

Soda Cans Exploding like Delta Airlines “Little Bombs”;

Man Stands on Motorcycle Seat Driving 104 MPH; 

Starving, Olympic Food Bar Devoured;

Olympic Athlete Eats at Food Bar With a Tattoo;

Child Swallowed by Python in Red Pajamas;

Police Warn Man with No Arms & No Legs is Armed & On the Run.

 

…Good Night & Good Luck.

 

Editors & webmasters relegate updates on war torn countries, 

indigent families & suffering citizens to back pages 

in the New York Times or between 60 Minutes commercial breaks, 

filling empty space, perpetuating toxic memes, animating 

the uncomfortable hush caused by slack wagging tongues.

 

…Good Night & Good Luck.










 

Sterling Warner is a Washington-based author, poet, educator, and Pushcart Nominee. Sterling's works have appeared in such literary magazines, journals, and anthologies as the Galway Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Lothlórien Poetry Journal, Ekphrastic Journal Review, and Medusa’s Kitchen. Warner’s volumes of poetry include Rags and Feathers, Without Wheels, ShadowCat, EdgesMemento Mori, Serpent’s Tooth, Flytraps: Poems, “Cracks of Light: Pandemic Poetry & FictionHalcyon Days: Collected Fibonacci (2023) and Abraxas: Poems (2024)as well as Masques: Flash Fiction & Short Stories. Although still morning the loss of Carol, his lifetime partner, Warner still writes, hosts “virtual” poetry/fiction readings, turns wood, and enjoys fishing along the Hood Canal.

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