Resurrecting Chrysanthemum Anthology

We are resurrecting Chrysanthemum poetry anthology. Please send poems to or inquire at  koonwoon@gmail.com

Chrysanthemum 2020 anthology

Please send 3 - 5 unpublished poems to koonwoon@gmail.com
Deadline 12/31/2019   Please no multiple submissions
Reading time is less than 30 days. 
Payment will be one copy and additional at discount.

Sherry Rabbino Lewis ------------------ five poems

Click on "Poetry" in above menu for poems by Sherry Rabbino Lewis

Five new poems by Simon Perchik

Click on Poetry in the above bar to view Simon Perchik's five new poems

Long war of attrition with China

Click on nonfiction on the menu above

Among the dead and the living ---- story by George Held

Go view the story on the Fiction tab above

David Fewster ----- poem

REDISCOVERED MAUDLIN POEM DATED “FREMONT FAIR SUNDAY SUMMER SOLSTICE SALMON BAY PARK 2000” WRITTEN IN THE MARGINS OF A TORN-OUT STRANGER COVER AND FOUND IN A PAPERBACK EDITION OF LI PO THAT I STOLE FROM THE VASHON LIBRARY AROUND THE SAME TIME  

by David Fewster

Saw them get out of their Lexus

to pick up their 10 and 11 year-old daughters

fat, affluent, they were out of

a George Grosz painting,

hands on porcine hips, obviously giving the girls

a lecture on the American Way.

Disgusted, I bent back over my book,

a biography of the Marquis de Sade,

and surreptitiously took a slug

from my bottle of Hakusan saki,

fermented in the lovely Napa Valley,

and wouldn’t you like to try it

chilled?

I was interrupted by the sound

of elephants stampeding up a

mountain.

It was the couple,

each with a happy, childlike glint

in their eyes,

running toward the park restrooms.

“Geez, they must have to go

really bad,” I thought,

having been in that situation

15 minutes ago, but the bastards

in the Ballard Parks Dept.

had the damned thing locked,

even if it was Sunday at noon,

so I pissed in the bushes myself.

But no, they weren’t

there to piss—

their daughters soon

came up, and it was

obviously a game of

hide & seek, and the

look of joy had been from

the game and their love of it.

And I was abashed.

Where I had been

trying to find evil,

when the surface was scratched,

I only discovered

old hippies who

had not lost the

capacity for

having fun.

What the fuck’s

Wrong with me?

nonfiction piece by Julie A. Dickson

https://fivewillowsnonfiction.blogspot.com/