The Literary Review
Slumber Science
Overdosing on chamomile tea
can make you so drowsy
you may appear high.
Bob Dylan had a hit song called
Rainy Day Women
(Everybody Must Get Stoned.)
Now, you can get CBD products
to help you sleep.
Some take melatonin or sip lavender flowers-
to suspend consciousness,
to snooze,
to dream?
What do you seek?
- Linda Kleinbub
Harvest Abecedarian
Almost time for harvest in my
Backyard vegetable garden.
Creation of dirt: a focal point
During quarantine. My
Energy shifted to tending
Fragile seedlings
Growing pole and bush beans
Hot wiri wiri peppers.
I contemplate my lessons learned
Juggling home life and Zoom.
Kids are missing out on
Lessons learned.
More than seven months
No clear answers gained.
October elections begin again, the
Political fiasco will
Quickly escalate
Rising to a
Shrieking pitch.
Time will decide the
United States’ future:
Victory to the people
With liberty and justice.
X-amine your heart before
You go vote so hopefully, the chaos of the current
Zoo will come to order again.
- Linda Kleinbub
Static Friction
The garden is aging
like a slowly dying man
producing less
growing dry, weathered, wrinkled
crumbling away
but still, water is needed
as the growing season
creeps towards frost.
A painting project covers the past
wipes the slate clean for the future,
yet things only stay clean so long.
So much has changed since spring.
Still, my neighbor’s dog barks when
I’m sleeping.
- Linda Kleinbub
Fahrenheit Open Mic Sunday
She wasn’t sure of the direction
the ground was wet dirt, uneven patches of grass.
She tries to take a direct route
avoiding the winding concrete path
searching constellations.
She follows the phases of the moon.
Looking up, she’s lost in the woods
getting snagged by bramble, trudging through the thicket
her destination uncertain.
Holding her breath
searching the night sky
she travels.
Finds a clearing, builds a simple shelter
lays her head on the earth.
Dreams she is floating with stars.
- Linda Kleinbub
Catskill Mountains Calm
Hiking through the forest
a quilt of flaxen leaves rustles beneath her feet.
Baby pines grow entangled in branches of old oaks
fallen leaves nourish tender sapling
protected now
winter is approaching.
Walking through the snapping bramble
her ankles twist on rocks and twigs
looking for her reflection searching a pond nearby.
The dirt road was unfound. Afraid to lose direction
she’s been lost in these woods before.
In pursuit of the northwest trail
dead branches snap as she pushes by.
She retreats back, searching road markers-
as an eagle flies over her.
Moments later a blue jay crosses her path, two good signs.
The sun shines through autumn’s painted leaves
a mosaic in earth tones.
She returns to the mountains for quiet time
to escape the city speed cameras,
to drive 40 without a fine,
to breathe the air of pines.
- Linda Kleinbub
The Addict
She knows it is forbidden
she just wants a little more
surviving weeks without it
one day
it calls when she is weary
sneaks up when she looks away
she can’t block out its signal
just one more sip
one last time
she convinces herself so
one last taste
before the reaper sows
- Linda Kleinbub