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Serving up a new poem for breakfast Monday thru Friday.
Plus some periodic writing related Saturday & Sunday Surprises.
Most Recent Servings:
Havertown Road in Mourning (Pantoum)- A Poem by Ali Widdoes
Havertown Road in Mourning (Pantoum) A poem by Ali Widdoes Havertown Road in Mourning (Pantoum) On Havertown road in bedroom lit morningthe Fisher-Price farmhouse letters in sunold crayons to color, the pages imploringand Popsicle sheaths held in hands, sticky thumb the Fisher-Price farmhouse letters in suna game of Old Maid, cards fanned out in warningand Popsicle sheaths held in hands, sticky thumbmy dad reads the paper beside me, its morning a game of Old Maid, cards fanned out in warning“Let’s bike ride to Hillstream,” father-daughter-sunmy dad reads the paper beside me, its morning the far-fetched odd stories on bike ride begun…
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The River and the Crows – A Poem by Karen Vail
The River and the Crows A poem by Karen Vail The River and the Crows The path along the river is steeped in green.The summer crows cast an alarm as I pass,scolding me, an interloper. Their sharp jibes only encourage me to eavesdrop on their conversation.They speak my heart. I believed they did not understand our kinship.But, maybe they will, and welcome me as a sister.I walk the river and revel in the belonging. The river rolls on heedless of my presence.Steady. Rock-bottomed. Just what I need. The crows know it is a good place to be.Solemn preachers sharing the Good News.We…
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This – A Poem by Joe Cottonwood
This A poem by Joe Cottonwood This Quail Court is a manicured plot where dwells a schoolteacher named Jane who this once in the entire span of our lifetimesI meet for a few minutes in her bungalow offlamboyant art, orchids in pots. Jane outlines my electrical task, a new circuit plus a couple of floodlights, and then with schoolteacher gaze both merry and serious she asks “Are you honest? Wonderful and all that?” “Um… Yes.” “Then here’s where I hide the house key. Just leave a bill on the table. I’ll pay it because I’m also honest and wonderful and all that.” And I do. Next day. Alone.And she does.…
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Riding the Highlands – A Poem by PD Lyons
Riding the Highlands A poem by PD Lyons Riding the HighlandsShe spoke in an accent lost like heat from living thingsbroken snowy things that long winters become around here.The absence of people in her world meant things would not get bogged down,such was her preference.She admired stainless things like steel, well-honed blades of knivessound of a good axe square stuck into a block; pieces split clean hard solid.She’d find a smile in steel spurs as her heels struck the floor. While copper had a value too.The bit she blew warm to keep from sticking to the horse’s mouth made her…
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