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Tag: free verse
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Cypsela by Penelope Lee
my grandma is a lost hazy figure a scattering blur on the horizonfading in and out of reality, of something resembling sanity. she worships a rainbow of her own mind, pleading for some long-foregone benediction.hear her wild whispering to the wind, the drag of her body over the curve of…
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Diner Love by Philip Lisi
The top of the Heinz ketchup bottle at the Neptune Diner looked secure–I am sure it was on tight. But as I stare at the tomatoey Rorschach splotch adorning the front of your date-nightdress, I guess I must have misjudged the synchronicity between white metal top with its spiral grooves…
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The Tower Block by Jane Davidson
You live in the tower block, filed away and forgotten.But, you know your neighbours well,from the storiesyou read throughthe thin walls. You live in the tower block, unable to walk outside. But, a piece of the sky belongs to you as wide as your windows. There are no pets allowed.…
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Reflections Close to Closing Time by Anne Mikusinski
It’s three minutes pastThe last time I checkedI’m so informedAs time is marked by thin gold hands.Around me,Life happensIn couplesIn groupsEvenIn the singular purposeOf the man next to meGlaring at his phoneGoogling solutionsHave meritThe room is fullOf sound bitesMurmured conversationMusic of the earnestBand of the eveningDebates and discussions on human…
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Not a love letter by Tamar Kapanadze
I’m the songYou never wanted to sing,The page in torn up book –You always skip.My transparent bodyReflecting its own misery,Crying over the lost sparkleFeeling hot and shivery.Abandoned shimmering lightIn my watercolor eyesRemembering every smirk beforeYou fooled me with the lies. I’m the storm you’re running awayTo find a cozy shelter.You’re…
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Ortolan in Winter by Mercedes Payton
“Ortolan in Winter” is a vivid poem that sing like a bird. The poet, Mercedes Payton, is a graduate of Kansas State University and librarian.
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Somewhere Finding Ferity by Jack Phillips
This dawn the equinox moon is waning a black belly with a left-handed crescent and waxing with frog bubbles puff-up sparrows ferny fiddleheads popping bloodroot in vernal burgeoning. Certain poets (the Beats in particular) prescribe some shack simple those rough-hewn days of dharmas and canned beans in a far-out hovel…