Tag: poem
-
Treading the Waters of Time by Todd Sullivan
So here I am treading the waters of time,Day currents have fanned and wander so slow,At my desk I stay until well after nine. Sunk deep into work, this long shift that is mine,The hours so heavy that they barely flow,Clocked in not clocked out until well after nine, This work-river I find is all…
-
A completely unnecessary poem for my first love
Everyone else failed me except you,Mere machines buzzing with constant sound of self-destruction,they mortified me too, love.Their wounds opened and healed in my hands,My body clock ticks only to bring waterto deserted lands.And when these hostile beasts I’ve loved after youcome aliveto vapor their flux down on me again,I come back.You appear to be everywhere…
-
Winter Tracking by Renée Francoeur
When my father saw his tundra wolfIn the winter of 1985He didn’t know it was meMuskoxenRotting purple in my bellyKrummholz treesReflecting in my pupilsWreathed in mustardFur the colour his beard would turnPlastered to the ice roadTongue turned whiteHe stopped his truck And held my headIn the middle of nothingnessNahanni’s black sprucesReaching from the shadowsThe ashen snow…
-
Transfiguration by Missy Grieco
I found a notebook filled with fragments.fleshless bones,skeleton poems,stillborn fiction.I reread them,bleedings from a badly sutured year,throatless memoirmy own ragechoked by my own pen.my own thoughts shrouded, unallowed.no more.I tore each page from the spine and burned my words alive. Missy is a Cleveland poet, madly in love with words.
-
Does Your Soul Live With You? by Aleksandra Vujisić
Does your soul live with you? It is dark. The night is losingits battle against the eternity,although it’s never giving in.I was trying to switch offthe moonlight, and take offtoday’s colourful skin. Because beneath there isa memory of never endingnight that started with a fool moon.Because beneath there aretricky memories ending likea good movie –…
-
The Open Field by Robert Allen
My eyes are lilies.My skin turned toflower flesh forcingsecrets straightto my bright heart.So I become a rose,flower head with no potbut field fresh and readyfor my growth. Robert Allen lives and loves with his family in northern California. In his spare time he writes poems, takes long walks, and looks at birds.
-
Loitering by Sherry Shahan
I am four-years-old. Sitting on the edge of the porcelain tub while my mother paints on her cat-eyes. It is not enough to watch her in the reflection of the tri-fold mirror. I want her to face me, to feel her arms around me, to squeeze me until bedtime. Instead, she sprays her sweeping up-do…
-
From a Past Rooted in Pain by Christine Mooney
Leaving behind nights of terror and fearInto a daybreak that’s wondrously clearA constant vision of my greatest joyThe lone stealer of love, this mama’s boy You may shoot me with your wordsYou may cut me with your eyesIn a dawn clear of anguish, full of songbirdsThis beaten down once upon a time girl flies You…
-
At the Beach When I Was Young by Lois Perch Villemaire
I’m longing to kick up my legs and perform a series of perfect cartwheels in the sand, all the way to shoreline, where tiny ripples appear passive and harmless, then march into the salty ocean until it’s too deep and I have to swim breaststroke beyond white sudsy foam icing, over the crests of breakers ready to climax, not…