Three poems about the end of summer

By Emily Dickinson

September’s Baccalaureate A combination is Of Crickets — Crows — and Retrospects And a dissembling Breeze That hints without assuming — An Innuendo sear That makes the Heart put up its Fun And turn Philosopher. ...

With apologies to Emily Dickinson

Three poems by Barbara Lydecker Crane

“Soap” is the thing that lathers — with apologies to Emily Dickinson “Soap” is the thing that lathers — The Dial I exalt — A bobbing bird of Ivory — That never sinks — at ...

I do not know that “all things will be well”

Three poems by Mary-Patrice Woehling

The Abandoned Garden The grass has grown so long it’s gone to seed. Azaleas blossom in the untamed hedge. The side lawn is a wilderness of weeds, And ivy tumbles in the flower beds. They ...

Like learn to be alone, expect suffering

Two poems by Katie Darby Mullins

Genesis 30:6, Rachel Gets Her Wish A man, a woman, another woman, and then the child who belongs to all three of them, come screaming and beautiful into the world… — John Darnielle The night ...

Yes: now the boiling ball is gone

Three poems by Thomas Hardy

An August Midnight I A shaded lamp and a waving blind, And the beat of a clock from a distant floor: On this scene enter — winged, horned, and spined — A longlegs, a moth, ...

The pines stretch in a vertical declaration: “Light will come”

Two poems by Amy Imbody

Cicada Cycle I. The Dream Seventeen years you sleep: unseen, burrowed, buried, deep in a dream of your becoming. Never hurried, exactly on time, resurrected out of your tomb you climb. II. Cicada Fire-eyed cicada: ...

The great sigh of our still blue marble

Two poems by Michael S. Glaser

Climate Change It is the great sigh of our still blue marble: Each new storm a gasp for air, a crying out from the rivers of truth that are poisoning our political seas. Who makes ...

He come up to the house the other day

Three poems by Paul Bone

APGAR When you were born, you didn’t make a sound until they put you on the warming table, cold chick, bluish and mute. The reddened gowns the nurses wore were soaked as in some fable ...

The pasta water’s on the boil — have some wine

Three poems by A.E. Stallings

Ritual Ritual is firm where life is fickle, Steps in, hands us formula for hurt, Things to do: cross ourselves, stand, bow. There are no words, we protest, but somehow Ritual instructs us what to ...

Suddenly, her dorm room feels too small

Three poems by Casey Cromwell

The First Spark One girl and one boy: just talking, then falling. Suddenly, her dorm room feels too small, two souls peeled clean and raw, like copper wires stripped, electricity whipping silent sparks, dancing and ...

Nation and God piped-in as afterthought

“July 5th” and two other poems by Marjorie Maddox

July 5th All the flag-clad oohs and ahhs fizzle just past midnight, a slight singe of burn hovering over today: patriotic hangover with stars and stripes banging about in brains that never OK’d reciting names ...

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