Posts for June 19, 2015

Amanda Holt
Category
Poem

Being Alone

Some days it feels like

The copy of “Great Expectations” forgotten,

Half-read, in the seat-back pocket of the plane

to China.

Or, like the last forward

Reflex of a smooshed spider leg.

 

But today,

Today, it feels like the moonbow

When the clouds part,

cutting the mist of Cumberland Falls,

painting it with dim but enduring

light.


Len Lundh
Category
Poem

17 June 2015, and Others

Gunshots don’t ring out.
Freedom rings. Coronets.
The voices of Sabbath choirs,
table graces, children at play:
These, I will agree, ring out. 

Gunshots explode. Thunder.
Sunder flesh from blood.
Echo down the halls of ages
as they remind us of loss
in every firecracker overheard. 

Gunshots salute. Pay semi-holy
tribute to Our victory over Them,
to more of Them dying than Us,
whether the war is institutional,
or against our individual targets.

 


mtpoet
Category
Poem

Repairs keep me from writing

Poem 19, June 19

 

Repairs keep me from writing

 

When they moved in,

the carpet, low pile,

was new.

 

I said no pets loose in

the house to defile

but the words blew

 

in one ear & out

the other. I never

asked what fight,

 

in daylight,

in dark hours ever

possessed two people about

 

ten years past

the age of innocence

to become home

 

wreckers. The last

& only defense

they could muster like foam

 

on the sea

was to move away

& pay

 

nothing.


Maggie Brewer
Category
Poem

Hard Year

Tyrell: 
When he analyzed “The Kiss” by Klimt 
he wrote,”my momma should be 
       treated better.” 
He told us, “I’m from 
       Ferguson, 
this is nothing.” 
When the verdict came 
                he was quiet. 

Kendrick: 
He and his girl are having 
      trouble. 
She won’t tell her parents 
about him. 
The football player
dad would love, 
yes, m’am gentleman
mom would trust, 
who they will never know. 

Austin: 
Says “they” and “them” in
         Baltimore
Are “so stupid to riot.” 
Hat, shirt, cell phone
bear the 
              Confederate Flag. 

Delaysia: 
Her daddy is a preacher. 
She was raised 
       in Philadelphia. 
Lost friends and 
          family this year 
but laughs when 
      she’s uncomfortable. 

Me: 
I don’t watch the news, 
still I see the videos, 
      they just keep coming, 
from city after city. 
My wife is crying, 
       worried about our friends, 
and through her tears 
she whispers, 
              “I can’t breathe.” 


Carole Johnston
Category
Poem

19

once at midnight
I saw some moths careening
kamikaze
at the light trailing tails of
fire like dragon breath obsessed
I could not move my eyes


Gaby Bedetti
Category
Poem

Movie Outing

Sheets of water obscure road
On pavement we sidestep rivers
We question our judgment—
Sign on theatre door:
Emergency Shelter