Sponsored by Workhorse, Lexington Poetry Month is an easy to use
platform for poets to publish and share their work in an attractive
way. The community is supportive and diverse, commenting and
encouraging one another throughout June. Money we raise goes
to maintaining the cost of the website and publishing the yearly
anthology. Our goals are to provide every poet (~150) a copy of
the anthology, lower printing costs, and expand opportunities
offered during Lexington Poetry Month, such as featured readings
and poetry workshops.
I am on the same train as Linda Bryant. But, I would add troubled to haunted when it comes to the effects of some of your poetry has on me. But, one of my NY nicknames was Trouble, so I guess it takes one….
I guess most people who have lost someone get that eerie chill that goes with it. After my husband died, I dreamed I was standing in line and looked over to another line with my husband in it. “We meet again,” he said.
Your haiku speaks to me. So many possibilities here! A spirit? A memory? Someone written off long ago that has returned?
I love this!!
Ah, S.B., sometimes it’s hard to tell one of these possibilities from another, at least in my experience.
I’m often haunted by your poetry. Especially this haiku which could be specfically about haunting seen in a certain light.
Indeed. I’ve been thinking, by the way, about our recent conversation about ghosts. My thoughts on this may be evolving.
great and soon:
long dead, here I am,
standing in our bedroom door.
I say, me again
I am on the same train as Linda Bryant. But, I would add troubled to haunted when it comes to the effects of some of your poetry has on me. But, one of my NY nicknames was Trouble, so I guess it takes one….
… to know one, Catherine. Too true.
So much conveyed in such a concise form! Love it!
This one packs a punch in a small package.
I can relate. Than you.
Maybe just the haunting light of a new morning? Oh, that’s a little dark…
The piercing chill I feel
my dead wife’s comb in our bedroom
under my heel
–Buson
Wow!
I guess most people who have lost someone get that eerie chill that goes with it. After my husband died, I dreamed I was standing in line and looked over to another line with my husband in it. “We meet again,” he said.