Category: Poetry

TERROR BY BRUCE PARKER

It was a dream in which people could see the future
and were happy knowing what was in store,
good weather, hard times, beautiful lovers, all life
to come —-

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MOVIE STAR BY BRUCE PARKER

My mother appeared in the doorway of the silver aircraft,
not anybody’s mother yet,
eighteen, warm-brown-eyed and slender in her
deep, soft, thick, ankle-length beaver coat.

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MOTHER AND SON BY JONATHAN BRACKER

She wanted you to look at things: a pile-up of clouds,
Sunset transmutations, ribs of boat-like magnolia leaves,
Intricacies or simplicities of shells, almost weightless
Outgrown June-bug bodies. Nature, in short.
Anything outside ourselves.

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