Category: Poetry

BREAKS BY SHELBY STEPHENSON

Because growing up has its quirks, the boy’s body breaks into blossoms he must manage or be sent to reform school. Becoming a man is a slope of substance. Boys find out there are circle-jerks. How embarrassing to look back and...

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AUTUMN ON THIS HILL BY SHELBY STEPHENSON

In the balmy morning the redbirds flutter the feeder-bars brimming with sunflower seeds: the titmouse’s whistling leads me to narrow my rounds, for I want breakfast and coffee, sounds of purple martins in the lounge of memory’s...

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PRACTICE FALLING BY BARBARA DANIELS

Stop yourself with the ice ax. You’re glissading, snow sliding. But you have your ax. Jump off your pony. Let him take the hurdle. Sorrow assaults you like boys who knock girls down to gravel. Drop the ball. Fall on it. Parts of...

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SALT HUNGER BY BARBARA DANIELS

Orange leaves drift from the sassafras. The blue sleeves of my jacket gather shadows. What is released in me with Mozart’s last moaning note? Is that my heart I hear thumping spasmodically? I breathe lightly, the smallest...

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WARNING BY BARBARA DANIELS

Your lover leaves the toilet seat up, forgets what color your eyes are, misses your calls four times out of five. He says more than ten thousand unwary Americans get tripped up each year by buckets, so he stacks the buckets up....

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SPEAKING TO MY CLOCK BY JONATHAN BRACKER

Red plastic box two inches square from China, Bought at the five-and-dime for $4.99, Your reiterative, insistent, quiet cheeping Alarms me so gently from sleep That its inventor I could wish to meet. Your soft chirp continuing,...

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#US-TOO BY FELIX NEALS

While you’re on your feet, Hubby, do me a favor, won’t you, Honey? Bring me a cup of coffee, please. Oh, and a slice of toast with cheese. Gee, thanks an awful lot. Oh, hell! Would you wipe up that spot? Thanks. Say, how long...

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SEA GRASS BY ERICH VON HUNGEN

The sea grass on the high sloping dunes of sand, sparse, irregular, over-long, a salt-gray green, bends back, backward and away from the dark, white-crested waves. The old man looks out at the day, this day, any day. The wind of...

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HEARTBREAK BY ERICH VON HUNGEN

I. Tomatoes fallen. The plant bent; the stems given up on what was too much to hold. Fallen, split and let to rot. The earth stained by them– a shadow running, spilling a darkening settling, biting in. Ants, too, to pick...

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