Category: Poetry

CIRCLE, SQUARE, TRIANGLE BY PEGGY BECK

Fox’s world is a circle that spirals from dawn through the sleeping heat of the day into dusk. And when the moon lifts up light from the pond Fox journeys with her shadow through the night. She follows a compass track— she knows...

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UNBROKEN CIRCLE BY PEGGY BECK

Fox listens to what the creek whispers across the valley before dawn, a riddle that pulls at the threads of her fragile world the places she roams at the ragged edge of a broken circle under a sun that wrings the last drops from...

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GATHERING BY PEGGY BECK

Fox hears the world whispered from a shell strewn by an old sea, leans toward it listening the way dreaming folds down the hard corners, imagining to be a stream and have more than one lifetime to fail and begin again, escape...

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FIRST BLOOD BY PEGGY BECK

Fox tastes the first blood breathing in a fever. Ragged to the bone, winter torn on her tail Fox lopes into a hunting night along the cliff-edge burnt-out wastes, up and down ravines in and out of shadowed patches of snow. The...

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LAX APOSTLE BY DAVID SAPP

I was usually attentive, well mostly, though, in my opinion, that last lecture on the Mount ran a little long. No doubt about it, he was good, so very good. You couldn’t help but love him. And it was all very impressive at...

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AN IMMINENT DISASTER BY DAVID SAPP

Now, now, now, an insistence, I’m presumed to be wise, automatic sage, thoughtful professor, though in my mind I’m ten, a nervous, bloodied nose little boy on the playground, or on more optimistic days, seventeen, a brash young...

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CHRISTMAS BY DAVID SAPP

Coincidentally, everything we knew came apart during the aftermath, the shame and anxiety, of Watergate. Dad, my little sister and I failed miserably in curbing events: bankruptcy, divorce, foreclosure, the loss of suburban...

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ATLANTIC BY DAVID SAPP

Flying over it makes no impression, an abstraction as if the atmosphere between is mountains, canyons, and savannas. Twice I confronted the Atlantic, awed by its chaotic power, its vast, terrifying breadth; the uncertainty of...

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FULL PLATE BY CAROL OBERG

Sensible things are Not always most sought Haven’t the sheer value Of yet another place setting I sit to order now online That will make 19 Nearly its age Of the Thanksgiving china Not yet to grace the table

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A ROUND HERE BY CAROL OBERG

The world is square Outside my screen door Two birds I can’t name Play tag chasing Touching, separating In the snap of a second   I’ve re-invented my living Alone with nothing Else to do now My nose breathing The sharp dank...

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CAN WE PREDICT THE FUTURE? BY MARIANNE LYON

She plunges into gloom.             Seems unlikely, no impossible she will climb out.             Room insists on blackened silence.             Even my stare becomes a struggle.   Empty rocking chair             near open...

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