Poetry Posts

Twenty Four Zero Three

by Casey Dare For Ensign Paul H. Backus, USS Oklahoma He whispered softly for the 2403 Why them and not me? Generations later a monument would proclaim Those words etched in granite from this day. Flags fly over green fields next to hotdog stands and turn-styles Marking time, click clack…

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Spring is gone

by Linda Cue There are no azalea bushes or cool breezes moving beneath the warmth of the sun. My windows are opened and my door is unlocked. Does anyone know? It’s summer all year long now, and the sun burns even while sitting beneath trees. Is it too late? Even,…

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Whitelash

by Gil Hoy Sometimes in  today’s America The rights of rioting white supremacists trump the rights  of black football  players kneeling Peacefully,  holding hands. And for some  particularly wealthy  Tweet bosses, The earth is not  Warming, forget the ship-wrecked Mexican American and there is no  community of man. The earth’s squirrels …

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Aphorisms

by Gonzalinho da Costa             A theory works until you try it out. A theory corrected by experience is no longer a theory. Wisdom is life experience applied to well-considered judgment. Darkness arises from the absence or deficiency of light, obscurity from its excess. Religion…

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Untitled from Tampa Bay

by Virginia Winters-Troche I last autumn i was watching the leaves fall and i was thinking if leaves could do it so could i, so i decided to fall in love give myself away like the sun, I could make someone less lonely even if that someone wasn’t me, thinking…

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Memories

by Gil Hoy Their homes, cone-shaped wooden poles covered with buffalo hides. Set up to break down quickly to move to a safer place. She sits inside of one of them, adorning her dresses, her family’s shirts, with beads and quills. Watches over her children, skins cuts and cooks the…

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Yonges Island

by Jane Flint The camps are full of pick-up campers and those who come to pick. Brand new packing shed next door: old tomato crates stacked against the fence, long green machine still squeaky-clean. The women wash the clothes the food the children. The men play dice against the wall,…

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Her Hands

by Keryna Stutts Her hands were a blue-green map of work and tears of Sunday dinners of scrap quilts. She held the world when his pain became too much. Cracked then filled with weariness. Her hands became my world of fried pies after school, a cool softness on my brow….

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Silenced

by Angela LeBlanc Jaspreet and Birpartap sit in my classroom hands folded, lilted handwriting sings on paper Birpartap looks the businessman part no turban, but nearly cried when he lost his glasses on his birthday Jaspreet is embarrassed to heat up her food spiced and loud She stood, shaking as…

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