by George Freek I stare at my unmade bed.Outside, a chilling breezerustles the dead leaves,as if they were feathers.The moon is a ball of lead.I gaze at distant stars,lost in the infinite sky,as if they hadnowhere to abide.A torn shirt, hanging froma tree, waves in the breeze,like an abandoned flag,now…
by Thomas Griffin The night before the August blue moon howling with coyotes on Putney Mtn warning barks of dogs alarmed someone entered their tethered territory, wailing past the yipping coyotes in the Brookline valley below eight off-key crooners concatenations of lament, ballyhoo, query. Who are you lone brother why…
by Thomas Griffin Crinkle-leafed prongs of summerphlox poke out of snow amidstwhiskers of seeds on the noseof ragweed shafts crab tree with a few dark rubiesyet to dropporcupine of stripped quincehead snowed under half-the-moon crown tiltstoward black woods rosy waves of clouds backthe fading sun falling behind trees— everything looks…
by Thomas Griffin The fog will not leaveno sun ascendsmist makes the worlda road and the treesweep all day
by Thomas Griffin If only I could throw myself into this black sleet rushing down street, hugging the lip of the curb, dashing down the hungry mouth of the culvert hurtling through sudden darkness into the roar of a thousand other streams fleeing this steely-eyed November in New England— run…
by Thomas Griffin These wet delicate fingers across my face a song barely remembered as I mumble along everything else ever wanted everything thought worthwhile food, friends, acclaim, wealth, work gone and nothing but this melody matters, nothing but wet cheeks Oh! How could I have thought I could live…