Poetry Posts

Flowing stream in forest

The Stream, The Soul and The Immersion

by Eric Obezo The cool rushing water                                               splashes and swirls,                                                     playfully dancing                                            around my skin.                                                 All of the dirt                                                                          I carry flushes away,                                                                                                               dribbling downstream,                                                                                                            revitalizing my body.                                     This pure elixir showers                         my matted hair, releasing the             clumps of grime…

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Smoking floating in the air

My Decoration (The Janitor’s Monologue)

by Ron Dowell (This story contains drugs/addiction.) Agent Orange tainted weed fucked me up in Nam.Back in the world, drugs retarded me. Ihallucinated and failed a four-way stop sign.My road dog crashed the windshield.           I’d go back and changeif I could.                               Please help me, Jesus.          Nobody had told me shit. Lies…

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Hillside stream in the winter

Smart’s Brook in Winter

by Russell Rowland Dressed in layers much like us, exceptwith lengthier robes of ice and snow,the stream is concealed, though there.Cold day, yet it means to keep moving. It has swept away an autumn of leaves,cleared out jammed tree trunks, evenstripped a moose carcass—year’s workwell done, by nature’s John the…

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Trees branching skyward

Psalm of Mere Being

by Ray Corvi The funeral parlor opened its front doorOut flew a dandelion’s wind-borne seeds Mourn the way the trees have thrownLimbs branching skyward into leaves

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Lit torch in the dark

People Get Ready

by Ron Dowell                                                                        after “(Don’t Worry) If There’s a Hell Below,                                                                        We’re All Going to Go.”                                                                                 Curtis Mayfield                                                                        Mayfield lit the torch in black dark,                                                                       said Keep on Pushing when kept apart                                                                       from parks, restaurants, movies.                                                                       My face turned black-hot when called                                                                       a nigger. So, I love music                                                                       that interrogates ears, tastes                                                              like conflict, has disorder’s stench,                                                              a…

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Firewood burning

Ceremony of Trees

by Amy Brian Having faith in my socksI leave my shoes scattered somewherein the home’s warm core—underthe tangled feet of the dining room chair, maybe? And step out into the breath of a January eveningto gather in the split timbercontentedly piled by foreseeing stiff and chilled fingersto adorn our front…

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Messy bed from sleepless nights

He Lost Ten Pounds

by Amy Covel He lost ten poundsand has slowly foundwhere he left them. He left one in his bedduring those sleepless nights,wondering what was wrongand what was right. One he found in the bathroom,carved into the floorfrom all the morningshis feet stood thereas he battled upset stomach. Two more he…

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Waves surging onto beach

Moving Waters

by Eleanore Lee Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine It flows, pours pastLike our loves?The waves are surging up Baker Beach shore(Fukushima-flavored waves, my love?)Yes, crouch on the wet sand and breathe in that cold roar! Did you remember yourBathing suit? Sandals? Me?Faut-il qu’il m’en souvienne…?Everything? Must I? Hand…

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A pink flamingo

It Begins with a Lapsus

by Ray Corvi It begins with a lapsus I climb out of the windowinto the boughs of trees become a bird& fly away and find myselfgrafted to the day                         * the window:             open it–– I shall leap and soar I can whistle any tune the songs they o-pen as windows               or…

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Golden autumn trees

I Know

by Susanna Hargreaves I knowYou just want to hearwe are safeand to believewe are watched overand protectedI just need to knowI will see your smileunder the autumn trees again     -surrounded by goldI will open our windowsand let the wind blow fresh air into every roomThen the house will smell like the…

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