One day you finally knew
what you’d been put there to do,
and did it
while the loud voices rang louder
and tugged at your sleeve,
each cry a death cry, a flashing red sign.
But you knew.
You knew what you had to do,
though the thread unwound round you
leaving you nakeder and nakeder,
its melancholy terrible.
Then the queerest thing happened.
Being almost already too late, and too dark,
the moon threw down
a bird, a
shining wild raven and in its mouth,
a flower of life.
The stars burned in its brilliance,
at first saw themselves shyly
then danced and shone round to
find themselves extraordinary.
One day you finally knew
I squirrel for your key among the bird routes
and airplane flights in the blue hummed daylight.
I dig for you in lowest drawers of desks
where duties cement my legs and
cubicles encompass what’s left.
If life ever careens through, we could
rendezvous in dialogue at night’s dock.
As stowaways in bed, we might kiss
and kite our private lightening
into the bugle-blare of dawn.
Border Stones Even death is just a concept we put on the bare facts of things. Alluvium and sunlight, names for the annealing world, the dough that turns into bread. I forfeit opinions because I want the startled wings without the assumption of the bird. In the forest, I’m simply dazzled. My heart may hurt, […]Read more "Border Stones"
Your friends are not your friends Your friends are not your friends. There is no such thing as a friend. The wasp devours the honeybee on his dutiful search For the final flower. The flower stagnates, smelling sweet for no one. If it’s true that you kill the things you love Then she loved me […]Read more "Your friends are not your friends"
Nature is Calling Grass of mysterious light, Do you become dry from lack of love? Nature has this bearing on all of us, Take out a white paper. Draw the red cardinal bird Singing wet songs for your neighbors. Purple lilacs left a trace of dry dirt But for once They were alive with love […]Read more "Nature is Calling"
Andrew Weatherly hears inspiration from dying trees, Hawaiian shirts, fires, and other poets. He is blessed to live in the hood, teach adults to read, dance in the streets in Asheville, NC, and occasionally slip off on pilgrimages to sacred mountains. He’s been published in BlazeVox, Belle Reve, Axe Factory, Former People, Danse Macabre, Cordite, the […]Read more "Monotropa Uniflora, common name Indian Pipe"
Milton P. Ehrlich, Ph.D. is an 87-year-old psychologist and a veteran of the Korean War. He has published many poems in periodicals such as the London Grip, Arc Poetry Magazine, Descant Literary Magazine, Wisconsin Review, Taj Mahal Literary Journal, Antigonish Review, Ottawa Arts Review, Red Wheelbarrow, Huffington Post, Christian Science Monitor, and the New York […]Read more "My Melancholy Baby"
Jeannie E. Roberts has authored four poetry collections and one children’s book. Her most recent collection is The Wingspan of Things, a poetry chapbook (Dancing Girl Press, 2017). She is also the author of Romp and Ceremony, a full-length poetry collection (Finishing Line Press, 2017), Beyond Bulrush, a full-length poetry collection (Lit Fest Press, 2015), and Nature of it […]Read more "Black-Capped Chickadee"
Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota since 2000. Her poetry has recently appeared in Tampa Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle. Her published books include Walking Twin Cities, Music Theory for Dummies, and Ugly Girl. The Dove The bird hides inside, tucked inside my ribcage the feathers hide my […]Read more "The Dove"
Distress Calls If you are sailing and need help, but have no flares or rockets on your ship, there is a signal of distress a person can perform physically. Stretch out both arms on either side of your body, then slowly raise and lower them repeatedly. Pretend you are a bird flying in slow […]Read more "Distress Calls"