I stumble over oak roots
on my fat trek down to the lake,
ignore jingling ice cream vendors,
Dunkin’ Donuts shops, Krispy
Rorschach patterns on my back,
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I stop for water at a tactile
stone bubbler, not distracted
by the lemonade fountains,
root beer floats or sugared
hyacinth teas and I avoid
I-HOP for lunch.
Paper Lanterns The self was invented after it was discovered that rocks plummet back to earth when tossed towards the sky, and that all laws are the same whether inside or out. But this is assuming that the self should be like a stone and not a bird or flower, a petal-light charm drifting casually […]
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Chairs Rest Like old married couple almost holding hands two lawn chairs rest at lake’s edge. Arms spread in anticipation of sunset each evening before frogs launch into serenade, and waves lap against shore; sound of kissing. Diane Webster‘s goal is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life, nature or an overheard phrase […]
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Eve Taft is a writer who lives in Minneapolis. She loves James Joyce, rainy days, and stories about magic. between the lake and the mountain for Doug Green when the wind comes, as it always does the old house shakes, shivers sheets of rain hurl against it unconcerned, the walls and windows settle looking over […]
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I grew up in rural Maryland in a developed neighborhood in the woods (although when my family first moved there, we were the only house on our non-square block). I picked a lot of berries in the forest and along the lake, but my foraging didn’t go much beyond that. This winter, my boyfriend accompanied […]
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