Breast Cancer –Ann Iverson One time while painting in an unventilated space my husband said, “Ann, breasts absorb everything, every toxic fume and chemical there is.” ~ I…
Poem: Hold On
Hold onto what is good even if it is a handful of earth. Hold on to what you believe even if it is a tree which stands by itself. Hold on to what you must do …
Poem: What The Cat Contemplates While Pretending to Clean Herself
(wordweaverlynn, you’ll just hate this one!) What The Cat Contemplates While Pretending to Clean Herself –Nancy Bontilier So attentive to her paws she seems leaning over licking tirelessly but thinking not about what dirt has climbed under her claws. No,…
Poem: Reconciliation
Reconciliation –Walt Whitman Word over all, beautiful as the sky, Beautiful that war and all its deeds of carnage must in time be utterly lost, That the hands of the sister Death and Night incessantly …
Poem: At Becky’s Piano Recital
At Becky’s Piano Recital –Carl Dennis She screws her face up as she nears the hard parts, Then beams with relief as she makes it through, Just as she did listening on the edge of her chair To the children…
Poem: To a Terrorist
To a Terrorist –Stephen Dunn For the historical ache, the ache passed down which finds its circumstance and becomes the present ache, I offer this poem without hope, knowing there’s nothing, not even revenge, which alleviates a life like yours.…
Ordinary Life
Ordinary Life –Barbara Crooker This was a day when nothing happened, the children went off to school without a murmur, remembering their books, lunches, gloves. All morning, the baby and I built block stacks in the squares of light on…
Poetry to a Poet
To A Frustrated Poet by R.J. Ellmann This is to say I know You wish you were in the woods, Living the poet life, Not here at a formica topped table In a meeting about perceived inequalities in the benefits…
Seasonal Poetry: Chickadees in the Hawthorn Tree
Chickadees in the Hawthorn Tree –Candace Black from The Volunteer Seed on a tray remains untouched, those black-capped acrobats enjoying their tussle with dark fruit. Mid-August, the heavy green silence of afternoon heat broken only by a raucous indigo arrow…
More Poetry!
By Hal Sirowitz, from before, during, and after Believing in Fate I don’t have a telephone, she said, so I can’t give you a number. I’m not a great fan of planned dates. But if I happen to bump into…