Home Poetry - Year IV - Number 27 - August 2019

Poetry - Year IV - Number 27 - August 2019

    BEES by Robin Ray

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    BEES by Robin Ray Steepest of Hills Who can singwhen the water’s edged,mouths are paste dry,fruit trees stand barrenas virgin tides?

    SPECTACLE by John Grey

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    SPECTACLEby John Grey    YOU WANT ME TO COME HOMESure I miss the snow.That sunlight twinkle.The purity. The fineness.And this steamy heatis like a python squeeze at times.I laze aboutGet nothing done.It’s weather for...

    LEARN BEFORE TEACHING by Edward Lee

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    LEARN BEFORE TEACHINGby Edward Lee  TO BE THE OCEAN, TO BE THE MAN In the oceanI become a wavecrashing onto the shore,pulling sand and stonesback with...

    EMBODIED SOIL by Sarah Conklin

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    EMBODIED SOILby Sarah Conklin  You never loved me, I was just a body. I come home to dead flowers hanging on the wall, parched but aesthetically...

    SALT by Robert McCloy

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    SALTby Robert McCloy  Old St. David’s (Cheraw, SC) August pines and majestic magnoliasStand testament to centuriesOf weddings, Sundays, funerals;Gentle, torrid windAdorns the forlorn, silent yard.

    LITTLE MAX MOUSE by James Padgett

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    LITTLE MAX MOUSE  by James Padgett  It was a warm, sunny day in Willowy Wood.Little Max Mouse ran as fast as he could.He had to get...

    HE PRETENDS TO BE A SENATOR by O. Howard Winn

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    HE PRETENDS TO BE A SENATORby O. Howard Winn   HE PRETENDS TO BE A SENATORbut it is clearhe is really a Mock turtlefrom Capitalist Wonderland andhis song is a serenade tothe Red Queen...

    SPEAKING WITHOUT LANGUAGE by Jan Little

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    SPEAKING WITHOUT LANGUAGEby Jan Little  Speaking Without Language Nurses, family friends and we all grappleWith an articulate mother suddenly unableTo speak to us now.

    HOWEVER RICH by Cameron Morse

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    HOWEVER RICHby Cameron Morse    Shave GelTheo says Mama and hands mea hair from your head  so long its endshave twirled together. Today isthe bottle of my shave gelhe won’t let go of as if it...

    THE CROSS-TOWN by Eileen Valentino Flaxman

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    THE CROSS-TOWNby Eileen Valentino Flaxman    The Cross-Townmakes its way in fits and starts, dayin and day out, from the east side tothe west and the doors hiss and thebrakes screech and people get...