Home Poetry – Year VII – Number 52 – December 2021

Poetry – Year VII – Number 52 – December 2021

    BIRTHING A POEM by Emalisa Rose

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    Birthing a poem Two on the high wirein exchanging of songery. They’re rising the sky withthe voice of the ancients, inthis ritual reverie. He bows and she curtseysthrough the cloud’s choreography. Somehow, this Saturdayon the wings of the...

    GOLD TREES by Carrie Magness Radna

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    Gold trees Remembering you,I paint treesthat haunt my dreams—the golden light shines No one can hold ontothe sunset forever,or recapturethe Holy Grail; the trail of immortalityis long dead—family secretsare found at the stump of the enchanted tree,now hundreds...

    THE GIFT THAT FALLS FROM THE SKY by Mikal Wix

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    Absinthe, the Serpent He watched her diefrom the back pew highon absinthe and rye. Her face was bitten twiceby a rattlesnakeheavywith length and scale. Maybe it was her perfumeor the preacher’s breaththat provoked the strikes. She watched him...

    I SLAM RHYMES by Jamie Gibbons

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    I SLAM RHYMES Cocoons hangCaterpillars crawlButterflies have wingsYet I'm floor boundI'm forced to walkJamie curves words like they're baseballsThey're coming faster than gale force nineLadies and gentlemenDistressed Butterfly presents his rhymesRunnin on crooked tracks, I...

    THREE ZEN DADA POEMS by H.A. Sappho

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    HIDEOUS WINNERS Stray bits of grammar peck at the skyAlgae with red snouts wins the next track meetSea foam and plastic comply with the new climate’s directivesA revised global contract is signed between tidelines and...

    THE KING’S SPEECH by Bernadette Dickenson

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    THE KING’S SPEECH The boat skips over the breaking wavesracing to the sighting of the waterspoutand the waving fin whales diving deep into the sealifting their heavinesswith splendor and majesty the leader swims to the boathe is...

    MORNINGS by Alan Massey

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    This Man He takes aluminum cans from the neighbor’s trash, limps off and walks his bikedown this late morning road, down to the next homewhere he hunches down into the green bin, lifts himself back...

    PARIS PARK, OCTOBER by Laurel Benjamin

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    The blue moss sings a song of its ownwith a line from Toi Derricotte’s poem “I give into an old desire” I’ve lost so much distracted by hungerfor blue petals serrated and segmenteda fur coat...

    NOT TO BE BLUE by Diana Raab

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    Not to be Blue The day starts anewits murmurs are all truethis early pandemic sunrisetowers above our chaotic world.and brings bouquets of fresh flowers. In a snap, the sun quickly setsand we fall asleep free of...