Poetry – Year VIII – Number 55 – November 2022

Forever August We hate to see August drain awayLike the grains of goldFleeing from a dying miner’s handFrom an old movie.We want to remember theLush, emerald-green of the vegetationWhich surrounds us.Like a sweet-smelling cocoon.My nose...

Prodigal Daughter The girl asked nothing from me,just left, hitching I suppose,my car still in the garage,my wallet untouched.She looks just like her mother,relatives say when they learn. When I search her room, I find herchildhood...

Topography of the Historical Map Others napped as the Rocky Mountain Sunday snowdrifted thick while we slow touched, increasinglynaked in the living room, gluing ourselves tight,until together in the spring storm our eyesgrew large living...

In the bewitched aviary. The sonnet according to Mr. Shakespeare Helots muse about moony Golden Fleece of the condor. Drudges think of the dreamy eternal dew of the hen. Philosophers ponder on winged fantasy of the crow. Kings ruminate...

The Day the Machines Came We said, finally, here is some helpand for cheap. Somewhere someonehad dug the graves of a bygone age and turned up the muck to racketthe tractor to life. We thirsted,had no...

I Will Miss the Train My shift starts earlyOn the ward, so I seeAnd hear what mostOf my countrymenOnly learn about second-hand.For instance, This morning the sunStretched its armsRather timidly. I’ve never seen itBe so shy....