Home Poetry - Year IV - Number 27 - August 2019

Poetry - Year IV - Number 27 - August 2019

    LIFE, LOVE AND HOPE by Ezekiel Archibong

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    LIFE, LOVE AND HOPEby Ezekiel Archibong  LIFE, LOVE AND HOPE I try to reach high to the skyand admire the simplicity of life.The lilting song as...

    IF A TREE FALLS by Diane Webster

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    IF A TREE FALLSby Diane Webster  MALFUNCTION Summer heat surfs up southern wall,slithers into swamp cooler ventsto vaporize water meant to soothehumans inside the office thusconverting...

    A VIEW OF POLITICS by Christopher Di-Filippo

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    A VIEW OF POLITICSby Christopher Di-Filippo    Deciphering PoliticsRefuge of a different voice= (equals) an apology in motion.Our policy has always been – (minus)the previous government= (equals) individual fascism.Economic indifference2 (squared)= (equals) households held...

    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...

    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.

    INTIMATIONS OF AUTUMN by Phil Kemp

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    INTIMATIONS OF AUTUMNby Phil Kemp   INTIMATIONS OF AUTUMNSunlight fading, a chill wind drives awaylast of the day’s heat; in the forestI walk through, the turning of green to redis my life,darkening in the...

    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...

    THE SAME BOAT by R. S. Stewart

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    THE SAME BOATby R. S. Stewart     THE SAME BOATThe contraption we still cling tohas layers of catastrophe lowerthan the steeper ones we soughtin our daily dreams, sailingor swimming safely to shoreand out again,...

    MACHINE SHOPS by Roger Singer

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    MACHINE SHOPSby  Roger Singer MACHINE SHOPS  It’s a long whistleputting the handon men and womenas the earth tiltspulling them pastopen wooden doorsinto the mazeof machinerywhere generationsstood and countedhours and yearsuntil...

    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?