by Martha Christina
Our dog veers into the ditch,
noses an open-toed shoe,
as if she could track
a missing mate
as if reunion
and repair
were still possible.
From the category archives:
Poetry
by Phillip M. Roberts
Trees circulate
light through
verdant foliated crowns
delivered seven minutes
from the sun.
Morning birds flock
in shadowy constellations
(anti-stars)
wings sound like brittle
wind rattled leaves.
Originally posted 2008-05-08 16:13:40.
by Alice Folkart
She gets off the bus by the park,
it’s almost dark, it’s dark, it’s dark,
there are always men in the park,
in the dark, dark, dark,
some in the light, having a fight
or playing baseball, strike one.
Some men run and run and run,
around the track, in and out
of the light, forth and back,
no desire to fight, ready for flight
in the dark, in the heart of the park,
where a man, a shadow guy
evades her eye, and steps behind a tree,
to pee, I see her watch, his reach for crotch,
zipper and stance, she in a trance
the stream, caught in a beam of golden light
the cops stream in to stop the fight,
runners in full flight, they cuss the bus
for the cloud of grime, but it’s time
that she goes home, escapes the park,
emerges from the deep, deep dark.
Originally posted 2009-01-23 00:29:13.
by Kristina Baer
Urgent as intuition, brief as a sigh,
it leaps across the fallow shadow field
of the still-forming universe
from its birthplace in the deep
still blue of heaven’s vault:
Divine thought into light.