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Keyword: poetry

Trembling

It is said that before entering the sea a river trembles with fear.— Khalil GibranI relish days in solitudelanguishing in this estuarybefore being propelledinto the merciless oceanSwallow melike …

The Fullness of March Moons

Even during the storm, tonight’s moonlight is generous enough to wend its way through the blinds, shifting patterns on my pillow. So here it is, this full moon in late March, on the cusp of spring, …

My Cloak

At the moment of his death, all the painthat had pulverized his body lifted, woven into a cape of worsted,roughly knotted wool, furled above me, alit, and stitched onto my body. I struggled to stand, …

Snirt

Snow soft and pretty on a windy winter day, pure white and undisturbed, it beckons us to play. Pushed by plows, the cars fly by. Snow blackens from the dirt, soon becoming something else, something we call …

Mike Mann hosts a Poetry Share, from 2-5 p.m. Sunday, March 17, in the j.b. Kline gallery, where he is currently exhibiting his paintings. Readers will include Millette Alexander, members of the New …

Tulips in Midwinter

Thank god in the cold for supermarket flowers. Such extravagance — I bought three lush bunches of tulips, though I wanted so many more to mass in glass vases on every surface in the house, vivid oblong …

Winter Solace

In my backyard, trees tower above me. I run my hands over their surfaces: oak cast in flaky shells, ash in diamond ridges. After yesterday’s rain storm —a musky scent, hoof marks in the ground. Soon, …

Lake Galena

With all the garish honking, I expected to see “just married” signs and a tawdry string of tin cans dragging noisily from the tail feathers — Canada Geese dropping out of the blue into a small …

Forty Years

I lay with this man and no one else for forty years or more. I lay with this man and no one else I love him to his core. I lay with this man and no one else since I became his wife. I lay with this man and …

Passion in Tyler State Park

Swallows race to open-mouthed young in the cob-webbed rafters of the cedar boat house. The feeding frenzy takes a voyeuristic back seat as the birds watch lovers entwined on a park bench. Even birds …

“Golden Slumbers”

I am dreaming of golden slumbers And seeing my friend, “hey Jude!” I am dreaming that Eleanor Rigby will notice me On that day, oh! Here comes the sun It is something about her …

While Reading Neruda, I Think of Some Things

Those who watched him living didn’t know how deeply one he was with all of this. -Rainer Maria Rilke

The Sarah Mook Poetry Contest for students in kindergarten through 12th grades, is accepting entries for the 2024 competition. Cash awards are $100 first prize, $50 second prize and $25 third prize in …

Behind Our Eyes

We see the pain, we sense the fear We take it in, we hold it near. We want to help, we want to cry We turn away, we only sigh. We see the wisdom, we see the lies We see the truth, we compromise We never …

She will you know. It begins early morning, as the sun shines down her belly, blinding you with her glaring beauty. She is much more than divine. And that’s the first trick. She beckons with the sweet …

These days many people have been to a yoga class or a poetry reading, but the Yogic Poetry Experience combines both into a familiar yet completely new experience. Launching Friday, Jan. 26, at Seva …

Letting Go

When you napped in my arms, the plump of your lips bearing a slick of milk, your infant breath sweet as nostalgia, I didn’t consider the pulling away. I knew, of course, it would happen based on all the …

Among My Father’s Stories

Much is blamed on women. How we wear our beauty, for example: boldly, irresponsibly, flash and flaunt, or not at all: mouse dropping drab. It’s 1948, girls are singing, wearing white, a chorus from the …

I Hear Them Calling

Strange voices, but not off key thousands, but all in harmony. I can hear them calling me. All past versions of what lives with me. Each having their own bit of complexity ,to the song that is …

Local Color: Lynn Levin is Writing for Her Life

“As a child, I was encouraged to write poems and rhymes. I found it fun. It gave me the greatest pleasure,” Lynn Levin recounted. This early spur has been life-shaping. At last count, the …

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