my mother
Judy Gaudet
she survives and smiles no the hail has not struck there that danced and crashed our party and the sun has reappeared chased cumulus to blue sky ...
Author: Deirdre Kessler
A Gift of Blueberries
Lobie Daughton
This secret place. This juice that blooms upon my lips, that coats my fingertips. This purple harvest that I search for on the briny bank beneat...
A gift of Island poetry
Bren Simmers
Strollers stake out shady maples while kids ride noodles in the wading pool, bob in water wings. Moms up to their knees cool o...
Pond Lullaby
Jane Ledwell
Sleep, my damselfly, wings pressed in mute prayer. Cease, my whirligig, spinning pond-skin to air. Let all water striders take rest from their strid...
How Could You Forget This?
Chris Bailey
Don’t forget where you came from. Simple. Easy like dropping a slut rock tied to a herring net off the boat’s stern, sidestepping rusted chains...
professor schwarz
(eminent judge of poetry contests)
imagine a poem in which there is no funny or sad this is not that poem imagine a poem in which bear goes over the river to see what he can see ...
The Photographer of Snowflakes
Steve McOrmond
As a boy, he tried to sketch them, but his pencil couldn’t scurry fast enough before the designs melted or sublimed in air. He wanted to hold the...
The Feet of Blue Herons
John MacKenzie
If you happen to live in another town, Or country, or even galaxy As dim and distant in time as in space From these words, this language, the narro...