Poetry

The Exiles

The Exiles

It sprouts out of him all trunk and no branch.
He’s soil for this tree, his farmer’s tan
The shade of soil turned. No leaf, no fruit,
No shade: Blood at the pith and blood at root.

She lowers as a fog. He makes no fuss.
What once was ichor comes out sticky pus.
Follicles bud and itch—skin irritation
From the fig leaves, probably. Constellations

Adopting Heroic Dreams

Adopting Heroic Dreams

In asbestos gloves and oxygen tank,
I snatched a girl from a smoldering cot
last night, lay her on my shoulder, and thanked
her for coming. “You’ve been through a lot,”
I said. “I can’t wait for you to meet her.
She’s been going nuts to have a sister.”

Dark Gardens

Dark Gardens

For V.W.

For V.W.

Birds
speak
Greek
words,
woe
sings
things
low.
Love
ends.
A dove
descends.

Water
caught her.

Philosopher's Wool

Philosopher's Wool

Light Verse Bake-Off: Submission Deadline almost here

The submission deadline for the Light Verse Bake-Off for Able Muse / Eratosphere is August 28 — this Friday.
 
John Whitworth, who is in charge of the event this year, is looking forward to your submissions. Details are available at http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/showthread.php?t=8416 .
 

The Dolphin

 

 

          The Dolphin

                       after Apollinaire

A Knight

 

 

          A Knight

                       Ephesians 6:16

Convalescent

          Convalescent

              You told me I looked well today,
              and maybe you were lying,

              but every time you look my way
              I do feel less like dying.

The Naughty Grotto

The Naughty Grotto

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