Category: Poetry
Don’t Throw your Muck in my backyard by Helen paterson
“Don’t throw your muck in my backyardMy backyard, my backyardDon’t throw your muck in my backyardMy backyard’s full!”(Folk song) Steel toed, standing at the tip,A steady stream of garbage slips,Out of mind, out of sight,Forgotten to our mothers plight. Sneaky humans disguise their toxins,Paint tins and consumer sins,Just tossed,Beside the ancient riverside, to reside,For generations,Leaching
That’s a Sure Sign of Fall by Jennifer Hammersmark
In their flannel pyjamas The couple stands roadside The school bus pulls up Their small child steps inside a A sure sign of fall The new beginning of a season Where children go to school To grow and learn how to reason On the rural flats of Salmo break Outside of town Winter preparation must
Grief by Jennifer Hammersmark
Grief is sticky green, like gum on the bottom of my shoe break Grief is pungent, the stench hanging in the air No escape from its tendrils forever grabbing relentlessly space Grief is a stale sour lemon with mould forming on the edges creeping into my mouth break Grief is warm and inviting until I
Last morning before by David Howerton
Last Morning Before sky bright eyes burn face plate shades we orbiting Earth control keeps calling, don’t come home
In the wood just down canyon road by david Howerton
Finding a near quiet place is mostly a case of luck, and when you’ve found it bring a book to fill an afternoon. Drunk finches will doze away the long afternoon and squirrels want their share too. A wind picks up making you hold each page being read. All before the rush home from work
The subsequent events of witnessing by shanna wilson
Be free – means not escaping but gathering events until the mind is a place of ruined masterpieces, leading to artwork meadow where paintings lay melting into the wet earth Withstanding, the lack of portals away from confusion. Standing, while the outline of a body houses vision moving I saw a dead body under a
Jordan’s Song by Clayton Fenrick
I just want to escape this frightened disposition where I watch my belly grow and my dreams shrink, hair falling out as I think more and more realistically, sinking into adulthood uneasily but repeatedly by letting go of the youthful notion that we are all here for a reason. Muted trumpets sound and the drum
