Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Leaves Like fish By Gladys Cardiff

Cottonwood, willow, and briar,
Night air billows in the dark grove,
Hauls the alders over, their leaves.
Jumping, spilling silver-bellied on the lawn;
The lighted wind is running with a flood
of green fish, phosphorescent and wild.
On the winter grass, breaking like struck matches,
Without warmth or place, random as green minnows.
Above the clouds the sky waits, one celled.
Expanded over tides and winds, loving
The south wind as much as the north,
Schooling the planets in discretion and form.


Sunday, July 14, 2013

Yank Sword (From New Spoon River)


You get so used to saying a thing
like:" All ready," "Over they go,"
"Just a moment," "Head of the Army,"
"I object," or "Next"-
That's its really yourself at the end of life,
and dying whether you say it
or a voice is saying it to you?
And I who had barbered all of them,
for A. D. Blood to Lusius Atherton,
and told them stories, and laughed at theirs,
And shared them in their coffins,
Thought I was working in my shop
Dyeing the hair of Henry Bennett
when a voice said: "next"-
I think the voice was mine.


Friday, July 5, 2013

Abusement Paak by Kenn Nesbitt

my family and I.
We rode on rides so scary,
I expected I would die.

We went to an amusement park,
We rode a roller coaster
called The Homicidal Comet.
It had so many loop-de-loops
it nearly made us vomit.
We rode The Crazed Tornado,
and it jerked us hard and quick.
If it were any longer,
we would certainly be sick.

We rode The Psycho Octopus,
which packed a nasty punch.
I think we’re pretty lucky
that we didn’t lose our lunch.