Author Archives: Janet Buck

Janet Buck

Janet Buck's poetry, poetics, and fiction have appeared in The Pedestal Magazine, Poetry, CrossConnect, The Pittsburgh Quarterly, Kimera, The Rose & Thorn, 2River View, Southern Ocean Review, Disquieting Muses, Urban Spaghetti, Perihelion, Mind Fire, Born Magazine, pif, 3rd Muse, Verse Libre Quarterly, Big Bridge, pith and hundreds of journals world-wide. Buck was one of U.S. poets to be featured at the “One Heart, One World" Exhibit at the United Nations Exhibit Hall in New York City in April, 2000.

The Multiplying Grave: A Poem

The trail’s arch just weeks ago
began in such firm dignity.

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The Tennessee Twister: A Poem

"Yesterday, we had a nice brick house and four vehicles.
Today, we don’t own a toothbrush."

Susan Henry
Mossy Grove, Tennessee

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The Waiting Room: A Poem

I pull at my husband’s arm
as if that tug will tether
a strand of my hair to a braid.

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The Lost & Found: A Poem

The Lost Boys removed
from the coffin’s lip like
tea cups stuck to a saucer

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The FBI Chaplain Stops By: A Poem

With folded hands but answerless.

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The Zeinhom Morgue: A Poem

Cairo to Luxor. Islam’s biggest feasting hour.

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The Paralyzed Apocalypse: A Poem

Our posit on a curled hook, hanging straight like slaughtered beef in lockers of our chosen chill. Our sins and organs all contained. The cows had no choice. And I lament our still lives on their way to death. We shut down music in the mid-stream of a song. (Unwind, is all) we often say. […]

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Gutter Balls: A Poem

The bottle stops the clock.

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A Literary Call to Arms

As human beings and writers, we are questioning the power of ink in altering the headline news. Some editors and publishers consider a literary call to arms a prerequisite, a necessary step in the global healing process; others find it a tacky, trite, and opportunistic maneuver toward personal publicity, rather like dressing up bloodshed for […]

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Rushing Toward Entelechy: A Poem

Come sit with me, in valleys
of my shoulder blades,
whistle something in my ear

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The Bag Lady: A Poem

No PC art could rescue her;
this thinness where thick plump belongs.

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Caught in Lesser Tragedies: A Poem

In a beauty shop called Perfect Look
your blindness sits upon a couch.

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The Broken Promise: A Poem

I promised you, I know, I know—
I’d wash a gravel pile of clothes

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The Gargoyle: A Poem

It’s half-past two,
sunny as a shiny penny
rubbing pockets of the world.

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The Going: A Poem

“The ceremony of innocence is drowned…”

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