farther than the bright meteors
each other again, we touched
You are part of this
yet if you tremble, trip and fall
it is all gone-
A rakish falcon sickles through a cloud
of swallows in the poplars.
There are prints of flowers and leaves
on a wall that has forgotten spring.
The kid is scared of a balloon,
runs bawling while his sister
the old maple
holding its yellow leaves
Dangerously far from the sidewalk…
The priest stepped up to the alter of clichés
What happened to the lyric, eh?
It is Saturday,
time to remove the week’s dust
is matty’s little girl
and she’s the cutest thing.
Two poems by Winter 2006-07 Featured Poet Alison Eastley BOUNDARY STONES #1 He slips in and out of windows leaving finger prints instead of writing "I’ve already left and I’m not coming back. Don’t try to contact me or complicate loss" not that I’d dream his disappearing act may well mean a perfect white statue […]
I remember stopping, on my way
to my annual family reunion,
at my great grandparent’s old farm
A curtain’s frizz is
stagey and black
held by floss,