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Recently in Poetry and Prose

Corked

Notes on a grand landscape Continue »

Sunset O’er New Orleans

I sit on the concrete levy with the warm wind and water
of the wide m-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i.
The ant-strong tugboat returns once more,
oil barges and lethargic cargo decks charge by,
the sun is going down — I guess west is that way.
Continue »

Test Site

How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail…’” Humming it, muttering it just loudly enough to interrupt the chickens in their mindless dirt-pecking and have them glance up at him inquisitively as he passed by with a bucket of fodder, Crawford went about tending to his tiny farm.
Continue »

An Epistemology of Eggs and Rosebuds

I know my hands are birds —
not jays or hawks,
only small puffed chicks.
I’ve never seen them fly
but I’ve heard their excited heartbeats,
felt my wrists lifted
with so many small wingflaps
that pull me up until I smell rain
that hasn’t fallen yet. It is delicious and sweet
but when I try to look at my hands
they freeze.
Continue »

My Grandmother’s Garden

I don’t remember much from my childhood, but what I do remember, I remember as clearly as though I am reliving it. I remember my grandparent’s quiet little cottage on Cape Cod. I see the old, gray, weather-beaten shingles covering the quaint, simple home. I look up at the tall, green trees stretching toward the heavens, toward infinity. Continue »

Older articles

[02/29/2008]2/29: A Week in Poetry

[02/15/2008]Sterile

[02/08/2008]Tight-Rope Walking Through Mondays

[11/30/2007]Rabboni

[11/30/2007]The Saga of Sol and Murray