Poetry Website

winter horizon
ice cold snow on
fallen golden leaves

More at https://twitter.com/Haikuintraining.

I was prepared
for frost–for chill–
and hibernation.
Instead the rains came,
and a persistent white rose
bloomed
on into the wintry night.
Hope in raindrops and blooms
when my pessimism
should be on display.

More at http://christineemmert.wordpress.com.

I wept outside the room,
standing there with your sisters waiting for
the nurses to put you on the bed.
I heard your voice—
there was banter—from you, not
only them—as though you were
having coffee at the end of a
walk through the mall.
I wept, clenching my fist, waiting to see you.
I wept, my chest and shoulders being
pricked with little barbs of life.
We don’t weep enough anymore.
For black or white, our tears must
be squeezed as juice from parched lemons.
Rather, let’s cry about the sun,
the moon, the clouds, the wind.
We’ll weep for our hunger, our fortune,
our fears, and our contented hearts.
Let’s forget who we are and become
what we must!
Not to devour the world,
but to ride the waves as they reach us.

one when
no one shall bend my ear to your recourse the voice of course is morse
(but not mine)
in sea I find the memory mine not yours but mine
not yours but mine!
won’t you let me out?

keep me here:
I found wax inside your ears and bent them in to fill my doubt with
hotter sounds:

my out is here no clout but sere
the memory of drifting weeds and further south:

my own my voice no one else’s
it’s life
it’s buried in the hot love
underneath the burial ground itself is our only palpably sounded
mouth
sound the mouth with sonar and with doubt and stretch its edges so we
can know
the redoubt of our mathematics
still spinning round our thrumming castle of being:

More at http://www.robindunn.com.

This is not being on a verge
nor a void, nor precipice
but sitting on a hedge
or on a languishing hill
I tether, get gooseberries.

All outside is loneliness.

Cool
Crisp
Gray
Somber but not depressing
Dogs have been walked
First mine
Then the neighbor’s hound
Spending a few days with us

The beauty and splendor of the early morning
No sales and bargains here
I’ll take it
Coffee brewing
Alone in my thoughts
Good times

Why so hard, he asks
his eyes
seeing through my heart
searing into my soul

he looks just like
Dad the
bad parts, with little left
lost and hurting

each drop of sad
echoes so
my ears get stuffed
and bad dreams wake me

tangled and tired
from swimming
against the tide
tied to a past
my health rebuts
refuting all but a
random scar
or two
remain

the kind make up never conceals
compassion may reveal