Category Archives: Poems

T

Moss Ingram

Icy Dawn

Tires slid,
and a guardrail caved,
while orphans slept.

Moss Ingram enjoys reading and writing work that requires taut constraints, as well as teaching this appreciation and practice at Grand Rapids Community College.

Devon Balwit

How like Banksy, God is,

our hidden telomeres
programmed to shred
just when we become
sure of our worth, our
readiness for a climate-
controlled museum
cabinet, for an encomium-
laden retrospective,
gavel banging down
on a million-four,
our loved-ones gaping
at our disintegration.

Devon Balwit wouldn’t mind being the Banksy of verse.

Howie Good

The Colonel of the Dead

after flexing
his cramped fingers,

records your name
in black ink
on black paper,

then lies back
with a weary sigh
on a sun chair,

pink high tops
crossed at the ankles.
 
Howie Good is on the pavement, thinking about the government.

 

 

Howie Good

October Trees

I see them out my window,
grinning, angelic,
committed to the outrageous thing,
to be alive in spaces
that are designed to kill them.

Howie Good is on the pavement, thinking about the government.

 

 

Steve Klepetar

A Meeting

i

Because times were bad,
I think he came to comfort me
on an October day filled with light.

ii

He had been gone so long
into that silent world
that his face was gray,
his hands wrinkled and cold.

iii

He spoke softly, and his words
rose like smoke in the clear air.

iv

He touched me on the shoulder,
smiling sadly,
while outside some young men
gathered leaves into piles,
loaded them into pickup trucks.

v

A few birds twittered in the trees,
the small pond glittered in the sun,
and together we felt the earth
as it stretched a little,
yawning like someone
who had been up late the night before.

Steve Klepetar is enjoying October in the Berkshires, hanging with ghosts.

Steve Klepetar

A Meeting, Part V

A few birds twittered in the trees,
the small pond glittered in the sun,
and together we felt the earth
as it stretched a little,
yawning like someone
who had been up late the night before.

 

Steve Klepetar is enjoying October in the Berkshires, hanging with ghosts.