Coreen Hampson lives in Grants Pass, OR. She is a gardener and poet. Her first book of poetry, Growing Smaller, has recently been accepted by Flowstone Press. Poems recently accepted to appear in Amethyst Review, Turtle Island Quarterly, and Pulsar.
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WRITING ON THE RIVER
My words float in bubbles of foam
at the bottom of the riffle.
Or are they my words? They
may belong to someone else.
They have moved on downstream
anyway. But now
another cluster forms. Foam bubbles
whiten before they burst, the words
becoming something else.
A song woven by winds
in the locusts and cottonwoods
maybe.
Or the rush of the riffle itself.
And then there is the whistle
of the Tannenger before it crosses
to meet its mate.
And the cry of a lonely daughter.
Not my words, but I will claim them.
–
the stomach
of my toothless
double
is god’s
loss
we were allowed to keep any item we could draw perfectly. mothers counted cigarettes and fathers died in threes. no one had a sister but all
her hidden talent. on the hand of god, the scissors I lost…
before an astronaut can miss a tooth
I see my mother
her face
in a cobweb
pushed a lawnmower. jumped on a trampoline. ate with symbolism the freer meals. painted for death what death could sell to a mirror. accused my hair of arson.
Glen Armstrong holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters.
~///
Trouble Every Day XLIII
We miss that little world overthrown
Just for us
By our mothers’ arms
To such an extent
That we demand it even
From our enemies
Better to forfeit a head
Than adoration
Each adversary must admire
Us and say so
Though we must not
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Thomas Tyrrell has a PhD in English Literature from Cardiff University. He is a two-time winner of the Terry Hetherington poetry award, and his writing has appeared in Spectral Realms, Wales Arts Review, Picaroon, Lonesome October, Three Drops From A Cauldron and Words for the Wild.
~
POEM FROM PORLOCK
These hills eat time.
Two miles’ tarmacadam
unfurls underfoot
at an easy pace
or whirls underwheel
in a flash. On hillside tracks
seconds unspool,
and minutes amalgamate.
Clear-running rivulets
disregarded by the road
wrinkle into
vertiginous valleys;
meandering footpaths
dive falcon-like
for the ocean, then shoot
up at obtuse
inclinations.
The failed deer fence
gives a border bluster
to a town
where stags still
graze oblivious under
the church clock
then turn about, trotting
towards the chimeless, timeless
pathless hillsides.
~~
A SESTINA FOR THE HUNTINGTON LIBRARY
The city sprawls out shoreward from the mountains,
Grids grafted to the…
View original post 294 more words
one thing leads to another and they call this the past. I don’t sleep because I don’t love god. son I am a barber in the body of a dentist. son loneliness is just a museum of recent prayer. there are crows I haven’t seen.
that other crows have.
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recent reflections at {isacoustic*}:
on Peter Twal’s ~Our Earliest Tattoos~
http://isacoustic.com/2018/09/27/our-earliest-tattoos-poems-peter-twal/
on Anna Meister’s ~As If~
http://isacoustic.com/2018/09/17/as-if-poems-anna-meister/
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general {isacoustic*}:
site: https://isacoustic.wordpress.com
facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/Isacoustic-192435501303710/
twitter: https://twitter.com/isacousticVOL?lang=en
instagram: https://www.instagram.com/isacousticvol/
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regarding isacoustic’s release of Heather Minette’s ~Half Light~
on goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40533588-half-light?from_search=true
~
for purchase:
from Barnes and Noble
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/half-light-heather-minette/1128985743?ean=9781387874200
from Amazon
~
other info:
https://kingsoftrain.wordpress.com/half-light/
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support:
{mood piece for baby blur} is a privately published work of mine consisting of 60 poems and is available to anyone donating 5.00 or more to {isacoustic*}
donation can be made, here:
https://www.paypal.me/BartonSmock
or it can be sent to (bartsmock@gmail.com)
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kingsoftrain 