North of Santa Monica by Carter Revard It’s midnight in a drizzling fog on Sunset Avenue and we are walking through the scent of orange blossoms and past a white camellia blown down or flung by someone onto rainblack asphalt waiting for the gray Mercedes sedan to run over and smash its petals and leaveContinue reading “North of Santa Monica by Carter Revard”
Category Archives: states
Arboretum by Don Kingfisher Campbell
Arboretumby Don Kingfisher Campbell As you enter pea tail eyes stare at you A bush of red firecrackers seems to explode Are those tall thin “candles” speakers from The Time Machine film Yellow microdresses pirouette from a tree Spider egg sacks become burst popcorn kernels Magenta bottle brushes grow outward in all directions Here’s somethingContinue reading “Arboretum by Don Kingfisher Campbell”
Speaking of Iowa: The sun at noon by James Hearst
Speaking of Iowa: The sun at noon by James Hearst No country leads so softly to nowhere as those slow shoulders that curtain the horizon let us hold the sun at noon in this valley for morning will not come again. We will watch the trees grow up and the flowers stiffen and brightly dressedContinue reading “Speaking of Iowa: The sun at noon by James Hearst”
Dubuque, Iowa by Eve Triem
Dubuque, Iowaby Eve Triem Travelers notice this town for its bricks,(warehouse and mill) sun-and-snow weatheredto apricot and dahlia. And then that it is a port,the streets in waves winding from a riverand flying the side of a hill, like gulls. They will climb the stair-sprayed hill—the hill, a ball-player’s arm swung up for a catch Continue reading “Dubuque, Iowa by Eve Triem”
Butter by Andrea Cohen
Butterby Andrea Cohen I’ve never seen the landof milk and honey, but at the Iowa State Fair I glimpseda cow fashioned of butter. It lived behind a windowin an icy room, beneath klieg lights. I filed past as one filespast a casket at a wake. It was that sad: a butter cowwithout a butter calf.Continue reading “Butter by Andrea Cohen”
Shaker Orchard by Mark Doty
Shaker Orchardby Mark Doty Holding even flowers subjectto the principle of use,the Shakers inventedthe notion of packaged seedsand a steam-powereddistiller for rosewater.They uncluttered roomstill space filledwith Universal Light—white walls, a chest, a chairhung on pegs beside a broomso perfect in its simplicityas to become a pure channel:there was nothing in those linesto impede the flowof theContinue reading “Shaker Orchard by Mark Doty”
A Covered Bridge in Littleton, New Hampshire by Stephanie Burt
A Covered Bridge in Littleton, New Hampshireby Stephanie Burt I can remember when I wanted Xmore than anything ever—for X fill infrom your own childhood [balloon, pencil lead, trading card, shoelaces, a bowor not to have to wear a bow] and now I am moved to action, when I am moved,principally by a memory ofContinue reading “A Covered Bridge in Littleton, New Hampshire by Stephanie Burt”
Bering Sea Luminosity by Karla Linn Merrifield
Bering Sea Luminosityby Karla Linn Merrifield thy name ismidnight sunwaning moonmy candle in Time’s windowinto ring of firetectonic platesone heart a soulbodies of influencewhat is the skin between usmy shimmeryour mirroringwhere my sky lightwhy your sea deepcoming coming waveslengths intervalscelestially earthlynovae volcaniclove in the physicsshine shiningto have shoneus in this Universeonce upon glow PHOTO: BeringContinue reading “Bering Sea Luminosity by Karla Linn Merrifield”
Rain in the Hills by William Haskell Simpson
Rain in the Hillsby William Haskell Simpson Were I the rainComing over the hills— I should be gladThat my cool fingers could ease the little fevers of dusty water-holes,And caress curled leaves of the cottonwoods. The herd,Pawing, bellowing, would let me quiet them,Standing in fresh pools by dusty water-holes– If I were the rainComing over theContinue reading “Rain in the Hills by William Haskell Simpson”
Porch Swing in September by Ted Kooser
Porch Swing in Septemberby Ted Kooser The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sunthat bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushionwhose flowers have faded, like those of summer,and a small brown spider has hung out her webon a line between porch post and chainso that no one may swing without breaking it.She is sayingContinue reading “Porch Swing in September by Ted Kooser”
POETRY and PLACES 