Angels on her fingertips,dancing lightlyas she weavesthe deep rumbleand soprano pipefor a waiting worldsmiling with joyas one braidbobs in perfectsyncopationto the rhythmsin her soul……Anna Lapwood ml’25 (If you haven’t heard Anna Lapwood I highly recommend a visit to Anna Lapwood at Youtube!)
Poetry
I have been writing poetry since the 2nd grade. Why stop now?
Poetry
Delicious surrender
Delicious surrenderlike morphine – sweet and softnumb flowing in gentle riversto push away the pain of thoughtlike the ratty Winnie the Poohthey gave you at sixto chase the bogeymanyou held on tighttil Michelle in the ninth gradethrew him from a passing carcartwheeling over the medianinto the oncoming trafficyou laughed and
Poetry
Whalesong
Mighty songbird of the searolling languid in the wavesone flipper highto serenadefamily deep below. How sad to thinkin our stupiditythe only whalesongour children will hearis on Youtube. ml’25 Yesterday a whale watching tour boat, loaded with camera toting tourists guaranteed a ‘sighting’, rammed a humpback at high speed in the
Poetry
Leaving Something Behind
We are travellerssome lightwith a backpacksome burdenedwith flashy luggagewas it from Winners?but at every stopalong the waywe leavesomething behinda baseball mitton the bleachersa cellphonetucked in the seatof the departure loungetokens of our beingin that place and timetreasures for othersor cargofor the dumpsterwe forget the tokensat the next turnbut rememberthe smiles
Poetry
Even The Stones Cry
Intelligencea burden not carriedby many in the streetswith MAGA flagsand ill-hidden bigotryflashed like a badgeof honour, or something,our times are not shockingto those who reador have read and watchedwith bated breathhoping against hopethat the mirrorheld up in front of uswould not showwhat we always knewlurked beneath the skin,we sigh in
Poetry
Sumac Flames
Sumac flamesagainst a leaden skyone last burning emberof the summer past. The leaves are turningdrought curled carpettoo late the refreshmentof the pelting rain. The taste of fogreplaces smokey yesterdaywhen the last campersforgot to quench their fires. The days get shortereach afternoon becomes eveningbefore I toss my headsetand prepare the evening