CIRCLING HAWK
by
Larsen
Bowker
For two minutes
That felt like all of my life,
On a terrace above
Buonconvento,
A black lab rubbed
His head in my dangling hand,
A mourning dove flushed
From the wheat below,
And I floated in the rose
Gold words of friends,
Until the solitary keen
Of a circling hawk
Gave back
All my years
Art by
Daniel P.
Leathersich
Found on page 2 of the July -
August - September - 2001 issue of Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
|
CHEMISTRY AT WORK
by
Albert
Huffstickler
I love her but
we're an unstable compound
liable to go off
at any minute
though sometimes we're
as smooth as glass.
I've learned to
approach cautiously
look for signs
and leave in time
even if things are
good---especially when
things are good.
That's how we are
and that's what I've
learned to do and it's
why we're still together.
I wish love could do
it all but that's not
what I'm going to get:
we're bound by love
but bonded by respect.
Art by
Daniel P.
Leathersich
Found on page 6 of the July -
August - September - 2001 issue of Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
|
ICE
by
Joyce
Odam
you hold a wet glass
of melting ice-water to your
forehead
houses waver around you
a mist shrouds over the ground
you raise one arm and become
the horizon
the glass shatters in the sunlight
a bird falls dead against your window
your hair blends into the sky
your face dissolves in clouds
space becomes circular
light is falling into your vertigo
your smile is cold
Art by
Daniel P.
Leathersich
Found on page 13 of the July
- August - September - 2001 issue of Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
|
BURIAL AT SEA
by
Jough
Dempsey
My reflection never
moves. The water
stretches out
as far as I can
see. Then a piece of drift-
wood covers my face,
a bit of the boat,
then a piece of
sky then more sky.
Art by
Daniel P.
Leathersich
Found on page 17 of the July
- August - September - 2001 issue of Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
|
AUGURY
by
Patricia
G. Rourke
One gray-bottomed cloud
blows white puffs slating
smooth blue:
winter is close at hand-
time to wrap summer bodies,
thinning blood in flannel and wool,
pull up collars, muff ears-
create a personal wall against
the cold. But sometimes
at night, you want to run
barefoot in the dark, let your
feet ice, your body sting
just to feel like a nude star
shining no matter what
covers its sky.
Art by
Daniel P.
Leathersich
Found on page 18 of the
July - August - September - 2001 issue of Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
|
THIS MORNING,
ANONYMITY
by
Danyen
Powell
knocks at my door and lets itself in.
In my kitchen a begging-bowl leaks
and erases all of my walls.
Across years of sprinklers and grass
silence is scattered
in crisp blue packages--
when my simple street yawns,
swallows fly out over daybreak.
Art by
Daniel P.
Leathersich
Found on page 33 of the July
- August - September - 2001 issue of Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
|
FRAGMENT, FROM A
JOURNAL
by
Mike
James
the morning
paper left
in the rain
nothing to
read with my
hot coffee
on a day
of slow grace
and soft rain
Art by
Daniel P.
Leathersich
Found on page 45 of the July
- August - September - 2001 issue of Poetry Depth
Quarterly.
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