Environment – Anne's mediocre poetry

Dancing monarchs

This expanse of watery green will deceive by throwing off eagles and egrets at random. On these banks where a city is built upon common ground the wind can bring strangers in. This is where even an ivory gull can meet its fate. The oceans reek of plastic when Easter Island is foretold by theContinue reading “Dancing monarchs”

Valentine singing on an open sleeve

“Water, water, every where Nor any drop to drink” –Coleridge It is her touch I remember as soft and willowy as a drop of dew. The fingerprint that claims a part of my soul, her touch so soft is what she eats now slipping down without the choke. The vee of geese upon the wing,Continue reading “Valentine singing on an open sleeve”

The poet sang of concrete

The poet sang of concrete and paradise destroyed, the dollar stores are ringing up landfill fodder for the gulls. And when the bittern finds his habitat banned from our state, we know the ducklings roaming Lansing with their crutches have deemed to legislate away all the living – a person tries not to hate butContinue reading “The poet sang of concrete”

Requiem redux

At the steps of Washington they stood- the people. I was with them, nothing but a marionette life in this sweet land. Instead of a preface Can you describe this? Yes I can* If in the distant future this aunt still resides in the mitten shaped from ice – if she is still here andContinue reading “Requiem redux”

Water stories : an octet

1. My grandfather slipped into silence for several days at a time. It was a family thing, you see, my grandmother and her sons accepted water from a stranger – he meant no harm. Brother Harry from diphtheria went to a grave in Wyandotte’s ground. Willy he never knew nor do I know of hisContinue reading “Water stories : an octet”

Saving the Kirtland

This is how it begins – Flip lip lip-lip-tiptip-CHIDIP. Intensify with vocal chords that sweeten the ears of that choosy ground nester and a woman with binoculars around her neck. He perches on top of the world – a little distant but close enough to hear and see and amaze the jack pines that surroundContinue reading “Saving the Kirtland”

Beloved

My life these days is lived in the fog of a visit to mom. We sit at lunch, lost in 90 years of forgetting. I caress her with sweet nothings to bring a smile that I can lose myself in. I want to lose myself in this forgetting. To remember is to think of deathContinue reading “Beloved”