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Two Poems from our Narrative Poetry Collection
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| LURES |
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| Author: |
Donna Hill
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| Poem: |
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Lures ========
Or in the white, white, quivering instability of love we shake a world to order ~ Phyllis Webb
A moment. A moment is all I dare to ask for. I stake my claim in the sand with my chair, book in hand, set to unfold myself. If only the child nearby would stop yelling a muffled, M-u-m-m-a, from under his overturned rubber raft— or at least his brother would stop jumping on it.
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There are two of them, any more and they would not be noticed. The ducks’ sway and dip is intrinsic to the lake, their peaceful arc of water edged by a mortar wall pushing beyond the land. The sun is setting.
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That Saturday morning he had knocked on doors, connective strangers in a townhouse complex. Could someone knot his tie, his daughter was getting married.
One dad helped me into the car at home the other offered his hand when I arrived at the church his tie looking just so.
Five months after his first grandson was born I was planning his funeral. His textured brown suit and tie, a dark contrast to the satin-whiteness of the casket lining, looked all too familiar.
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They were a pair. White swans, very white, eyes dark and endless. They symbolized mystery. Until one night when youths captured and spray-painted one of them black.
Being alone does little to replace the mystique of togetherness
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Had anyone ever pinned her crayon drawings on a fridge? I wondered. Now the girl’s being placed in Transition House. A teenager still, without a clue who the father is— Too many to try. With a mom more handicapped that she, a violent, automated world she cannot cope with, her abuse is considered consequential. The only thing left is to take the baby. Family. Is there ever a choice?
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Spring is over, paled dandelion seeds have blown past, taking root where they may.
It could easily have been this morning, or another, he’s sat with his new lover, lost in her eyes, fresh blueberries and strawberries adorning their plates. A leisurely breakfast amid the sun’s embrace, on her Carolinian veranda.
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It’s better to have loved… is not working for me. Why, if only to be given so fiercely, and then taken away.
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The water swirls, sunlit reflections flicker like lures across the surface. The ducks float on.
Tufts of wind stir the willows. Daylight fades to blue.
I fold my chair, turn away from the lake, vaguely remembering not to look back.
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More Narrative poems |
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| EQUESTRIAN FIASCO |
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| Author: |
Leigh Richards
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| Poem: |
EQUESTRIAN FIASCO |
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Serenity lies in these woods. Placidly, our steeds take us through the hilly brush. All, that is, except for one: Doc, The “moody” one. He is old, cranky, And just the slightest bit resentful of Mankind. We start down a steep slope, one after another. But not Doc. Doc likes to gallop down mountainsides in northern Georgia with a novice rider on his saddle. Suddenly it’s Johnny versus the Devil for hell hath no fury like a stupid, stubborn horse. And so begins a struggle betwixt man and beast! One is vying to break free of the bonds of domesticity, the other to stay alive! Until finally, a crash. Horse and rider separate. And to me, the rider, there is but a blur; Sky ground boulder hoof sky ground boulder tree stump sky, And then black. It is over. And I shall never ride again.
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