What does it mean
to owe someone? A cocoon
a small blue egg, a chrysalis? One night,
looking through the dark
window of the bedroom, the wind fierce,
10 on the Beaufort, true Dutch
weather, trees like ships ...
Amsterdam Long Window by Donna Spruijt-Metz
LAR Online, Poetry
A distress signal from the deep
end of the pool disturbs my novel. Frantic
SOSs in two-inch concentric circles drummed
by miniscule wings—
and I had such hopes
for the afternoon: shade, pillow, bowl
of ...
Almost Perfect by Michael Mark
LAR Online, Poetry
When asked whether she would continue painting after the death of her husband, Jackson Pollock, Lee Krasner said of her series, Green Earth, “this was my answer.”
As crickets sing relentless ...
The Seasons by Amy Antongiovanni
LAR Online, Poetry
The Wife
Within me, a forest.
Within me, night.
In the dark, there is no
telling snag from spruce,
root from rot. I finger
clods of wet earth. Who
can I pray to? Tonight—
it is always night ...
Two Poems by Anna B. Sutton
LAR Online, Poetry
Reviewed by James Benton
Little Million Doors: An Elegy
Chad Sweeney
Nightboat Books, April 2019
$15.95, 80 pp.
ISBN-13: 978-1643620008
Like a hurricane of images, or a tsunami of grief, ...
Review: Little Million Doors: An Elegy by Chad Sweeney
Book Reviews, LAR Online, Poetry
I measure every Grief I meet
as if I could tether it, tune it,
fair weather it—successor
to loss, where cobweb
& feather are sewn together,
where barb & bramble tattoo
untruths to the wound’s
memory ...
Self-Portrait as a Line from an Emily Dickinson Poem by Simone Muench and Jackie K. White
LAR Online, Poetry
When there was no one to call it weather, no animals
to feel the wet on their pelts, nothing at all to make
a complaint,
when what moved was the water. When what moved
was the land itself. What moved before that, ...
Unfeathered by Marlys West
LAR Online, Poetry
When she returns to her garden, it fills her with sorrow.
She didn't know it would become wild so soon. She saw
she might never coax back its ruined form. Only the animals
scavenging for bulbs seemed familiar. How ...
Memento Mori: Mother, After My Treatment by Jennifer Franklin
LAR Online, Poetry
this ceaseless going you
follow when you
follow a stream
back into the hills
purls and moils
wrinkles into flats its
glassy aim
breaking to re-
shape every slope it is
bound to flow
and crumple each
try to make ...
Hitch by Derek Sheffield
LAR Online, Poetry
