If pregnancy is a season, the answer
is not spring but winter: the body a cave,
a holding cell of hibernation. Of nesting.
Of torpor. If pregnancy plays music, the violin
and its hollow wooden body, its ribs, its ...
Pregnancy Anaphora by Bridget Bell
LAR Online, Poetry
the swift and ceaseless sprinkler whirling
and flinging its bright globes
drop by drop has filled a blue bowl
left out on the lawn. The little pool
formed by that embrace never stops
breaking and ...
For Those Who Would See by Derek Sheffield
LAR Online, Poetry
Doe
Caught between stumble & rise, the doe
young, the day entering twilight.
............We drive north, others south, cars
driving home in the corridor of woods.
Her struggle to right herself loops like a ...
Two Poems by Suzanne Frischkorn
LAR Online, Poetry
For Shira
At my mother's funeral, a reading,
from the book of memory, and from the book of dreams,
and from the book of love, a reading,
from before I knew how, also known
as the book of secrets, and from the book ...
Lectionary by David Moolten
LAR Online, Poetry
Swap
Say what you will about the car-choked
streets, how no one can walk on the sidewalks
because they are covered with cheap goods,
but all I see is how those fake Rolexes flashbulb
the afternoon into elsewhere. ...
Two Poems by Dawn Lonsinger
LAR Online, Poetry
tracks of animals that went walking
...on the frozen river today
light enough to stand anywhere
...to walk one frozen block at a time
water banging along beneath
...ready to take whatever weighs
too ...
Walking the Ice by Carol Potter
LAR Online, Poetry
I want to know what the kinglets keep
whispering I want to know what the roots
tap I want to know what happens
when I soak beans in darkness and simmer them
hours barely hot enough for bubbles to sweat
I want to ...
Pork and Beans by Michael Rogner
LAR Online, Poetry
for Eavan Boland
If I could cast you in bronze,
I wouldn’t—
not even so you might stand forever
in this city of monuments,
not even to add a particular woman
—not goddess, not nation—
to this ...
On Merrion Street by Nan Cohen
LAR Online, Poetry
History is not a great tree. It’s more
like a bush, I think, or maybe
a sponge, soaking up and periodically
wringing out. Wow, a tree would mean
you could get to the top, to the upper
branches that would ...
History is Not a Great Tree by Fleda Brown
LAR Online, Poetry
