Round, large, high, I rest my cheek, my hand, my foot
on it even a bowl of chips when you slouch on the sofa.
Movie on cable, Princess Bride, the volume low,
we make up our own dialogue, trying to out-do
each other’s jokes. You play Inigo Montoya, I give
Fred Savage cancer, your laugh almost spills over
the bowl. A few chips land on your sweatshirt.
I eat them off, my tongue catching the ruffles.
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Posted in Formal Poetry, Poetry | Tagged Bernadette Ulsamer, blank verse sonnet | Leave a Comment »
The space illuminates ageless suspensions
and petals of bright white light unfurl limitlessly.
Points of reflection ricochet around each plane of petaled light.
Stellar figurines, small dancing dervishes twirl
into the cosmic light captured on the canvas.
Nympheas — lilies in space.
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Posted in Poetry | Tagged Elizabeth Green | 4 Comments »
“The lamps are going out all over Europe.” — Edward Grey
And I’m not there to see it,
To compare with my own extinguishment —
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Posted in Poetry | Tagged Brett Staggs | Leave a Comment »
