HomeMy WebLinkAbout2020 adult poetry postersno pale turquoise mountain gem, no
stately green procession, this—a dull
body glugging along in its wide, heavy
bed, olive meandering south, banks littered by
dull flecks of discarded fish scales.
and yet, in its depths, the shadow of a treasure—
the legendary big one, the one that got away!
iowa river
Ting Gao
I press the button to activate the walk light
"Wait!" commands a voice impatient and irritable
As if fed up with all the jokers who jaywalk in this town
In a tone that tells us not to even think about it.
Cross Voice at the Crosswalk
Alison McGoff
The crop never came on so well.
No squirrels stealing, for once.
June days, bowl afler bowl
of sweet red fruit.
Sour ones, too,
for pies.
The cherry, for summer’s contemplation.
TIME OF CHERRIES
Mike Lewis-Beck
Sometimes they toss old bread
into the creek behind the co-op.
By where the old temple used to be,
that we could walk to,
on a Friday night,
afler work.
Tashlich
Rachael Carlson
Rain –raccoons nested
under the old pickup planted
in the neighbor's driveway.
The brood verbalizes its
delight at the sodden moon.
Tanka with Raccoons
David Duer
Corduroy cornfields.
Brown and white hawks on fence posts.
Fall in Iowa.
Harvest Haiku
Judith Leavitt
Brooms would sweep dust off porch steps
Into yards empty as future alleyways.
Rows upon rows of corn tassels
Shivered in congested sunlight.
Crackling with its weight,
The dry soil called to storms over the hill.
That is what days were like, he'd say: to anyone.
Prairie (Grandfather)
Philip Beck
Suspended in bright freeze
knocking ski against ski
sounds stilled by Rocky pines
at altitude of hush
thinking Cathedral thoughts
Lifted
LA Felleman
Crumpled wrappers of snow
melt along sunny sidewalks
and linger within shaded corners
in pockets of surprising white.
Remnants of the Storm
Lisa M. Roberts
Our DNA matched us as sisters, much to my surprise
But, when we met, you had my laugh, my lips, my hips, my eyes
I missed you, Sis, with all the highs and low along our way
But, the sum of our years apart won't blind our love today
We can't look back in sadness, Judy, now is our only chance
Though we might have missed the music, we still have had this dance.
At Seventy-five
Diane LaDuke
Through the backyard window,
my gaze locks with the bright eyes
in the small furred face of
my squirrel neighbor,
vibrating with preflight energy
as she completes her launch trajectory calculations
from lilac branch to bird feeder paradise.
Moonshot
Jennifer Horn-Frasier
In the catcher’s box, the heat
misses my mitt entirely,
whmpfs me smack in the belly.
Hostility
Nancy Lael Braun
So her pants lefl without her and got on the bus.
They ran during recess and jumped during gym.
Made friends over hopscotch with her and with him.
Sat crisscrossed for stories. Tip-toed in the hall.
Tried holding a crayon. Made star-student wall.
Afler-school chess club. Three-legged race.
Home late to find Annie, still red in the face
Annie Wouldn’t Get Dressed and She Made Quite a Fuss
Sofia Dibble
I was 6 years old when you told me.
And 32 when I heard.
“This life is yours, baby girl.”
“Yes” I whispered back. “It is.”
Remember
Christina Zinkgraf
The chorus line of turkeys
is down to two.
They no longer flounce across
our yards in their feather tutus
as a troupe.
The coyotes waiting in the wings
don’t care for ballet
Gobble Gobble
Trudi Rosazza
Pagina,from pag,to fasten:
to fit closely:
a stake or binding
compact: a palette thickening:
a trellis to which rows of vines
are fixed: a frigate to fasten on
while hoisting fast her sail.
Going Over Notes from the Library . .
David Hamilton
cloudless moonlit night
the old fir stands out clearly
next to its shadow
Duality
Patricia E. Noeth
Mourning dove’s morning song
dancing dandelion seed dreams
Pillows made from sofl peaches
honey hums and honeydew
A humid breeze like baby’s breath
no taste of bitter fruit
Summer Lullaby
Hannah Erlbacher
The red umbrella in the hall of statues carved
From marble quarried in the Cyclades and sold
To merchants from Smyrna—this was how we knew
The war was almost over. There were figs in the market,
The roads were passable again, and the bells ringing
Hourly in the churches stopped. In the beginning,
The condemned man said in his cell. Lucky me.
From “The Red Umbrella”
Christopher Merrill
I want a cashew
who got the cash for that nut
not me and not you
Cashew
Tyler Lubke
I vowed never to
settle again but in you
I discovered home.
IOWA CITY
Phil Kemp
In this house, a menagerie of dreams. A sainted lion festooned in ribbons
carved as roses. A dragon with kind eyes and silken scales. A small girl
in a red coat with black buttons chooses the tiniest cat, with a tail like a cloud.
She is my girl. And this is her house. Her choices are a kind of magic to me.
Her thoughts, a choir of animals singing. My arms will forever hold her firmly in the saddle. And I will love her longer tha n this fantasy lasts.
Please let me gather all of the days we’ve ridden together, hand in gifled hand, and let me always call her home.
Jen Rouse
Carousel - for Madeline
And you worry about
tomorrow, and tomorrow,
and us. When every day
there is today, and today.
And us.
Dónal Kevin Gordon
Carpe Diem
You dare to don autumn colors before any other tree
Soon your ballet folklorico begins
Leafy ruftfes form your swirling skirts
Your trunk wears the churro suit
steadying you as you dance in the wind
You flirt, brushing against each other
Then dance away leaving a dazzling finale
Fiesta Maple
Rosalea Ragland
When I am old I shall be crotchety—
writing semiquaver riffs of jazz
up and down the scales of my life.
No paintbrushes for me—No!
With my thorny crotchet, I shall lead
flocks of black sheep into mischief.
ON BEING CROTCHETY
Claudine Harris
In every universe, is there a switch
to turn it off; or maybe one loose thread
that, plucked, undoes its fabric stitch by stitch?
And some fool finds it and inquires, “What’s this?”
and flips or tugs? Such ponderings have led
strong minds and weak to plumb the same abyss.
But, switch or thread? You can’t help wonder which.
So It Goes
Dan Campion
blue jay
how tall the maple
has become
This Morning
Jeffrey Hanson
Island solstice morn
Sun rose from the sea, peering
Through low clouds, golden
Then in measured time
Settled in its ocean bed
Wrapped in coral glow.
Winter Holiday
Bonnie Murphy
Streetlight over a tree of ice.
Silver crescents nested in shockwaves, scratched
glass against the charcoal dark.
You could make a print of that shot so black
no one would be able to say what it was.
Photograph from the throat of a well. Cobwebs.
Someone’s cursive; an angel opening its one good eye.
Via Negativa
Andrew David King
Here we find stillness once in
a while; tell stories of our lives that were
missed. In the caving in, clawing
out of this great mess, I forget to be
frank, except
here—
this is where we save us.
Porch Time
Allison Cascio
The royal court outside my window
changed regalia while standing tall and proud.
Old discarded vestments
once green, now brown, the worse for wear
lie heaped at their feet
replaced by sugary ermine
slipped onto shoulders by the handmaiden of winter.
Winter Trees
Ron Pile
I painted a bird to catch the air
to capture what I wanted where I could see it, still
This was more than I could ask of you
To stop To wait To be held in paint or time
No. You would not be held
nor could I hold on to you
can I hold on to you still
Capture
Joshua David (JD) Haveman
And the last time
I saw you, I turned
around in the backseat
of dad’s old Mercury,
to see you standing alone on the driveway, knee deep in snow,
and waving, waving, waving
goodbye.
Julie R. Nelson
Cameo
there's a minor madness to be managed, a feathery fever to finesse, a cuddly
chaos to be caressed, a dram of drama to be drunk, a slightly shaken soda to
be savored that allows my climate to be content and my boldness to be born.
my peace isn't primarily a poised, placid pond
more a boisterous, bubbling brook percolating with promise and potential
my peace i give to you ... i'll try not to spray too much on your shirt.
Spray
Roger Wolsey
Everyone leaves. We line up, each of us,
trying to determine the absolutely latest best possible last moment
to slurp down one final drop of coffee, grounds swirling
down the sink while we sling messengers bags filled with toast
over our shoulders, gliding to the stop precisely
as the bus arrives, a perfect two-step dance as the dog barks
from the top of the sofa, announcing the moment of departure.
Bus Poem
Diane Blyler
clueless but never hopeless,
can be misunderstood but knows what her worth is,
Gives and shows it, but doesn’t let them hold it,
tears of pain, regret, from silence love that aches in her brain,
patiently waits and awakens, as she waters her black rose garden with sad rain,
hoping one day, to see at least just one red rose bloom again.
Hope of red
truEdith
Down I go into the gray and brown
I hit the sides like I'm in a cradle, and being
rocked too fast. It's an abrupt catastrophe.
I didn’t see this one coming; but I felt it, like
the slight rumble of the earthquake, or like the false
dawn before the real light yawns and opens the sickly day.
It's just another ending. Dapple and down.
Dapple and Down
Thomas W. Case
Sometimes I slip my cellphone leash
to wander a riverbank trail
stopping where calm water reflects
angled branches, cloud-dotted sky
serenity seeps through my skin
Escape
Maxine Carlson
i notice the way you speak of her
and
i notice the way she smiles at you
and
i can’t help but wonder if it wasn’t
us
would it be you two?
risk
Jordan Geriane
First early snowstorm...
Tree roots swimming in pools of leaves
Bare branches shiver.
Falling
Angela Davies
I do not know why
or need to know why
I am here.
It is my time
to look and pass
a garden of fading colors
in slowly, falling rain.
untitled
Tim Happel
If I must die
Someday I pray
That all you call
My grave is “Dave.”
Prepitaph
Dave Morice
They set out on foot on a long journey home
They were hungry and delighted by the wind
All their efforts evaporated when they worked together.
And really they had more because their heart spoke to them.
So they followed the North Star and their guide
And when they got there, their new friends
greeted them on the railroad, Home Safe.
Wayward to Post
Evan Shaw
I used your gifl sage today, the one I saved
from years ago when we talked, and talked, talked,
when I knew I didn't need it, yet, to clear out
old ghosts, folks who don't treat me like a real person,
even while they spurl out nonsense otherwise,
including you. Loved you, once, but -- Time's Gifl:
I am smarter now.
I used your gift sage today, the one I saved
Allison Heady