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(showing articles 181 to 183 of 183)
(showing articles 181 to 183 of 183)

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  • 09/08/16--21:51: Charlotte Ozment - One Poem
  • Flood Waters

    What’s that old saying?
    water under the bridge....

    It’s supposed to mean
    what's in the past
    is past
    no problem
    don't worry
    it's gone, over,

    But have you ever
    looked under a bridge?
    I mean, have you ever
    taken the time
    to jump over that railing,
    slide down the embankment,
    crawl under and around
    those cement pillars?

    Debris, flotsam,
    logs, refrigerators,
    dead animals....

    Now you tell me,
    how is that water
    supposed to flow freely again
    with all that crap
    blocking its path?

    Whoever wrote that adage
    never experienced a flood....

    Charlotte Ozment is a homesteading Texan on several acres full of devas, dogs and squirrels. She was a lifelong manual writer who is joyously devoting her retirement to right-brained pursuits.

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  • 09/08/16--22:22: Timothy Pilgrim - Two Poems
  • My Last Professor
     (with a nod to Robert Browning)

    There, see his portrait on the wall. 
    I believe him to be the exception,   

    not the rule. He lasted fall, winter, 
    almost till spring -- persevered, gave,   

    shall I say, not just light,  
    but hope – inspired a bit of love  

    to begin. Then new semester --  
    classes in lit, stats, chem,

    attraction ebbing, new interest,  
    same pattern -- learning, powerful men.   

    Notice this photo, though, coup d'etat,  
    prize-winning biology prof   

    making dissected frogs  
    jump high again.

    Light Found to Have Weight

    Rod in hand, sun about to set,
    I've found it heavier than flies --

    even affects the cast, slows line
    looping through red sky

    toward foam on the dark, far side.
    At times, light seems to force

    a ribboned splash, scatter rainbow 
    before my Black Ghost touches down.

    At dawn, I have seen it rise groggy,
    barely able to clear meadow grass, 

    likely from carrying all that dew
    layered on by summer night.

    The dying know, too, full well
    it's true, cease to resist,

    succumb to light heaviness 
    holding down gray eyelids. 

    They willingly give up fishing,
    having reached their limit. 

    Timothy Pilgrim, a Pacific Northwest poet and emeritus associate professor of journalism at Western Washington University, has published over 300 poems -- with acceptances from journals like Seattle Review, Windfall, Cirque, San Pedro River Review, Third Wednesday and Carcinogenic Poetry. He is author of Mapping Water(Flying Trout Press, 2016). His work can be found at

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    Pale Necks of Lavender

    Sweeping almost freely

    eternal willows

    soon to be tangled
    by afternoon’s
    westward moving air

    swaying pale necks
    of lavender

    rustling her blond hair
    as he skips stones

    their secret pond—

    an uncovered rock

    its new place

    only to settle
    and become old
    once again

    Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, IL, USA with his wife, Vickie and daughter, Sage. He is a three-time Pushcart nominee and a Best of the Net nominee whose work has appeared in more than a thousand publications.

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