Friday, October 06, 2017

Atlas Poetica, Number 29, August 2017

Individual Cherita:

in our courtyard

the dead snag
has silvered with age

we still hear
faint echoes of birds,
but have forgotten how to sing

you lift me up

from this vantage point
I can see

a parallel universe,
in which the only truth
is mercy

Tanka Sequence:


the highway
smothered with ashes . . .
every year,
this debate between
urbanites and farmers

city allotments,
each marked by fencing . . .
when did we start
being afraid of strangers,
being afraid to share

greening . . .
even arctic foxes
build gardens—
with one seed at a time,
could we not feed the world

Individual Tanka:

clouds break
against desert peaks . . .
shards fall
into the open mouths
of thirsty children

this inner darkness,
erases the stains
on my conscience

bullets of crows
on gunmetal nights . . .
a deeper shade
of anguish echoes
in her bones

but cold comfort
in knowing
that the sea you loved
now spirits you away

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