Poems

Some days, putting metal in the microwave

seems like the best idea.  In the morning,

 

it’s easy to forget your dreams.

In the night, too. Not smaller

 

not faster, never younger nor better.

Burn of Merlot, burn of Chardonnay,

 

burn of limes. Alkaline. Acidic.

Desperate chalk.  The vertical blinds

 

separated after dusting to reveal

a peek at the Hudson. Through

 

red brick buildings. Mood music

in the background. The sound of

 

breaking glass. The color of salt.

These things have nothing to do with grief.

 

Christina M. Rau, a New Yorker from Long Island shares  her winning poem from the July 2014 Goodreads Monthly Newsletter Contest. Contest winners from other publications are not given any special weight, but we love a good poem, and Christina's is excellent!

mantis

 

arms folded, head bowed

he sits serene in prayer

the devil's own horse

 

Kay Gardner sends us her  poetic observation from Tennessee