For the road, toss Lunch Poems in the bag with the pretzels…

The RV is stocked with salty Virginia peanuts. In the cooler: two deviled hams on Wonder, schmeared with Mr. Mustard. Throw in a jar of crisp cornichons, the Gewurztraminer, and go. With the 2017 August Post Card Poetry Festival concluded, I’m nostalgic for last year’s work. Here are 2016’s poems and their post cards… consider…

When you’re considering the past, a poem can make you sigh…

There’s dirt under your fingernails. You’re clawing the soil unearthing the strangest things. A long bone. A carved button. A miraculous medal.  And that’s just scratching the surface.  With the 2017 August Post Card Poetry Festival concluded, I’m nostalgic for last year’s work. Here are 2016’s poems and their post cards… consider it an August…

Skipping down the boulevard, a poem can be your companion…

You toss the philosopher’s stone and bound forward. Hopscotch the years, skipping and laughing. You’re determined to win the game you lost as a child.  With the 2017 August Post Card Poetry Festival concluded, I’m nostalgic for last year’s work. Here are 2016’s poems and their post cards… consider it an August in review. If you…

In the search for yourself, a poem can transform…

Last night, it rained. Crisp leaves are transformed into a vinyl carpet.  With the 2017 August Post Card Poetry Festival concluded, I’m nostalgic for last year’s work. Here are 2016’s poems and their post cards… consider it an August in review. If you missed this year’s fest and would like a postcard, let me know….

When you’re leaving, a poem can make goodbye easier…

At seventy-six, your father’s hair is still plush. In coal country, these crewcuts are called plickies.  Your hand rests atop his head, the point where the spirit passes, they say. He was here, now he’s gone. Your fingers never felt his escape. With the 2017 August Post Card Poetry Festival concluded, I’m nostalgic for last year’s…

When you’re stuck, a poem can nudge you…

The sun has not yet risen, but the sky brightens along rooftops. Venus is poised above the shingles,  ready to say cheerio . This is the best hour, when the day straddles morning and night. With the 2017 August Post Card Poetry Festival concluded, I’m nostalgic for last year’s work. Here are 2016’s poems and…

When you can’t sleep, a poem can be a bedtime story

Grandmother and her daughters ring the kitchen table. The air is heavy with their midnight Pall Malls and  ghost stories. You listen from the narrow stairwell, where even the grey wallpaper smells like smoke. Wedged between your sister and cousin, the giggling noises of scared little girls betrays you.  What? You girls are still up? …

When the sky is stormy, a poem can help you see the beauty of rain…

There’s a shelf of slate clouds, so low you might bang your head. Now off you go, a clear plastic bubble for your umbrella. The rain typewrites an invisible story as you walk to the bus stop. With the 2017 August Post Card Poetry Festival concluded, I’m nostalgic for last year’s work. Here are 2016’s…

There a rhythm to nature, a poem can help you find its meter…

A sheer fabric separates us. The butterfly with the crippled wing clings to my finger. She drinks from the juicy pineapple, and when it’s time, my heart is heavy with goodbye.  As the 2017 August Post Card Poetry Festival concludes, I’m nostalgic for last year’s work. Here are 2016’s poems and their post cards… consider…

When you’re steamboating, a poem can be your paddlewheel…

The great wheel turns. One day parts for the next. In your wake is the life you can never return to. With the 2017 August Post Card Poetry Festival concluded, I’m nostalgic for last year’s work. Here are 2016’s poems and their post cards… consider it an August in review. If you missed this year’s…

When you think love’s a lie, a poem can make you a believer…

The screen door whines shut with a snap. Imagine that.  Listen, honey, they were imposters. The one who comes to stay has taken the first step in your direction, so keep the kettle on. With the 2017 August Post Card Poetry Festival concluded, I’m nostalgic for last year’s work. Here are 2016’s poems and their…

When the path is narrow, poems tilt your gaze to the blue sky…

In the hustle-bustle, you blend into the undifferentiated continuum. It takes a trained eye to prove your singularity. You’re the one with the skyward gaze. With the 2017 August Post Card Poetry Festival concluded, I’m nostalgic for last year’s work. Here are 2016’s poems and their post cards… consider it an August in review. If…