If I could brew a personal fragrance
of this morning's air,
my perfume would speak
to the part of my memory
which recollects towhee at the birdfeeder
and sweet pine sisken song.
Scent memory of grass
full of bluebells, tete a tetes, and clover.
The smell of garden spade,
tomato leaf and butter lettuce.
A whiff of family
loading dog, canoe and picnic
into their panel wagon.
Cologne of clucking hens
announcing the arrival of warm, brown eggs.
Sweet smell of pink and ivory fruit trees
dressed in their bridal best.
Neighbor scent pushing strollers,
greeting one another with smiling nods.
If I could blend a perfume
of this morning's air,
I would never be alone.
By Kathleen McKeever
Kathleen is our winner of the first poem booth poetry contest...stop by the poem booth between March 1st and April 25th to see her poem! Congratulations, Kathleen!
on your willingness
to still yourself
to tune your attention
and allow these syllables,
fricatives and sonorants,
to wild through you, flutter
on a migration path
Or to music.
Or the moon’s silver surface.
You’ve no idea,
where these words
down which library aisle,
or asylum hall.
on your bravery,
for stepping into this poem
booth, this street-side sanctuary,
this sky-blue room,
this quiet corner
By Dayna Patterson
Dayna is our runner up for the first poem booth poetry contest. Congratulations, Dayna! You can read more about her work at: www.psalteryandlyre.org.
Listen to yourself
Wrap me in your joke
I have read the map
I have heard the footprints
I have tasted the snowfall
It is not as far as you may think
It is much farther than we will know
22 stones have dropped on the trail
I only counted 17
In the noise springs forth
the solitude that I await
By Diana Swan
Diana's poem received an honorable mention in our first poem booth poetry contest - congratulations, Diana!
Overseas Call to the Riverbank
Turtle, I am calling you through the sky
because I miss your dirt-dull back
and brackish gaze, the slimy weeds
you eat and the oak tea you drink--
your slow river and mine, sage Painted.
Tell me how you gauge the sky you see:
how is my vault and refuge, have you laid
new generations in my native mud,
are you warm enough to move, do you think
the future holds ripe cherries and bright wings?
By Sarah Brownsberger
Sarah's poem received an honorable mention in our first poem booth poetry contest - congratulations, Sarah!