poetryrepairs #206 14.11:129
NORMAN J OLSON : the Last Horse and the Tractor
SHANNON L. PUGH : Evolution
ANNE M. HUDSON : To the Girl on the Threshold
for your reading pleasure, verse
from new and established poets
poetry requires a mature audieance,
if you are under 18 years of age, click here Big Fish

NORMAN J OLSON

the Last Horse and the Tractor
  the old John Deere tractor was bought just after the war… I can barely remember the last of the horses, huge and stomping around, led by harness reins… these were not race horses or riding horses, delicate as the frost, but workhorses with hooves the size of dinner plates… and shaggy coats… I can see my dad with the horse hoof held between his legs, nails in his mouth, nailing horseshoes to the hooves of a big slow black workhorse…   the last horse was named Black Beauty and I remember his death   the horse was ill and was standing, leaning against the chicken coop… I could hear the cracking and groaning of the wood… it was blue black night and the enormous old horse was screaming in a harrowing whinny, almost like a person… the adults were afraid he was going to knock the chicken coop over… I remember my dad at the old wooden phone that hung on the kitchen wall, cranking up the phone, holding the ear piece… calling cousin Erik to come with his rifle and I remember the crack of the shot… then the last of the horses was gone… gone like childhood or like yesterday morning, gone like the sound of an old John Deere tractor sputtering over the hills of my memory, gone like a rifle shot in the blue black night…

poetryrepairs #206 14.11:129

All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
VIRGINIA WOOLF
The Art of Reading



Our Dancing Poet Logo! FIND GIFT BUY GIFT @ http://www.zazzle.com/poetryrepairshop

NORMAN J. OLSON, a 64 year old small press poet and artist, published his first poem in 1984 after many years of regular submission and rejection and now hundreds of poems and art works in 15 countries and all over the usa... current work can be seen in Lummox, Sketchbook. Norman J. Olson is the cover artist for POETRYREPAIRS.

SHANNON L. PUGH

Evolution
The past is a tree. Monkeys cling to trees. We cling to the past. Causation is the sun shining on the tree. Monkeys can't see the sun for the tree The tree still grows But, god made it grow Not the light for above. The tree itself is its own reason Not the seed or the seed before it All we know are the massive branches And the fruits that fills our empty spaces We are animals Reasoning monkeys Bent on logic and things we cannot see, We are the past The only thing a monkey can be.

poetryrepairs #206 14.11:129

I have many things to write unto you but
I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

No state organ: POETRYREPAIRS
accepts NO money from federal,
state, or local governments.
READERS maintain poetryrepairs.

free counters




ANNE M. HUDSON To the Girl on the Threshold
ANNE M. HUDSON
You can come out now.
You, poised in the door jamb with your knees shaking and your voice stuck in your throat while outside worlds collided, thunder cracked, and the earth shook. For decades. He's gone now. You can walk the scorched ground and behold new shoots in spaces cleared by the damage. I know: at times you rushed out to fulfill an obligation, to respond to a dangerous dare, or to gather up some belongings before returning to your place. You even fled to the foreign countries of your banishment, but while there you traveled in disguise. Thousands of miles away you were never far from your post on the threshold. Standing there, suspended between action and inaction, advancing and keeping still, where you watched and waited. (By the way, in this occupation, you excelled, this observing, perceiving, taking note. How often you were told you had an eye for detail.) So he's gone now, and you can come out to see how far you cast a shadow in the sunlight, to hear yourself speak in the balmy air, to project your dreams against the backdrop of rubble and to breathe in the loamy sweetness of the earth after a storm.


poetryrepairs #206 14.11:129

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition. -- O.E.D.

Amendment IX
The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.

TOP

NORMAN J OLSON : the Last Horse and the Tractor
SHANNON L. PUGH : Evolution
ANNE M. HUDSON : To the Girl on the Threshold

thank you for reading poetryrepairs #206 14.11:129
link to poetryREpairs
please link to http://www.poetryrepairs.com/v14/129.html