Category Archives: Poetry

How surprised I am to so often discover mice quickly dead from forearms caught in greedy grabs of Jif.

“This” is a word that letters built. This is a sentence built from words that letters built. This a poem constructed from sentences that words made of letters built.

One James Calendar Irvine Moore was born to a horsebreeding family in Lexington, Kentucky, July of 1840. His christening honored his forefathers.

Vaani the vole who pokes her nose through snow knows Why, while wriggling her toes for the wakening spring. Torin the trout who peeks from the cat-tailed creek knows Why, and anticipates a date with his speckled mate.

Two eyes, one mouth Two ears, one mouth Two feet, one mouth Two hands, one mouth

Do not deadhead evil flowers     nor pinch their potent buds for wrong is ne’er so strong they say     as when new growth is stressed.

I sit by a gentle smoldering fire in the glow of morning Methow sun which has finally scaled the crest of Silver Star’s hunched shoulder—

Only two types of people exist:

that literary construct designed to clarify otherwise shoddy prose by sandwiching morphemes between em-dashes, commas, or pairs of actual eponymous parentheses