From the archives – Baby’s Breath by Kole Allan Matheson

Baby’s Breath

All day hiking long blue mountains, three
tiny strides to match your mommy’s step,
little duckling flapping upward,
patting along the path,
panting breaths escape your weary face
until the color of a flower leaps onto your lips,
“Look, Da Da!”

All night in the dozing Shenandoah,
the wheezing zees of wind inside the forest,
weaving with your breath,
rhythm in the air,
little nest of baby blankets on your chest
rise and fall, rise and fall.
Silver walls of night light,
shadows in the window,
midnight’s cold and colored voice,

no more to my core
than your breath asleep.

from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, June 23, 2016 — by Kole Allan Matheson

photo by Christine Klocek-Lim

From the archives – Feedback — Ben Rasnic

Feedback

This thing remembered—

tendrilled wisps of amber
groomed from sweaty plough blades
of Nebraska soil, waves breaking
the black earth into gold flames
ripening in air, rich with mirrors.

“It’s only wheat”,
she said,
“Just big dumb fields
of nothing but wheat”,
said

this harvest from my
loins, tawny fingers weaving
strands of sun-bleached
tasseled hair, face
flecked with straw
glistening

her bright smile,
her star rising.

from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, July 21, 2016 — by Ben Rasnic

Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim

From the archives – Idiot Hearts by Emily Laubham

Idiot Hearts

I rest on jagged pillows, rock beds by a dirty river.
I’m inclined to sleep through footsteps from the floor below.
A canary beats its wings bloody on a ribbed cage.
Still half awake, your fingers fall like crazy rain.
A telephone pole gets struck so hard it screams.
Light splits and crackles underneath my eyes.
Your spider-lashes crawl up my neck, catching freckle-flies.
A whisper climbs from your mouth and tiptoes in my ear
Latching to left and right hemispheres,
Laying eggs that won’t hatch for days.

I get caught in your undertow, a slave to the current.
I melt into the ocean and get thrashed against the shore,
somehow more solid than before.
You are sand in my teeth.
You are sand in my eyes.
But suddenly,
your face is tired and fair.
Out of your throat, a sigh.
I settle into your crooked stick of a body.
Like moss or mold, I grow there.
And they’re beautiful,
These idiot hearts.

from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, July 26, 2016 — by Emily Laubham

photo by Christine Klocek-Lim

From the archives – On changing tides — Luke Evans

On changing tides

Out by the rails, the grass too tall to walk through,
but we did anyway, checking each other for ticks
afterwards. We itched like the blades
still scored our legs. She always had
such sensitive skin,
but I don’t.

The break room was our island of sun
beneath the skylights. She told me over slushies
what attraction was, its traits of irresistibility,
how it drags us out like a rip tide.
How we shoot the moon
to keep the rising tide from our shoes.
At some point, she sneaked in
a pun on hearts,
but I can’t.

Such a hard rain and so many worms on the asphalt.
I watched her in the gray-light, a parka
darkening her face, the car’s tires kicking up
droplets as she pulled away. Clocks
only scab the wounds, they never heal.
Packages come and go, zip codes change.
I watch the sky grow dark and light,
tirelessly, black and blue
again. One day she’ll see I’m gone,
at peace with the moon.
I’ll pack up my things,
take some lotion in case,
thinking she’ll know,
but she won’t.

from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, June 2, 2016 — by Luke Evans

Photo by Christine Klocek-Lim

From the archives – No I in Team by Ed Shacklee

No I in Team

Inside of every hen there is an egg.
Inside of many hovels there’s a house.
In each and every beggar there’s a beg,
and soon, inside of kittens, there’s a mouse.

Within the vilest hater is a hat.
Perversions always have a bit of verse.
A man will grow inhuman, fate more fat,
by chopping her to bits inside a hearse.

There is no I in team, two eyes in I,
the devil is more evil than you know;
so hide a cask in casket when I die,
we’ll drink to death if God is short an O.

by Ed Shacklee

from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, June 20, 2016 — by Ed Shacklee

 

From the archives – The Shapes of Clouds by John L. Stanizzi

The Shapes of Clouds

. . . . . . . . . . . . .Childhood is far away.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .War is near. Amen.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Yehuda Amichai
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Songs of continuity, land mines and graves #5

i

the lovers sit still along the broad river
. . . . . . . .clouds in passage. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .massive cities
colossal animals. . . . . . . . .fictive worlds above
. . . . . . . .roiling transfiguration unnoticed mostly
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .except on long drives when you were a child
and someone played a game to pass. . . . . . . . . . . .the time

. . . . . . . .there’s a castle
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .there’s an elephant. . . .a king. . . .a dog
a tank. . . . . . . . .a ghost
and…..I don’t know what. . . .that is

ii

now there is war. . . . . . . . .in the air
. . . . . . . .indistinguishable. . . . . . . . .shapeless

it is spring. . . . . . . . .the cottonwoods have snowed

the lovers are old
. . . . . . . .grandchildren play along the broad river

they are in danger

we are all in danger

look. . . .look. . . .look at that cloud. . . .a child says
. . . . . . . .it’s in the shape of a. . . .…of a. . . . . . . . . . . .of…

from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, May 4, 2016 — by John L. Stanizzi

photo by Christine Klocek-Lim