In an ongoing series, the editors, former contributors, and readers of Eclectica have been invited to write a poem containing four pre-chosen words. The words for this issue are feather, collection, widow, and maple. Below are the resulting selected poems.
If you would like to participate in the next special poetry assignment, the new words are celery, cistern, target, agate.
(These are excerpts--click on the title to view the whole poem)
The Widow on Maple Street Carried a Collection of Feathers
she thought him beautiful, all primary-colored, sleeping,
light as catkins
Three Word Poems
She polishes her collection of grievances,
lines them up like figurines on the mantel,
each a familiar shape to hold onto
Sevenling: Flying South for Winter
The maples dressed in gold.
The robins were all widowed.
She tries to be useful
but her opinions are the crunch underfoot
of dry maple leaves.
Barbara De Franceschi
From your upstairs window,
you can look out at maples, bright
as the declining year.
The maples are all widows now
See how emptiness
turns out to be a relief?
The feather he knifed into a quill,
made me promise to scribble love letters
when he was long-haul trucking.
Brent A. Fisk
My Life as an Amateur Fighter
like a washcloth pressed against
my cheek, cooling
Harlow's Wooden Man
The way my aunts told the story, he was cut
from a living tree. Up-ended. Given a hat