e c l e c t i c a p o e t r y
Umber fields riven with tractor ruts
arch into the stubble of winter wheat
as fluted leaves of corn
play on summer's breath.
I wander out at night and find myself between two streetlights
fighting for my shadow.
your idea of a bright
hoofed hurricane with all those sashes
streaming out behind you
Sometimes There is a Fence
I always like her best when I am losing her,
out on the front porch of no certain house
watching the windows stutter images
of home and comfort like we have never seen.
The orange sun
wrapped in paper thin clouds
hangs in the sky
like a chinese lantern.
Annette Marie Hyder
The Thought of Islands
The women in purdah I know,
Dry as Old Testament verses
Robert James Berry