e c l e c t i c a
s p e c i a l f e a t u r e
e c l e c t i c a
s p e c i a l f e a t u r e
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 velvet, carnival, window, and pregnant.
If you would like to participate in the next special poetry assignment, the new words are whisper, eight, espresso, and parallel.
(These are excerpts—click on the title to view the whole piece!)
You think about peaches
on the windowsill and their velvet
skin and how it wouldn't hurt
if you bit into one right now
Julie King
Jeannie''s got herself
pregnant again. Yeah, still no husband.
No-one wants fat pressin' them down,
so as to make them parta the bed.
Tara Brever
Those shanties streaking by must look like home,
gray and splintered like her mother''s hair.
I heard the woman once weaved a hat for Jo
with their pregnant collie''s fur
Natalie Kring
You never knew how I met him
in the wood one day, carried his animal
scent home in my hair
Jennifer Finstrom
Will she dip
once more into the little
bag, exchange what she
considers nothing
for something
Amy Crane Johnson
Music pours out the jukebox velvety, coating
bottles and perching dew-drops on the pool table
felt, humidifying the desert air that drifts
through the open windows and doors
Tom Dooley