Jan/Feb 2016 Poetry

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 neighbor, blanket, anniversary, and eleven.

If you would like to participate in the next special poetry assignment, the new words are perpetual, hinge, flowers, and gloves.

(These are excerpts—click on the title to view the whole poem)

The Juncos Return to Northwest Ohio
The juncos peep and titter in the detritus
beneath the pines. The walnut tree concedes a stubborn leaf
David Oestreich


Midnight Solace
One of the players said, "The Knave is here."
That's when his neighbor handed me a card.
David Mathews


For a Birthday
Today is the anniversary
of your coming into the world naked and screaming.
You've learned some subtlety since then.
Rebekah Curry


Interview with a Victimís Neighbor on the Fifth Anniversary
the whole time she natters on and on
about not wanting to be a nosy parker
Miriam Kotzin


River crests
off-season, only surveyors notice
Cindy Bousquet Harris


Neighbors, like family, are not the ones
we choose to love
Greta Bolger


Reasons to Wake up Long before Morning, Homesick
If a fire is brewing at the foot of your river bed
if the buildings start resembling mountains
Michael Woods


I Confide in Golden Dream Barbie about My Divorce
I try not to think of the things
I never gave her: no Barbie Townhouse,
no wedding dress, not even a bed with gold sheets
Jennifer Finstrom


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