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 parallel, espresso, whisper, and eight.
If you would like to participate in the next special poetry assignment, the new words are splatter, grip, hazel, and midnight.
(These are excerpts—click on the title to view the whole piece!)
I am still waiting for the 209,
as two girls chasing nothing
in particular run by on the walk
paralleling this stop's bench.
Nick Barrows
She's growing some breasts
that pack like stolen meat
beneath her t-shirts
Tara Brever
His whiskers grew that summer
like the corn he planted
the week after she left.
Tom Dooley
In a parallel world I did not go mad.
That isn't to say that the seeds
were never planted
Jennifer Finstrom
Thursday morning moves on its
parallel tracks of light
Taylor Graham
last year I planted parallel rows of bulbs,
but the bastard tulips won't whisper pink,
just shriek fuschia all over my lawn
Julie King
The Fire, the Word, the Unfilled
This is chemistry, the transformation
of one form to another—the espresso's
steam, the tear's
residue, light whispering across the field.
Bob Wolfkill
