Poetry
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Poetry: Note to the President
Let me note this morning I came/ across a coin, I thought, crossing/ Tully Road. Once a path for local/ soldiers. Farmers mostly. And nut/ gatherers. Its face…
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Poetry: Power? — Control?
So you want power?/ You want control?/ And when you have it?/ And when people all over/ are living in fear and hate?/ What then will they think…
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Poetry: In changing times, Fenway Park’s mystique remains
Never thought you’d sing/ her name./ A girl you never knew. Swaying/ with a stadium of strangers…
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Poetry: Cory’s Song
Not that you or I couldn’t have stood/ on our feet. For twenty-four hours./ Speaking impassionately./ Sat in a chair. Lain in a bed./ Reading words cast on…
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This month in poetry: One of a living crowd
There’s something happening, don’t you think?/ Do you feel it under the brown crusted snow,/ under the wanting to break sky.
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Letter to the editor: Getting up early: lacrosse athletes & farmworkers
It’s not my place to suggest/ to your coach, she bus you/ to one of our Addison County/ farms. If you have to be in/ the Field House…
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Letter to the editor: Political realities spark creative pragmatism
As our political realities continue to shift in unexpected and unwanted ways, the writer has had several conversations with friends and family about where their thoughts are. A…
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Poetry: Putin’s Poodle — a limerick
To search for his backbone is futile/ His spine is as stiff as a noodle…
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Poetry: Did you know Frost, I asked you
Wasn’t he the guy who wrote poetry/ up in Ripton, you said,/ when I asked you, if you knew/ Frost. If you ever bumped into him./ On one…
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Poetry: For Joe Castiglione, retiring
It’s not the same as calling it/a night./Saying goodbye. Even/here, in Fenway, there isn’t a wall/between us.
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Poetry: Remembering our dentist, Harvey Green
Known for humming when he drilled./Singing, his kind of Novocaine.
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This month in poetry: On the inside of summer
The peony buds swelled for days/ as the ants unfastened the blooms/ now a shower has left them/ lying open in the grass.
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The month in poetry: First findings, first loves
I met you after school/ where you told me you’d be waiting./ Your sweaty fingers encircled my wrist/ pulling me through the thicket and/ as I watched pink…
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Poetry: Make myself remember
I have to make myself remember/ The skillful fingers that used to push/ A needle through calico layers/ Making the tiniest stitches/ Intricate, patient designs/ Around the square…
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Poetry for everyone: Weybridge haiku contest winners
Weybridge’s Sixth Annual Haiku Contest asked Vermonters to reflect on these challenging times. Reflect they did with 51 writers submitting 443 haikus. As in past contests, the themes…
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The month in poetry: On waking slowly
Eyes closed at first,/ wintering inside the earth,/ black matted fur/ dampness pressing soft eyelids/ shut to outlast frost/ heaving around him.