I started a wee bit early, trying to stay ahead, as we'll be doing some traveling this month. The first batch of postcards have already gone out.
Here are some of this year's offerings.
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After thirty years he still leaves me coffee in the pot, the last piece of pie, hungry for our next kiss. |
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Birds attack the feeder. A frenzy of wings for a beakfull of seed. An inefficient exchange. The squirrel sits beneath, bushy-tailed Buddha, waiting. |
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Yesterday, I netted the bushes. Today, the birds fix me with their beady eyes planning their next move. Seasonal warfare neither of us can win. In the end frost claims the garden as his prize, the tart crush of blueberries on my tongue a temporary victory. |
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When the Crow lands on the feeder chickadees and nuthatches scatter in a panic of wings. Possession is a worthless prize, his weight slams the feeder door shut and all his frantic scrabbling cannot nourish him. |
There are great! Some awesome short poetry and very well written with some power feeling attached to them. Thanks so much for sharing, I really do appreciate these
ReplyDeleteMany thanks, Leif. I find participating in the postcard fest a lovely ritual, one that serves like meditation for my writing as a whole.
DeleteToo late to get involve? Sounds fun.
ReplyDeleteS. Thomas Summers
Author of Private Hercules McGraw: Poems of the American Civil War