The Taxi by Amy Lowell

When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum.
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me,
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
To wound myself upon the sharp edge of the night?

September in Huntly by Lauris Edmond

From the hill road you see spring weather

firing the tow, sun running with the river,

dancing on glass as cars wink in the street, 

falling on windows and water

in the late afternoon shower of stars.

Away to the north are the mines

lit by lamps, slow-burning butt-ends

of the dark; the middle shift thinks now

of tea at four, cards, quiet booze, shoves

at the door, coughs in the mucky dust.

The light blooms and dies, jade green

burning the sky like a flare, all over town

smoke rises, tired men enter as it ends

the glowing day, hump home remnants 

of their temper, feel the cold.

In the kitchens women are stoking stoves,

grumbling at the soot in the chimney,

the easterly's choking smoke; children

crowd squabbling round fires that no one really

remembers the miners' long labour lit.

Thoughts by Jean Woo

Softly, softly falls the dew
Let it fall, let it fall;
Softly, softly calls a voice
Let it call, let it call.
A violet mist will clothe the hills
And lavender the sky
Fowers open fragrant frills
And still a tear I cry.
Slowly, slowly flow the tears
Let them flow, let them flow;
Slowly, slowly fades the love
Let it go, let it go.

When by Robert Zend

Death doesn't

end life

death just

interrupts it

a book mark between page 256 and 257

a dental appointment at Friday at two

guests tonight

a movie tomorrow evening

a discussion that didn't end

coffee percolating on the stove

six shirts at the laundry

a holiday in Mexico this winter

this is what things are like

when a period is placed

in the middle of a sentence.

Courage by Nicole M.

The courage that you have-
Don't throw it away-
Save it for another time-
Another day-
The fires all around you-
Burn big and bright-
But the fire deep inside you-
Burns strong and light. 

The New House by Edward Thomas

Now first, as I shut the door,

I was alone

In the new house ; and the wind

Began to moan.

Old at once was the house,

And I was old ;

My ears were teased with the dread

Of what was foretold,

Nights of storm, days of mist, without end ;

Sad days when the sun

Shone in vain : old griefs and griefs

Not yet begun.

All was foretold me ; naught

Could I foresee ;

But I learned how the wind would sound

After these things should be.