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Channel: Dale Wisely – One Sentence Poems
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J. R. Solonche “Local Politics”

J. R. Solonche Local Politics We’re over Nebraska, and the sky is still blue. J. R. Solonche is author of Beautiful Day (Deerbrook Editions), Won’t Be Long (Deerbrook Editions), Heart’s Content (Five...

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J. R. Solonche “Someday”

J. R. Solonche Someday Someday the last poet in the world will write the world’s last poem, and someday the last reader in the world will read it and say to herself, “Where is Emily Dickinson when you...

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Daniel Birnbaum “Shopping”

Daniel Birnbaum Shopping When she goes shopping she always says “I’ll be quick” in a reassuring tone and I am sure she honestly tries to be as quick as possible but shopping follows another planet’s...

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Tim Philippart “At Least Peek”

Tim Philippart At Least Peek  When it comes time, remember, I registered for the sunset departure, so, if the sun is not sliding demurely into crystal waters, behind gauzy veils of cloud, then, open...

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Gil Hoy “Simile”

Gil Hoy Simile Rest in peace defunct T.  Rex, mythical dinosaur king with erector set jaws, your ecological footprint so sizeable that the earth couldn’t support you— like the carbon footprint of the...

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Steve Klepetar “New Year”

Steve Klepetar New Year At the end of the year, as the brothers part company, one turns, his shadow to the wall, the other smiles and leaps out into the cold, green sea, as many winds and waves conceal...

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Howie Good “A Small Cemetery in Texas”

Howie Good A Small Cemetery in Texas  It makes no difference if you’re Spanish or white or whatever: when the wind blows too hard, it blows the flowers away. Prompted by...

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David Adès “On the Cusp of Another Birthday”

David Adès On the Cusp of Another Birthday  Shopping again at the Department Store of Loss — pockets full of the currency of memory — I talk to myself to breach the silence, marveling at how the stock...

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Dale Keeps Screwing Up

My apologies. I schedule these one-sentence poems as much as 3 weeks in advance. I format the  poem, enter a publication date, then his “Schedule.” For some stupid reason, the module in WordPress has a...

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Johanna Donovan “Ancestry” 

Johanna Donovan Ancestry  My mother’s hair lives on my head now, no happier than she was to live on one continent. Johanna Donovan is a woman of few words who loves this medium.

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Maia Evrona “Hidden Yiddish”

Maia Evrona Hidden Yiddish  Perhaps there is memory growing out of oblivion, a miracle happening on a journey, as the nightingale sings an aching soliloquy buried in the forests of Poland. Maia Evrona...

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Phillip Luke Sinitiere “Emotion’s Oxygen”

Phillip Luke Sinitiere Emotion’s Oxygen  I want to crawl inside your skin and touch the imprint of what I have caressed only from a distance, which is to say, brush betwixt and between the glistening...

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Meghan DePeau “Memory”

Meghan DePeau Memory -for survivors Memory is a slippery fish perfectly still just below the surface, flashing silver as it darts to a crevice, eyes always open. Meghan DePeau gets along well with...

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Neil Creighton “A Beam of Light”

Neil Creighton A Beam of Light Scoff, you cynics, you observers of the here and now, but we are only our dreams so why shouldn’t I, with prophets and seers, float out of my darkened window on a beam of...

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Ori Fienberg “Deserting Our Ancestors “

Ori Fienberg Deserting Our Ancestors  Land grows up and loses its parents: the wetlands forgotten for low-slung shrubs– and here’s another beach, orphaned by the water, trying to find purpose. Ori...

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Mark Butler “Dead Minus e = Dad”

Mark Butler Dead Minus e = Dad It’s grim work this feeling nothing when your father dies 40 years after you last saw him, his turned back spurning you more familiar than his face ever would be, as if...

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Kelsey Sorge “The Lonely”

Kelsey Sorge The Lonely When The Lonely grew too large, she locked it in the closet and fed it loose buttons and wads of hair raked from her hairbrush, wrapped it safe and sound in the arms of her...

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Keith Hoerner “Twin”

Keith Hoerner Twin  Brother, mirror of me, wewereconjoined, and though sep arated, in ways imperceptible, weremainedattached. Keith Hoerner lives, teaches, and pushes words around in St. Louis, Missouri.

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Peggy Turnbull “Country Boy”

Peggy Turnbull Country Boy After our long welcome-back kiss he spun away from me to paw the ground like a bull saying howdy to a matador, flapped his elbows like an Oktoberfest Chicken Dancer, stuck...

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Devon Balwit “Rubbernecker”

Devon Balwit Rubbernecker  Look, look away, the feed’s grim dance, the lesser kudu, all whorled iridescence, holding me a full breath or more, while the starving polar bear, a slink of ribs and misery,...

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