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Channel: Dale Wisely – One Sentence Poems
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Sean Lyon “Portrait”

Sean Lyon Portrait Flour floats to rest on the pizza shop owner’s black orthopedic boots as he catches spinning dough with all the gravitas of receiving his dead mother’s fine wedding china falling...

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Steve Klepetar “A Meeting” Part I

  We asked for sets of 5 one-sentence poems which tell a story. We'll run these sets from time-to-time. Here's part I of our first series. We'll run the rest this week, one poem per day! Steve Klepetar...

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Steve Klepetar “A Meeting” Part II

Steve Klepetar A Meeting, Part II He had been gone so long into that silent world that his face was gray, his hands wrinkled and cold.   Steve Klepetar is enjoying October in the Berkshires, hanging...

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Steve Klepetar “A Meeting” Part III

Steve Klepetar A Meeting, Part III He spoke softly, and his words rose like smoke in the clear air.   Steve Klepetar is enjoying October in the Berkshires, hanging with ghosts.  

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Steve Klepetar “A Meeting” Part IV

Steve Klepetar A Meeting, Part IV He touched me on the shoulder, smiling sadly, while outside some young men gathered leaves into piles, loaded them into pickup trucks.   Steve Klepetar is enjoying...

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Steve Klepetar “A Meeting” Part V

Steve Klepetar A Meeting, Part V A few birds twittered in the trees, the small pond glittered in the sun, and together we felt the earth as it stretched a little, yawning like someone who had been up...

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Steve Klepetar: A Meeting (All 5 parts)

Steve Klepetar A Meeting i Because times were bad, I think he came to comfort me on an October day filled with light. ii He had been gone so long into that silent world that his face was gray, his...

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Howie Good “October Trees”

Howie Good October Trees I see them out my window, grinning, angelic, committed to the outrageous thing, to be alive in spaces that are designed to kill them. Howie Good is on the pavement, thinking...

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Howie Good “The Colonel of the Dead”

Howie Good The Colonel of the Dead after flexing his cramped fingers, records your name in black ink on black paper, then lies back with a weary sigh on a sun chair, pink high tops crossed at the...

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Devon Balwit “How like Banksy, God is,”

Devon Balwit How like Banksy, God is, our hidden telomeres programmed to shred just when we become sure of our worth, our readiness for a climate- controlled museum cabinet, for an encomium- laden...

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H. Edgar Hix “Old Woman with a Walker”

H. Edgar Hix Old Woman with a Walker She wears her life like she wears her lipstick: broad, too bright, and of her own volition. H. Edgar Hix is, therefore he thinks.

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H. Edgar Hix “Wilderness’

H. Edgar Hix Wilderness for HLH and shared vision So still I can hear the deer munch; so loud I hear the autumn sky falling. H. Edgar Hix is, therefore he thinks.

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Moss Ingram “Icy Dawn”

Moss Ingram Icy Dawn Tires slid, and a guardrail caved, while orphans slept. Moss Ingram enjoys reading and writing work that requires taut constraints, as well as teaching this appreciation and...

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Alessandra Davy-Falconi

Alessandra Davy-Falconi better left unsaid I think people can love, but it’s like pressing a flower and missing the time when it breathed. Alessandra Davy-Falconi is a dragon preparing to set herself...

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J. R. Solonche “The Pine Two-by-Four”

J. R. Solonche The Pine Two-by-Four The pine two-by-four, now newly sawn exactly by the carpenter, smells exactly like a newborn. J. R. Solonche has been publishing in magazines since the ’70s and is...

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Robert Nisbet “Rural Hillside”

Robert Nisbet Rural Hillside There arrives, over an iron bridge, the rush of a train, its lights shuddering slightly, but surging with the vehemence of brilliant things. Robert Nisbet is a Welsh poet...

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John Hawkhead “Dementia ward…”

John Hawkhead Dementia ward— the tip of his tongue searching. John Hawkhead is a writer and illustrator from the South West of England whose book Small Shadows is available from Alba publishing.  

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Kirby Olson “Mirage”

Kirby Olson Mirage Oceans scatter over the desert. Kirby Olson‘s poems have appeared in Partisan Review, First Things, Village Voice, and some other venues. He teaches philosophy at SUNY Delhi in the...

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James Owens “Far”

James Owens Far He sees it is hard now not to be scattered among shadows, and the memory of voices that calls him back also calls him away, as broken as the air broken into snow or weeping now and...

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Wendy Cobourne “Meltdown”

Wendy Cobourne Meltdown I want to dissolve like a stray ice cube thawing on the counter, unnoticed. Wendy Cobourne is a journalist and college writing tutor whose poetry and short stories have appeared...

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