It rained while I slept.
I dreamed quiet ponies
grazing on a hill.
In the morning,
the orchard grass
smelled damp and fresh.
Red apples glistened, heavy
on low-hanging branches.
By Terry Martin
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The Tea Cup Hills
The Tea Cup Hills steam up, the mist swirling above endless green. I walk the quiet trails forever thinking of the bodies piling up in ...
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This room was once alive with colour and chatter. Now bare, it is silent - the sea licks at piles of bags packed with our lives. We will ca...
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The Tea Cup Hills steam up, the mist swirling above endless green. I walk the quiet trails forever thinking of the bodies piling up in ...
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The first rain Of the fall Crept in stealth Just at dawn In a tap On the glass What I felt On my bones Was a flow Anapest Of wet life. by Sa...
1 comment:
Terry Martin is an English Professor at Central Washington University. Her second book of poems, The Secret Language of Women, was published by Blue Begonia Press in 2006. She lives in Yakima, Washington--The Fruit Bowl of the Nation. “Poetry—both reading it and writing it—reminds me to slow down, to breathe, to be here, now. And I need reminding.”
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