The Piano – Robert James Berry

 

When you played,

the display china plates

would tinkle.

I’d imagine them falling

especially when you trilled,

which was integral,

a profound thrill. But

most of all I loved

the big-boned silence

between black chords,

now that was resounding.

 

 

Robert James Berry lives and writes in Dunedin, New Zealand. He is the author of nine collections of poetry: ‘Smoke’ (2000), ‘Stone’ (2004), ‘Seamark’ (2005),’Sky Writing’ (2006),’Sun Music’ (2007),’Mudfishes’ (2008), ‘Moontide’ (2010), ‘Swamp Palace’ (2012) and ‘Toffee Apples’ (2014). His poetry has appeared in literary magazines such as ‘Stand’ (Leeds, UK), ‘Poetry Salzburg’ (Salzburg, Austria), ‘Westerly’ (Perth, AUS), ‘Rattapallax’ (NY, USA) and ‘Landfall’ (Dunedin, NZ). Robert was born in the UK and educated in England, Ireland and Scotland. He holds a PhD in English Literature from the University of Stirling, Scotland and MA and BA degrees from the University of Ulster, Northern Ireland. He has lectured in English Literature at universities in England, Malaysia and New Zealand. He is married with three sons.

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August 16, 2018August 16, 2018 by foxglovejournal Categories: PoetryTags: china, chords, creative, creativity, emotion, falling, instrument, love, music, New Zealand, piano, plates, playing, poem, Poetry, profound, Robert James Berry, senses, silence, sound, thrill, trill, writing Leave a comment

when in april… – Fritz Eifrig

 

rain, again,

from twilight skies.

echoes of my

past, signals

of those days to come.

nodding yellow crocus

flashes semaphore.

there, another, purple,

shivering,

closed as for night –

these too tell me

of you.

 

falling

water conjures the wet

sound of my name

choking in your throat

like a bite

of rotten peach.

those tears, here

mirrored along

peering iris blades,

pooling onto dirt.

pain feeds growth,

sadness made manifest in these

fragile blooms.

 

wet birds dart

into shadowed trellis shelter.

rain, again.

 

Fritz Eifrig has been writing poems on and off for several decades. He has been published in Poetry Quarterly, and the Hiram Poetry Review. He lives and works in Chicago.

 

February 10, 2017 by foxglovejournal Categories: Poetry, UncategorizedTags: birds, Chicago, colour, creative, creativity, echoes, falling, flowers, fragile, Fritz Eifrig, growth, nature, past, poem, Poetry, rain, sadness, shelter, sky, US, water, weather, writing Leave a comment

Cabin Fever Poem #437 – Ryan Quinn Flanagan

 

It was snowing on the snow

and the snow on the ground began

to resent the snow that was falling on it

to the point that when the new snow settled

with all the snow that came before

they formed an alliance against the new snow

that was still falling

or any other snow that still wanted

to fall that

season.

 

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his other half and mounds of snow. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Word Riot, In Between Hangovers, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.

 

January 19, 2017February 25, 2017 by foxglovejournal Categories: Poetry, UncategorizedTags: alliance, Canada, change, cold, creativity, falling, ground, landscape, nature, poem, Poetry, reflection, resentment, Ryan Quinn Flanagan, scenery, seasons, snow, thoughts, weather, writing Leave a comment