Poetry

Susan Eberhart Was Sinned Against On a gloomy day in May 1873 Susan wore a lovely white dress described as cambric-flushed. Susan was perfectly willing to die.   Susan wore a lovely white dress paid for by the sheriff. Susan was perfectly willing to die cheerful, confident and composed.   Paid for by the sheriff Susan wore a calico sun bonnet. Cheerful, confident and composed Susan was escorted to the gallows.   Susan wore a calico sun bonnet even though the day was gloomy. Susan was escorted to the gallows after making peace with God.   Even though the day

Kinswomen Blood of kinswomen throbs through my veins twisting strands of shared DNA from women I’ve never known except when they whisper to me in my dreams. Oh, kinswomen, I’ve missed you. Welcome Home   Home is where kinswomen linger after they have left the Earth still embracing loved ones shared memories connecting their inner hearts, spirits, and souls remembering lifetimes together   Photo by Sandra Seitamaa on Unsplash

In this poem, I imagine encountering the ghosts of ancestors along the river bed.  Chilly mud dampens my knees as I kneel at the edge of the river. Relentless water ruts the earth, pummeling ancient boulders, stripping even grace bare.   I’m hammered by heartbreak with ghostly mist my only witness. When I finally lift my head, the moon is my lantern and I see you, standing silently by the riverbank.   My heart flutters, a tambourine, till I realize how long ago your tears fed this river in the opening by the pines. Your blood now flows in my

Calling All Lorain County Poets! Since the first Lilac Festival in Lorain in 1931, lilacs have symbolized perseverance for the city. Residents in the early 1930s wrote songs about these intoxicating plants for a contest hosted by the annual festival. In similar fashion, for this year’s 91st anniversary of lilacs in Lorain, we are encouraging residents of Lorain County to write and submit their own poem about “Lilacs and Lorain.” Submissions will be accepted Fri., March 18th through Fri., April 15th. Winners will be notified by e-mail no later than May 20th and will be announced to the public on

Agto Nugroho at Unsplash   Wingspan larger than a thousand years, one loose feather swirling down to Earth, stirring salt in life’s primordial soup.   Lending stealth and voice to Harriet, sheltering her in night’s fearsome grace, recognizing kindred flight for life’s sake.   Mistress of the dark domain, Owl swoops in silence, guards the sleeping soul until the dawn, sun shatters cover, piercing light shines.

Opening Pseudo-Scientific Fact: Weighing 3,712 pounds, this ball of string is 24,901.461 times lighter than the heartache currently being experienced by one single compassionate human. I tried to push the pain away it rolled down a hill. Sorrow picked up twigs and dimes, growing in diameter. I put it in a casket pushing on the lid, squeezing out the tears I hadn’t yet shed. We floated to Lake Erie, my globe of grief and me. We scooped up dying leaves, swirling in damp misery. I cried out to Atlas, asked him for some aid. I’m sorry, friend, he told me

Am I not my sisters’ keeper? As we shout when wolves crouch down, and hold back blood and tooth and claw with flimsy skirts and petticoats and when we cheer the jungle king that lies with calves in sweet green clover water washing rocks and mistakes clean. Wisdom, pain and sorrow, shame water washing rocks and mistakes clean. Am I not my sisters’ keeper as the pressures of our lives erupt? Who can calm my sister down? Bowls of water, cool fresh water wiping fevered brows with prayer. Rock of Ages, cool fresh water offering faith and love and hope

I slog through muck, a sticky mix of wrongs that reign. I protest. I carry with me no sign, only one lone woman’s heart-scream. I side-step puddles, fearful of taking on more dampness, darkness, dread, doubt, despair. And yet And yet In a stagnant pool of tomorrow’s rain I see, within its waters, reflected the howl of another woman’s rage. Despite myself, I hope.

Appreciating urban art, I see “I love you, Tara” spray painted on every other overpass in town.   A sweet, romantic story, I think Until “They Trick Me, Baby” appeared next to one of them.   A plea for mercy! So I cheered on Graffiti Boy/hoped for forgiveness but, alas, it was not to be.   “Tara” was soon crossed out in sprayed splendor, replaced by a heartfelt “I love you, Dorothy.”   Maybe this time? One can only hope.