November 21st, 2018

Poetry Corner

The White Cat
By Ruth Lowry

I scratch his neck
That’s all he asks of me
That and some scraps of food
A dry place when it’s raining
A warm place when it’s cold
That’s all he asks of me

In return he purrs
This, his sign of love
He purrs and stares at me
When things go wrong
And everybody’s yelling
As if to say, “It’s all right, I’m here
Calm and serene, as you will be
Once they have gone.”

And so it is: They leave
The white cat clings to my lap
Cuddles up, purring
I scratch his neck
That’s all he asks of me

By Wayne Burke

the houses across the street
have disappeared
as has the street
and the cars have become shadows
of themselves
in white mist
of blown snow
in a sky
like a whitened sea
that has drown the ridge line
the mountains
the morning
and me.
Wayne Burke lives in Barre. He has two collections of poetry, Words That Burn, as well as his latest, which can both be found on Amazon.com.

By Earnest A. Hemmingdwyer

Feelings held skin-deep
He watches for the Approver—
A twitch
Thin cheeks
Thick lips
A mind running in circles
I watch him absorb my critique
He’ll cry tonight, alone
But tomorrow
Back at it
He will fail again
Telling them
They’re wrong.
As a matter of fact, he is
But I won’t tell him then.
Earnest A. Hemmingdwyer is a Vermont native who lives on a rural homestead growing his own vegetables in the shade of cedar and elm trees. His favorite pastimes are translating ancient Chinese poetry, writing poetry, inventing languages, reading good haiku, singing anapestic tetrameter and harvesting cattails.

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