Two Selections from R L Swihart's New Poetry Book @ Amazon: Woodhenge
From Old Poems:
WOODHENGE
Boys amid timothy. All morning shovels bite
the turf to form a rough circle of a ditch
Instead of greywethers wood scraps are dragged
to the fence between yard and field
A dead crow, five fake arrowheads and a jackknife
find new life in a shallow grave
The departing sun slants through
a makeshift door
From New Poems:
LIMERICK
Last breakfast: at the door of the orange cow. Caps and scones
She argued against the young man behind the counter, I donned wig
and gown and devilled to commute his sentence
Four swans along the old wall (Strand side), heads drowning for food;
nest-suggesting strokes of green
On the other side (above high water), Emer's monster line:
IT WILL RISE WITH THE MOON
***
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