Poetry by Devon Brock.
It all went limp -the bags, the cobwebs, the rain.even the chains - even the chains,draped loose as curtains, brush the floor.Even the gray stain on the pillow slippeda bit before pausing, the hinge unhung the door.And all the several fibrous hums -the fridge, the gripe, the train, the pipe -an octave lower than before.... Continue Reading →
Sifting beans for stone,Praise thee this work of our hands.Pluck Pinto from sediment,Calico from jasper, Kidney from bone. And Praise taps run dry, lament thusthe last drop clung to the rim, suspendedRoman and hung as promise, as shrivelledGrace before a dry thick tongue. Don Sunday’s pleat to the river,kneel there and Praise gray the waterthat... Continue Reading →
Out,beyond the reflectionof yellow kitchen walls,the green couch and the black dognose prints, tulips and dayliliesbreak soil along the driveway.I not so much see as know. The first finch grips the strutof an empty feeder, and the chimeslament a minor tune. Certainly,robins gather winterfall andwarblers crest the gulf, and soon,perhaps, move on. But for now,... Continue Reading →
But for red weather, fearand pre-emptive measure,Spring must wait another year, For this enraged contagioncares little for the bloomthat compels us to meet again In the parks, in the gardencenters, sifting through annualsfor just the right shade of blue. Yes, Spring is closed this year,and all that gathers are flies,the hasty recoil of hands, And... Continue Reading →
