Poetry by Devon Brock.
But for the pheasant’s coppered wing the fieldsin sculpted snows ne’er bring the promised yieldsnor pleasures found ‘til light does crest the riseat dawn and ambers claw upon the eyes. To wake and wonder here among such thingsas iridescence glides there down and bringsunto these smothered lands and frostbit handsa hope that winter’s scoff no... Continue Reading →
It is red brick and steady.Though the herefords tread the floors these days,She is steady. And though the window framesCarry little paint - it was white - and holdWhere they fell, and thoughThe creek has wandered, no, carved,Deep against the footing stones,She is steady. Steady as the ma’amThat taught them. Steady as the handThat scraped... Continue Reading →
Herefords lying down, asses to the wind - this bodes of rain. Cloud gray and anvil, clobber shot and some ways off, a cliff falls precipitous. There's manure in the air because it's November and the harvest is in. There's manure in the air for the fields need a feed before snow tangles the greeds... Continue Reading →
