Silence of fingers hovering; scent before her voice in the thorned room of rose and carnation where light echoes all this and every sentiment on glass of window, fluted salute, and wandering specs. Posted in response to the RPD word do the day: patterns
On the Beaver Pond
On the beaver pond the moon Seen through willows, ageless Slap!—moon ripples away.
The Liver and Onions Eating Champion
Everyone knew that Riley Holdcamp would eat anything except liver. It was not a secret. Since high school he had announced to every date and future potential spouse that if they ever served him liver and onions, he would extract revenge. He could not even tolerate to be in a dining room where liver was … Continue reading The Liver and Onions Eating Champion
The Invitation
May knew that it was unlikely that she was seeing Mickey. He’d been dead these twenty years. But she was pushing her walker over the threshold between the bedroom and the living room, feeling the deep ache in her hands and knees, and there Mickey was standing on the porch peering in through the shadows … Continue reading The Invitation
They Retired To
The big house on the hill calling at each across the rooms. Wind whistles in eaves.
Montana Pub
one star fleets through clouds above of the bar’s neon "open" flickering off and on.
Eggs and the Disasters of Great City
Ginny Tombrow notice that after she lodged a particularly virulent complaint that included the words “bird shit,” one of her more lucrative rentals in an up-scale part of town became a raven roost.
Minor Crimes
A watched pot never weeps And what we say on winter days is forgotten in our sleeps or lost in ordinary ways. Old dogs are already taught; and whether good is bark or bite, every moment is full and fraught with our forgotten, irritated smite. ******* On another note: All the King’s men might heal … Continue reading Minor Crimes
Three Poems on the Elk River Books Poetry Dispenser
Elk River Books in Livingston, Montana, has added three of Lee Robison's poems to their Poetry Dispenser. So if you are headed for The Paradise, or just hiking I-90 through Livingston, stop in at Elk River Books and give their Poetry Dispenser a crank.
Ferrying Mr. Billingsw
“Hey, Ferry Boy,” Olly Collings said. He was fishing off the landing pier, and he muttered it with a sneer as Ricky passed him to gather the guests for the trip across the lake. “Ferry Boy’s gonna ferry a fairy today.” “Go to hell,” Ricky said. “Not me,” Nate said, “I ain’t ferryin’ fairies.” Ricky … Continue reading Ferrying Mr. Billingsw
