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TINYWORDS 10.1: SPRING, 2010
Editor and publisher: d. f. tweney Assistant editors: John Emil Vincent, Shae Davidson, David Jensen Cover art by Natalie d'Arbeloff
Collection copyright © 2010 by d. f. tweney. Individual poems are copyright © their respective creators, and are used with permission.
All of the poems in this collection were originally published on tinywords.com from May 17 through July 2, 2010.
They can be found, along with reader comments and author bios, at http://tinywords.com/category/issue-10-1/
In addition, the bylines in this document are linked to author pages on tinywords.com, where you can read each author's bio and see a list of other poems they have published on the site.
butterfly— the way you leave and come back
spring is coming one door of the deli is open
Street vendors selling flowers for other men’s wives
Five minutes before the alarm—birdsong, birdsong.
day at the park picnic blankets blanketed with cherry blossoms
spring scent of nothing burning
first thaw pink petals in the elevator
sprouting grasses— deleting the contacts i never call
I pause to watch the moon riding the clouds the boy tugs my hand
walking barefoot in the mud a young woman carries the world on her head
Another weekend over, under a sky of stars I empty the car.
row houses wear tinfoiled windows blind to spring
—T. D. INGRAM
green tractor plowing drags over black furrows a lace scarf of gulls
riverside wedding— the flower girl picks a dandelion
low tide … river mud glistens pink in the setting sun
On a bed of leaves, a deer skeleton picked clean, save one furry hoof.
covered with blossoms a business card floats on the pond
in between the notes heartbeats so loud
snatched by the wind, my check zips past the daffodils— I almost let it go
in an old car an old man and an old dog
remission— in the rear-view the crow settles back on the roadkill
the hem of my dress too wet for the wind
—PEG DUTHIE 23
the lie i almost tell bruised ginger
stars clearly aware
The way I rake the desert :: that would be my poverty
Clouds building outside Heralding a thunderstorm My cube grows smaller
the wind howling horizon on a wave
Hidden by the fog, mockingbirds and wrens sing maps outlining the trees.
morning coffee one bare foot under another
empty tree— except one nest
—L. A. EVANS
almost there would be a gas station
summer T-ball— between batters outfielders chase butterflies
—KATHE L. PALKA
sunday line of parking meters all EXPIRED