Three Line Poetry

Issue 21


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Poets in this issue — click a name to read

Dean Bowman
December, sharp kiss of winter
Love pangs, fools stabbing fools
Graying days, color out of eyes

Phillip Larrea
So unfair that something in the air
or water or sunlight or beauty
or the pills or their men- kills women.

Mary Delabruere
Sugary words from a sinister tongue
Alien to my soul like agonal breaths.
I have no room to rent to your lies.

Nanette Avery
Sound bites are like dried dandelions;
how suddenly they are whisked away
leaving behind gleanings of uncertainty.

Steve Klepetar
Cold water to dry lips, a leap of flesh
and tongue and sighs. How wonderful
to thirst, and thirst and drink at last.

Caroline Nawrocki
Bruises can turn into
secret tattoos.
Wishing it was temporary.

Caroline Nawrocki
The man on fire shakes
your hand.
The usual business.

Neil Ellman
By tenuous light
we walk among the candlesticks�
how soft our steps..

Shakthi Shrima
On covers, flowers pinched
in their wilting, the flushed betrayal
of a soft projection.

Pat St. Pierre
The church bells ring
Calling home the
Wandering soul.

Pat St. Pierre
Wind whirls through the trees
As snow falls continuously
Tree branches look like stick figures.

Robert Lunday
The first stars
emerge, ministers
of the new regime.

Robert Lunday
A smokestack jabs the sky
like the middle finger
of all Ohio.

Mickey Murphy
Moonlight awakens
Whispering ballads
Exhaling daylight.

Douglas Polk
Kennedy was loved by the camera until his untimely end,
the acid bath completed,
the images retained,

Gary Watkins
blue jays strafe a squirrel
looter of the birdfeeder
risks all for peanuts

Gary Watkins
tide pools team with life
friend and foe tossed together
until the next wave

Lennart Lundh
If you settled on my shoulder,
a caffeine-high firefly blazing in the night,
would the jar of my heart be enough to hold you?

Gerry Norton
Arm the knaves
with thoughts of
rainbow braves

Padmini K
My silk gown flows
as I try to gather
hordes of crawling silkworms

Bernard Joy
A fresh wind fills this scaffold of ruins; walls
that topped these hills before the Danes came.
Now, in my washed-up mind, new feelings start to turn.

Brian Barnett
black pitted steel bars
cage hung on a crooked bough
graveyard prisoner

James Gilmore
a baby carriage bought
returned in the box
tears in the dark

Ray Scanlon
cold solstice sun suspends
aerosol wood smoke
lone dandelion crouches

Martha Christina
airborne every day
red-tailed hawk ravages
the small and wingless

Martha Christina
crow�s wings
flash silver
in late December light

Bill ONeill
A tiny you
though so unfair
love transformed

Michael Ratcliffe
New snow on mountain.
My love lying next to me.
Moonlight on soft curves.

Michael Ratcliffe
Moonlight on mountain,
blanket of snow covers slopes.
My love�s warm embrace.

J Patti
this play doesn�t last any longer than usual
just because we�re in it.
(it�s more like bread)

Chad Horn
complex directions
man�s maps mounded as compost
ME compos mentis

In a world full of gallops,
I think faster than the air, but run
slower than my grandmother’s voice.

Santosh Kalwar
Life remains unchanged
till a leap of faith
runs towards heaven

Arthur Heifetz
I�m a clock with no hour
a solitary sock, a hummingbird
circling a wilted flower

Arthur Heifetz
wish I were a rock anchored in the bay
but I am sand and you are tide
drawing me away

Bill Melton
Courage to speak up
Or to sit down and listen
They are both the same

Ivo Drury
we mourn the last cicada of summer
and anticipate
the first of many snows

Ivo Drury
late-blooming chrysanthemum
scene stealer
when summer�s upstarts have faded

Eric Nelson
Why oppose opposites?
A hammer pulls as well as drives.
What is buried grows.

Eric Nelson
Bright autumn day.
The room darkens slowly--
Leaves landing on the skylight.

A.J. Huffman
Icicles glisten,
daggers dangling from rooftops.
Frozen fangs of glass.

Bill ONeill
flying buttresses, b69�s and landing strips
shaved papayas, camel toes and thigh gaps
gonna post to instagram

Samantha Symonds
Rain on December 25th
wiping the raindrops from my eyes
feeling where the crows are circling.

David Edwards
twelve readers have a
dozen different Dantes
to guide them through Hell.

Jean Brasseur
graveled morning voice
over the phone I can hear
your face waking up

Douglas Luman
On Saturday afternoons, I go here
full of juniper and rye � to be satisfied with gin,
to find traces of heavenly peace.

Timothy Pilgrim
Head bowed, tweeting from third pew
priest�s eyes on me, hungry,
his thumbs down too.

Brenna Conley
i see your primitive grace
rust brown blooms on toilet paper
the youth of crosshatched etchings

Judy Beaston
throat etched and burning
salt gargled, Advil consumed
remedy eludes

Judy Beaston
age threads her hairstyle
silver streaks overwhelm blonde
retired and reborn
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