Clear Horizon

photo by Lydia McClintock   Here are the lyrics to a song by Jan Harmon.  It is sung as a round, and was recorded by Libana:     Winter calls a clear horizon Like the sea calls to the port Like the sky calls to the desert Like the love calls to the heart.   <a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/horizon/”>Horizon</a&gt;

Weary eyes that blink

pagefromAliceWilliamson’sdiary   Here is a poem I wrote fourteen years ago: Stray page found in the bottom of the trunk   Brittle yellow paper rattles in my hand. Song about the roadway tarnished by the land where heat meets sand; I cannot find the shaper.   Writing’s like a window roiling with dull sheen. Watching

The Shock of Pain and Blood

I am a dog lover, but this really happened at the home of a friend who was dog-sitting. It was so ludicrous, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry:   Dog Bite   I didn’t know the tottering dachshund, old and blind as he was, would bite me. And not on my heel, but

Agile as Truth

  Here’s a poem by Adrienne Rich: For This   If I’ve reached for your lines ( I have) like letters from the dead that stir the nerves Dowsed you for a springhead to water my thirst Dug into my compost skeletons and petals you surely meant to catch the light:   At work in

Loophole

Definition of loophole. 1 a : a small opening through which small arms may be fired. b : a similar opening to admit light and air or to permit observation. 2 : a means of escape; especially : an ambiguity or omission in the text through which the intent of a statute, contract, or obligation

Entertain

    <a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/entertain/”>Entertain</a&gt;    

Study

    Here’s a poem by D.H.Lawrence Study   Somewhere the long mellow note of the blackbird Quickens the unclasping hands of hazel, Somewhere the wind-flowers fling their heads back, Stirred by an impetuous wind. Some ways’ll All be sweet with white and blue violet. (Hush now, hush. Where am I?—Biuret—) On the green wood’s

the undulating chorus

Here’s a poem I wrote about twenty years ago, about those tiny beings:   Spring Peepers   In spring the frog sounds like a bird who with his cousins curves the night around the pond with hot blue songs that bend the mud and send the slight sounds shivering into the dark, across wet pasture,

I am not forlorn today

Because I have found that Panoply magazine is a WordPress address! On this very cold January day, Panoply has published a summer poem of mine: “In the Heaven of Hopscotch” https://panoplyzine.com/ In the Heaven of Hopscotch – Anne Higgins   I hope you can work the link and visit the ezine itself.     <a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/forlorn/”>Forlorn</a&gt;