Poetry – Page 43 – Grand Little Things

Kent after Lear By Steven Gaultney

Kent after Lear Is this the promised end, or just an end, All promise long forgot? How many lives Can one surrender, lives on end,

Learning the Father’s Path I hear it from the Sabbath man, a sentiment of holy charm, so squeaky clean, like jet black book, suspended palms,

Lottery A wig for a child. Cruel is life’s lottery. Each day now a gift. Anna J. Ross lives in North Yorkshire and is doing

Infant Planet Spin For now, I am your universe A muted sphere of pulse and hum. My blood and breath and brine you nurse, A

Prelude to the Frost Winter is not coming. Within our embrace, I see only tulips. I feel only the warmth of your skin and the

Theatre of Shade A tall thin pine is swaying in the breeze. That tall shortleaf is swaying in the breeze. It yearns, yearns for a

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