In the kitchen, I look through the window
On the east wall and see the sun
Hazy behind the new curtain of honeysuckle
On the barbed wire fence
And through the window
On the west wall, the grey sky
And the rain creasing brown oak leaves
In the ditch where the dandelions
Are sprouting. But there is no divide Continue reading “Before the Flood”
Author: ROMPoetry
The Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry is an interactive museum where the common person and poetry meld. ROMP is a 501(c)3 tax-exempt organization.
T-Ball
The boys running the bases like rabbits
scurry to far-off places, not moving
toward targets—just moving. Montie Jean
recalls the ballgames she played as a child
in the dusty pasture where milo died
early. She can’t believe she was ever
as small as these kids. One sits on the bench
crying. Another has smeared snot and dirt
up the side of his face and into his hair. Continue reading “T-Ball”
Dance With Me in Ireland
In honor of St. Patrick’s Day, I was thinking of Ireland this morning. The country has a wonderful blog called Poetry Ireland that celebrates and promotes poetry across the country. Currently, on the main page a literary festival held in Dublin Castle is being advertised. Oh wouldn’t I love to go to that? With my name, I could fit right in. Continue reading “Dance With Me in Ireland”
Final Valentine
Scribbled affection
dusted in bone-ash blowback
paneful messages
gazing in
Attic exhibit
Defensively tucked away
Eight panes
Eight years
— Tony Lee Orr
Crime Story
624 Thesselonia Avenue
10:51 a.m., March 25
What have we got here?
Boys on the way to school found her.
They touch the body, move anything?
Nah, they were so scared they took off running.
Got an ID? Got any identifying marks?
Nope, dress has no pockets, probably just a tart.
Or a goddess, Lenny, you know it’s hard
To tell ‘em apart on the road in the dark.
Dun. Dun. Continue reading “Crime Story”
Spring Train
They were fifteen and smoked Lucky Strikes
on the train to Tulsa. Both wore their best dress.
Montie Jean’s was blue taffeta with lace
crocheted along the collar. She had to stand
or stroll to keep it from creasing at her hips. Continue reading “Spring Train”
Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry 