Tag Archives: brush gallery

Steph Eldon’s reading at the September 2013 Poetry for Peace

The Names Yesterday, I lay awake in the palm of the night. A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze, And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows, I started with A, with Ackerman, as it happened, … Continue reading

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Poetry for Peace Brush Gallery Reading February 25th, 2013

This month’s reading had a great turnout, as there were many poets who came on their own accord to read, and a class full of poets studying Contemporary Irish Literature. There were also many people in the crowd who came … Continue reading

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The Skunk

Up, black, striped and demasked like the chasuble At a funeral mass, the skunk’s tail Paraded the skunk. Night after night I expected her like a visitor. The refrigerator whinnied into silence. My desk light softened beyond the verandah. Small … Continue reading

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We Change the Map

This new map, unrolled, smoothed, seems innocent as the one we have discarded, impersonal as the clocks in rows along the upper border, showing time-zones. The colours are pale and clear, the contours crisp, decisive, keeping order. The new names, … Continue reading

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Mid-Term Break

I sat all morning in the college sick bay Counting bells knelling classes to a close. At two o’clock our neighbors drove me home. In the porch I met my father crying– He had always taken funerals in his stride– … Continue reading

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Fireside

Always there would be stories of lights hovering among bushes or at the foot of a meadow; maybe a goat with cold horns pluming into the moon; a tingle of chains on the midnight road. And then maybe word would … Continue reading

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The Bend in the Road

This is the place where the child Felt sick in the car and they pulled over And waited in the shadow of a house. A tall tree like a cat’s tail waited too. They opened the windows and breathed Easily, … Continue reading

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Lament

O well for him who lives at ease With garnered gold in wide domain, Nor heeds the splashing of the rain, The crashing down of forest trees. – O well for him who ne’er hath known The travail of the … Continue reading

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Servant Boy

He is wintering out the back-end of a bad year, swinging a hurricane-lamp through some outhouse; a jobber among shadows. Old work-whore, slave- blood, who stepped fair-hills under each bidder’s eye and kept your patience and your counsel, how you … Continue reading

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Featured Poet: Frank Evans

Frank is a senior at St. Lawrence double majoring in Philosophy and English. He is a columnist for the Hill News, providing his philosophical insights on what it means to be a college student for the Hammertime column, as well … Continue reading

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