Wednesday 20 April 2016

4 Poems by Jerry McGinley


Cold December night,
the soft white belly of the moon
bounces light against my window. 

A ghost taps my shivering shoulder,
startles me from dreams of an emerald river,
asks, Do you remember who I am? 

I’m the fiend who stole your dove,
the one with golden gossamer wings,
that perched in your dogwood tree. 

I’m the brute makes you quaver in your sleep,
who makes you scream at icy stars,
and makes you cower at your own shadow. 

I just stopped by to remind you
that your dove still coos for you, alone,
in her cage of iron chains in my dank lair. 

Orange moon teeters
above the horizon
like a ripe peach,
its bronze craters
home to writhing witches. 

Soon the rising moon
will pale its ginger hue
like a bent old man
scaling celestial steps,
searching for immortality. 

Fox tracks in the snow
leading toward or from
something immortal. 


Summer moon 
so still, voices calling
from the other side—
on the still water
a canoe glides without
disturbing the glassy lake. 


Former publisher of Lake City Lights Magazine and Yahara Prairie Review, Jerry McGinley has recently published in Camel Saloon, Foliate Oak Literary, and Burningword Literary Journal. His latest books are LAKE REDEMPTION and THIS OMINOUS BIRD

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