Jeff Harrison
Brisk Hours In The Wide Woods
rose dies to words, the stem
rises to Virginia's height
this lyre with no hide, before or
behind, will meet every delight
so I read in "The Virginia Triggers"
and I imagined, lacking a picture,
a lyre was a sceptre
there, in my picture, bloom, as nyctohylophobes
grow savage when afar of night, tides of pursuit
here, with this bloom, lacking
the lyre's delight,
many roses lie awake
weeping every melody
and I imagined, lacking a picture,
weeping was a frolic, and
Virginia, the lady of drops,
was fond of their shine
That Human Air Without Noon
how shines! Virginia,
shepherdess pale &
herdless, strayed
from pastures
to waves
of wilderness
so bright this eve
it's noon overgrown
the very stars bark as they rise at you
their bleat is the wolf's
& one implores your sleeplessness
why, air'll labyrinth her, same as us...
deserted by bites... waves of
the wolf's attempts or rain of
the wolf's attempts, yet it's
the pastures have come for her
Jeff Harrison has publications from Writers Forum, Persistencia Press, and Furniture Press. He has e-books from BlazeVOX and Argotist Ebooks. His poetry has appeared in An Introduction to the Prose Poem (Firewheel Editions), Noon: An Anthology of Short Poems (Isobar Press), three Meritage Press hay(na)ku anthologies, Sentence: a Journal of Prose Poetics, Moria, and elsewhere.
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Brisk Hours In The Wide Woods
rose dies to words, the stem
rises to Virginia's height
this lyre with no hide, before or
behind, will meet every delight
so I read in "The Virginia Triggers"
and I imagined, lacking a picture,
a lyre was a sceptre
there, in my picture, bloom, as nyctohylophobes
grow savage when afar of night, tides of pursuit
here, with this bloom, lacking
the lyre's delight,
many roses lie awake
weeping every melody
and I imagined, lacking a picture,
weeping was a frolic, and
Virginia, the lady of drops,
was fond of their shine
That Human Air Without Noon
how shines! Virginia,
shepherdess pale &
herdless, strayed
from pastures
to waves
of wilderness
so bright this eve
it's noon overgrown
the very stars bark as they rise at you
their bleat is the wolf's
& one implores your sleeplessness
why, air'll labyrinth her, same as us...
deserted by bites... waves of
the wolf's attempts or rain of
the wolf's attempts, yet it's
the pastures have come for her
Jeff Harrison has publications from Writers Forum, Persistencia Press, and Furniture Press. He has e-books from BlazeVOX and Argotist Ebooks. His poetry has appeared in An Introduction to the Prose Poem (Firewheel Editions), Noon: An Anthology of Short Poems (Isobar Press), three Meritage Press hay(na)ku anthologies, Sentence: a Journal of Prose Poetics, Moria, and elsewhere.