HELLEBORE IN RAIN
This rain feels like someone
keeps stabbing me
with sharp pencils. My mood’s
a torn rubber hose. Time
to take in the trash cans. I see
a white
hellebore,
many blossoms covering
the plant,
a melody made of
silence.
keeps stabbing me
with sharp pencils. My mood’s
a torn rubber hose. Time
to take in the trash cans. I see
a white
hellebore,
many blossoms covering
the plant,
a melody made of
silence.
LANTERN
I hold a lantern to guide me at night--
tall oaks deepen the darkness. The light holds
even when it flickers, causing me fright.
I hold a lantern to guide me at night,
walking slowly rather than taking flight
when a branch falls or an angry bird scolds.
I hold a lantern to guide me at night--
tall oaks deepen the darkness. The light holds.
tall oaks deepen the darkness. The light holds
even when it flickers, causing me fright.
I hold a lantern to guide me at night,
walking slowly rather than taking flight
when a branch falls or an angry bird scolds.
I hold a lantern to guide me at night--
tall oaks deepen the darkness. The light holds.
Kenneth Pobo (he/him) is the author of twenty-one chapbooks and nine full-length collections. Recent books include Bend of Quiet (Blue Light Press), Loplop in a Red City (Circling Rivers), and most recently, At The Window, Silence (Fernwood Press). His work has appeared in Asheville Poetry Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Amsterdam Quarterly, Nimrod, Mudfish, Hawaii Review, and elsewhere.