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Posts Tagged ‘Gregory Lobas’

[photo by Andre Tew — thanks!]

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[ a sampling of winning poems by Gregory Lobas, Hannah Ringler, Chapman Hood Frazier, Scott Owens, Lora E. Hawkins  – May 16, 2026 at Weymouth Center ]
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Moon Over Gaza
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is not the moon over me.
I have had my supper,
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and now I watch a swift scissor the air,
wings shaped like lunar crescents,
one rising, one setting
as it flips on its axis
in pursuit of its evening
meal, dusk-colored plumage
bleeding into a southern summer night.
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Half a world away, my son
distributes food in a land
that is hard to love,
among people who do not love him,
a land where locusts no longer
swarm in a biblical effusion of life,
but flies amass through a prodigy
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of death, and survivors teem
over palettes of aid boxes
driven to the edge of insect-
frenzy, children gleaning
lentils spilled into the dirt
like lots cast to see
who lives and who dies.
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Soldiers of another stripe
fire machine guns
into the pre-dawn sky,
echoing across the landscape
like a call to prayer. A reminder
of the governance of the absolute.
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Buildings bleed
into rubble. Rubble bleeds
into dust. Dust into hunger.
Hunger into gall clinging
to the back of the throat,
the body’s taste of sorrow.
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And, above it all, the moon hangs
like one severed wing of a swift.
My son (I imagine him facing homeward)
would see it set into the barren hillocks
that lie humped beyond his camp
like so many sheet-covered bodies,
while I face east to watch it rise
over a grassy meadow alive
with the scratch of katydids,
the tilted crescent bleeding
its pale light over all the earth
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Gregory Lobas
Poet Laureate Award
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✾  ✾
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Gregory Lobas’ book, Left of Center, won the 2022 Dogfish Head Poetry Prize. A 2026 Best of the Net nominee, his work can be found in New Ohio Review, Tar River Poetry, Cimarron Review, Vox Populi, Susurrus, and many other journals.
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tents hawking fireworks
these missiles, at least, only sound
and weeping stars
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Hannah Ringler
Bloodroot Haiku Award; Honorable Mention
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✾  ✾
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Hannah Ringler is a poet, gardener, freelance editor, and preschool mom living in Durham, North Carolina. She composes poetry at red lights and standing at the kitchen sink. By night, she is the State Coordinator for the Poetry in Plain Sight Program of the North Carolina Poetry Society.
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Our 50th Solstice
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Our wedding rings two spirals in opposite directions.
Each defining the other, each apart together.
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I first followed you through the back field, your hair golden
as broom straw in sunlight beneath a cloudless southside sky.
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Even then I knew it was you I had to live with. Love at first sight
I had always thought a stupid myth I now had come to believe in.
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On our first Thanksgiving, you crossed the Appalachians with your sister
to my apartment where we were first alone together.
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The scent of heliotrope left on the pillow and sandalwood
on the braided leather bracelets we exchanged.
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I followed the roadmap of your body from the green undulating waves
of the Outer Banks to the narrow cobblestone back streets of Rome.
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Each child’s birth a seeded light of our ancestors, growing through us like
winter ivy or an ocean wave rising towards some inevitable shore.
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I massaged your back in the dim-lit hospital room as you birthed our son
and steadied you as our daughter slipped into this world.
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A slow learner, now after 50 years, I’ve finally realized that love is a seed of
mitochondrial light, something I carry from those who’ve come
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before. It shines through this oculus of our lives, a commitment
that opens time’s spiral until a death parts us. This is the heart of solstice
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beyond the known into the unknown. The time after as before
when we may find each other again in an afterlife not of our making.
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Chapman Hood Frazier
Carol Bessent Hayman Poetry of Love; First Place
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✾  ✾
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Chapman Hood Frazier’s The Lost Books of the Bestiary was published in 2023. His work has appeared in The Virginia Quarterly Review, The Southern Poetry Review, The South Carolina Review and other publications. Currently a Professor Emeritus from James Madison University, he lives in Rice, Virginia.
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Churchyard Playground, Cokesbury SC
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Beneath the trees the children play
surrounded by the swirl of leaves.
They waste another careless day
spending time doing as they please,
unafraid what things may fall away.
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Please do not scold, please nothing say
of the loss that we feel today.
Such knowledge will fill no need
for those beneath the trees.
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Leave them to it! Let them play!
Give them peace at least another day.
They do not need to know that though their days
go slow, they go. Don’t make them see
that days will come when they will be
still beneath the trees.
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Scott Owens
Charles Edward Eaton Award, Sonnet or Traditional Form; Honorable Mention
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✾  ✾
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Poet Laureate of Hickory, North Carolina, Scott Owens is author of twenty-four poetry collections, recipient of awards from the Academy of American Poets and the Pushcart Prize Anthology, among others. He is Professor of Poetry at Lenoir Rhyne University, owns and operates Taste Full Beans Coffeehouse, and coordinates Poetry Hickory.
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The Second Law of Thermodynamics
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In 11th grade
I am told
by Austin Roberts,
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that according to physics,
there is no concept
of cold,
simply an
absence
of heat.
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1,500 miles,
two decades,
and several
heartsmashings later,
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my hand finds its way
under the covers to the small
of my husband’s bare back.
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Oh, it’s cold
he says
scootching away.
Not cold,
I think, as an echo
of a half-remembered
thought.
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My hands
just lack
the heat of you.
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Lora E. Hawkins
In Defense of Science Award; Second Place
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✾  ✾
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Lora Hawkins is an assistant professor at Appalachian State. Most recently, her work has appeared in English Journal, Anthology of Kansas City Writers, In the Black and in the Red, Pinesong, Poets for Peace, and The Nature of Our Times. She holds credentials from Columbia, Brown, and Warren Wilson College.
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All selections are from PINESONG 2026, Volume 62, the annual anthology of the North Carolina Poetry Society. © 2026 NCPS.
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The North Carolina Poetry Society is an inclusive, expansive community of writers, readers, teachers, and friends that spans the state’s 100 counties and extends throughout the United States. Its mission is to support, promote, and celebrate poetry. Thank you to the entire Board of NCPS – it takes all of you to bring these contests, gatherings, and publications into being. Special thanks to Sherry Thrasher, Pinesong Editor and Adult Contest Coordinator; Kim Lane, Student Contest Coordinator; Kevin Watson and Press 53, interior layout and cover design for Pinesong as well as sponsor of the Poet Laureate Contest; Kashiana Singh, NCPS President and behind-the-scenes magic elf who makes sure warp and weft are woven into beauty; Chad Knuth, program planner; and all the proof readers, copy editors, book schleppers, goody providers (I’m looking at you, Joan) and enthusiastic supporters of Awards Day each May.
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[photo by Andre Tew]

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The North Carolina Poetry Society conducts twelve contest for adults each year. The submission period opens on December 1, with a deadline of February 1. Winners are invited to attend and read their poem at Sam Ragan Awards Day at Weymouth Center for the Arts and Humanities (Southern Pines) each May. Check HERE for contest guidelines and details.
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Winning poems are published in the anthology Pinesong. If you would like to purchase a copy ($10), or if you are a NCPS member and would like to request your complimentary copy, please contact Membership Vice President Joan Barasovska:  msjoan9@gmail.com.
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The NCPS Adult Contests are:
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Poet Laureate Award
Sponsored by Press 53; Final Judge: NC Poet Laureate Jaki Shelton Green. Open to poets currently residing in North Carolina.
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Alice Osborn Award
Sponsored by Alice Osborn; Poems in any form, any style, written by adults for children 2 to 12 years of age.
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Carol Bessent Hayman Poetry of Love Award
Endowed by David Manning; Any form, any style, on the theme of love.
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Katherine Kennedy McIntyre Light Verse Award
Sponsored by Kashiana Singh; Light verse in any form, any style, including limericks
Mary Ruffin Poole American Heritage Award
Endowed by Pepper Worthington; Any form, any style, on the theme of American heritage, sibling-hood, or nature.
Poetry of Courage Award
Endowed by Ann Campanella; Any form, any style, on the theme of courage or crisis
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Bruce Lader Poetry of Witness Award
Sponsored by Doug Stuber; Any form, any style, addressing contemporary events or issues
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Jean Williams Poetry of Disability, Disease, and Healing Award
Endowed by Priscilla Webster-Williams; Any form, any style, on the theme of disability, disease, and healing.
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Bloodroot Haiku Award
Sponsored by Bill Griffin; Contemporary English language haiku (untitled).
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Charles Edward Eaton Award
Endowed by an anonymous friend of Charles Edward Eaton; Sonnet or other traditional form, maximum of 50 lines.
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Robert Golden Award
Endowed by Nexus Poets and Linda Golden; Any form, any style.
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In Defense of Science Poetry Award
Sponsored by Garrett Sharpe; Any form or style that engages with scientific ideas across all disciplines—climatology, oceanography, microbiology, chemistry, physics, astronomy, biology, and beyond.
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Thank you for visiting Verse and Image:
. . . . . every Friday I present one or two poems I’ve read this week that particularly speak to me;
. . . . . some Saturdays I present one or two poems submitted by YOU, my readers.
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Thanks again for joining the conversation.
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– Bill
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Doughton Park Tree 2025-07-10

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[with 5 poems from Kakalak 2023]
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Autumnal Asymptote
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The sun’s last red is seeping through the maple now,
and umber too, like the webbing of a frog, like the shadow of winter.
How tenderly the ground holds each leaf. How lightly they rest
before they snuggle down under the rain.
Such a wealth of dying. The coin of the land is on its edge,
a membrane, the balance of water, seeping –
even the roots break light together.
Even the fungus breathes its gifts
to the soil.
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Even the breath of me shatters this silent grace.
My steps churn leaves, worm-cast, root, stone.
The arc of reaching out is endless, airless –
I cannot kiss the earth’s brow so lightly.
She cannot sigh and settle beneath my hand.
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Hannah Ringler
from Kalalak 2023, Harrisburg, NC. © Moonshine Review Press 2023
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I am about to read an online poem titled Bicuspid and I immediately tell myself it will be about that congenital heart syndrome in which the aortic valve has only two leaflets instead of the normal three (“tricuspid”). The man in the poem won’t even know he harbors the cardiac defect. His life will be flowing along its secure expected trajectory until suddenly in his 30’s he won’t be able to walk up a flight of steps or have sex without gasping for breath. Everything crashes – painful tests & procedures, dangerous surgery, bankrupting bills, a foot-long scar down his sternum. The life he was a moment before so confidently devouring has abruptly turned to eat him up and spit him out. Will he discover a new center?
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The title also launches me into another favorite pastime – etymology. Just what is a cusp, anyway? Whenever you open yourself to a new field of exploration, your first big hurdle is its vocabulary. In scientific parlance, its nomenclature, but, hey, still just words. Don’t your non-poet friends’ eyes glaze over when you wax rhapsodic about enjambment? I know when my grandfather G. C. Cooke attended medical school in the nineteen-teens his required courses included Greek and Latin. Maybe he couldn’t do anything about Bicuspid Aortic Valve Syndrome, or even diagnose it pre-mortem, but he definitely was armed with all the nomenclature he needed to know cusp derives from Latin cuspis, a spear or a point, and the first recorded use of tricuspidem for “three-pointed” is from the 1660’s.
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Dig deep beneath the words growing in these lines, whether cultivated garden or rank unruly weeds, and you discover that all is metaphor. The cusp of the moment is a fulcrum impossible to balance upon; leap left or leap right? The spear prods your back; it will not permit you to remain standing on this spot of ground you imagined so stable. The motion of your very heart is arrested, worn out of synch, its fluttering leaflets no longer able to manage the flow of your minutes.
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Wow. I read the poem. Turns out it’s describing teeth. Bicuspid, duh. But it is still all about getting chewed up by life. And it’s awesome.
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[ read Bicuspid by Clemonce Heard on poets.org HERE ]
[ and HERE is my favorite online Etymology Dictionary (or download the app Etymology Explorer) ]
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Under
++ from the early Chinese philosopher Mencius:
++“The ten thousand things are part of me.
++ Treat those things as you would treat yourself.”
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Under the cloud, a man in the airplane
looks down from the window and yawns
at the mountain’s green canopy,
the towering tree where, under
a branch, the owl sleeps.
Under the owl, a young mother
leans against the rugged trunk;
under her eyes, a small screen,
her frog thumbs hopping;
under the screen, her hands.
Under her darting glances,
her child squats. Under the child
the tumbling river dances;
under the river, the rock.
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The child lifts the rock and squeals
as, under the rock, the crayfish wakes.
Between two fingers, under her gaze,
its curious feelers, its wiggling tail,
its many legs running midair,
its hooked fingers; its eyes
examine her. It whispers in her hear.
The water stirs. She lifts the rock again
and tenderly tucks the crayfish
under, for now she knows
the ten thousand things are part of her.
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Martha O. Adams
from Kalalak 2023, Harrisburg, NC. © Moonshine Review Press 2023
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Fox Moves in Nearby
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As incense from a censer,
+++ wildness wafts about him –
he saunters
+++ outside our sliding door.
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Red as cinnamon,
+++ gray-flecked belly,
he swings his head side to side,
takes everything in
+++ his black pearl eyes.
Squirrels scatter,
+++ grackles fly.
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He lifts his leg and marks
+++ the stoop
and, with deliberation,
+++ three stones by the fountain.
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He hesitates, concludes,
+++ and prances
through the hostas,
+++ slows beneath the forsythia,
squeezes through the fence.
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We spend sever quiet breaths,
+++ fingertips on glass,
before we step out to sense
+++ his leaving.
The birds flit back
+++ to feed and chatter
Shadows underlying trees
+++ are darker,
redbirds, redder.
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Preston Martin
from Kalalak 2023, Harrisburg, NC. © Moonshine Review Press 2023
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A few weeks back a friend in my writer’s group (holy poesy, Bill is in a writer’s group now!) mentioned that she has edited an anthology by poets near her home in northwest Ohio. Imagine opening a collection and recognizing the writers by name! See their faces as you read their lines, hear their inflections and cadence. You might realize immediately that the poem is about teeth and not heart valves. Such a concept!
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Welcome to Kakalak 2023. Although the editors no longer require a North or South Carolina connection in order to submit, I still discover many friends and acquaintances in the pages of this annual anthology. This year’s book very much retains the flavor of the South – has there ever been an issue without at least one mention of red clay or grits? But these almost 200 pages span most everything that could be said to make us human, whether grief or exaltation, recollection or discovery, love or despair, current events or origin stories, even a raised middle finger to the Home Owner’s Association.
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I’ve read the book through from page one to the end. I intentionally avoided skipping straight to the names I know in order to discover names I want to get to know. I used my standard criteria to select three poems to feature here, which is no criteria at all except what grabs me in the moment of reading (and the three quickly becam five, eleven, fifty). Do you need some new friends? As Robert Frost invites when he heads down to clear the pasture spring – You come too!
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[ Kakalak 2023 is edited by Angelo Geter, David E. Poston, and Kimberlyn Blum-Hyclack; learn more about Kakalak, and purchase  HERE ]
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Moon-Child
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+++ +++ +++ Sophie has pummeled the beach all day
+++ with the unbridled vigor of a one-year-old
dog, her tail held aloft like a kite gaining the wind
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She is tired and wonders why we’ve come back at this hour,
+++ though sand feels coos as the night sky peels off
+++ +++ the top layers of heat. She pants and leans into me.
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+++ +++ That’s enough, isn’t it?
+++ To feel day draining into atmosphere?
+++ +++ To hear the surf recite the history of a planet –
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+++ +++ +++ extinction events,
+++ +++ +++ +++ rise and fall of Rome,
+++ +++ +++ discovery, war, conquest,
+++ +++ pandemics, and underneath it all,
+++ echoes of lost Atlantis rumbling in the waves?
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Sophie’s nose twitches.
+++ Something in the dark has put her on alert.
The cone of my flashlight reveals where a ghost crab
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+++ +++ has been sidling. A moon-child
+++ +++ +++ gleaning alms offered by the tide
+++ +++ has scribed in the sand abstract patterns,
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ragged as the Milky Way,
+++ like a record of all the small events
that drive the Earth, too delicate to see.
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Gregory Lobas
from Kalalak 2023, Harrisburg, NC. © Moonshine Review Press 2023
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❦ ❦ ❦
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The Hive in the Wall
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Sometimes, when a soul has more to say,
it holds on to some place, some person,
or just moves in between joists and frames,
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taking the shapes of bees, even their names,
their endless buzz near the too-warm kitchen.
Unlike other ghosts, they work by day.
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They still need light and the scent of wet grass,
flowers that love summer and last until fall.
They, I say they, but I mean they act as one.
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Many creatures made of one spirit, a mass
that’s a fused, united, yet scattered, all.
That’s what it takes to get the job done.
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This may not be true, but here’s what I believe:
that one day, all bees, in one swarm, will leave.
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Paul Jones
from Kalalak 2023, Harrisburg, NC. © Moonshine Review Press 2023
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Hannah Ringler (Durham, NC) is a poet, gardener, and educator.
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Martha O. Adams (Hendersonville, NC) includes drawings for coloring with her recent meditative poem In Your Meadow.
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Preston Martin (Chapel Hill, NC) facilitates classes in poetry and literature at Duke Continuing Education.
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Gregory Lobas (Columbus, NC) won the Dogfish Head Poetry Prize in 2022 for Left of Center.
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Paul Jones (Chapel Hill, NC) is a member of the NC State Computer Science Hall of Fame and some of his poems crashed on the moon.
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2020-03-07 Doughton Park Tree
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