Best Hefting Poems

My world had the same aspects as my life.
Its spaces were roughly the size of a fine ship. 
Its spirit was comparable to that of a...

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This story I am about to unfold,
is a favorite about my Grandfather.
In which he starts out acting very bold,
yet ends, running up a painful lather.

Down...

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#FAREWELL, BROTHER
by
Hannah Rain

Lowering him down upon his curved back,
On silky blue sheets, all pleated and tacked,
A pillow they stuffed beneath his cold head,
And combed his...

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To The Victor Goes The Spoils

In the confined playing area within the concrete walls of a squash court..
The next few days will definitely witness intense...

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Youngest Champion In Woman Squash

There you have it, the youngest ever World Woman Squash Champion..
At a tender age of twenty, Nour El Sherbini is the...

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Faraway Footsteps

How present
This past
Called memory

Hollow sole dragging
Hobnail boots
Caked with crud
Mud
And oil
Atop the landing
"Drop them greasy clothes"
Came the sometimes loving voice
The sometimes malevolent voice
But always his...

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This story I am about to unfold,
is a favorite about my Grandfather.
In which he starts out acting very bold,
yet, ends running up a painful lather.

Down...

Read more of this work...

She watched her move
	The potted Chinese Hibiscus inside,
	Sliding it over the not yet frozen ground,
	Hefting it slowly over the six wood back steps,
	Resting and breathing,
	Hands...

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Father is a stump grinder,
a heavy planter. Shovel fingers
bulling through onions and leeks. 
Truck-hands lashed to maroon suspenders.
Head in the dirt, a blue exhaust
trailing from...

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It snowed last night;
taking out the trash,
there I am, dozing in a garden swing set
deep within July.

It could be another year.
July in a London park
lying...

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Father is a stump grinder,?
a heavy planter. Shovel fingers?
bulling through onions and leeks.?
Truck-hands lashed to maroon suspenders.?
Head in the dirt, a blue exhaust?
trailing from grub-working...

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The Untruth Of A Lone And Erroneous Prophecy


What has a prophetic death done to this poor soul
the merest thought of sleeping under freshen sod
stir the...

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on my six

 the village faded in my past
when at last i walked through the gate 
for the final time
neither of us remained the same
as...

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