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Moss / Little Birds Series (Haiku, Senryu, Tanka, Kyoka)
from the sides of trees what a coming and going the moss has seen in the park, the generations of people and birds * * * swooping and weaving through the parking garage southbound flocks * * * migratory cars fly in lines listening to news about refugees' lines... Continue reading
Posted Aug 13, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Autumn Leaves Series
©2016 Eric Lohman burning leaves summer only a memory icon fallen leaves future wide open the sodden trail leaves me thinking of spring autumn leaves h o l e s in the crayon box black leaves the coal-fired generator autumn leaves stain on the lake bottom autumn the... Continue reading
Posted Aug 10, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Moonglow Series
Moonglow Series - Haiku/Senryu ©2016 Eric Lohman sleepwalker nude in the nightstreet moonglow moonglow god's nightlight solar powered moonglint off the glistening grass an early ride trail under moonglow night eaters feast moonshine on ice the skaters night widens Continue reading
Posted Aug 9, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Night Shift / Shadow Series
turning in a long day -- shift report to my shadow self night shift she turns away a sound in the night my shadow looks up restless dog turns three circles and settles pinning me in my night shift Continue reading
Posted Aug 9, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Nautical Series
Nautical Series ( #haiku / #senryu ) ©2016 Eric Lohman becalmed trolling motor broken cat nap wearing 'round to press her leeward - what I forgot to say the meth addict's breath -- I come about on the other tack since you've gone missing stays stuck in the same old... Continue reading
Posted Aug 9, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Black Widow Series
©2016 Eric Lohman death in a hole - waits * * * perfectly webbed memory of my husband my last meal * * * spider venom s t r e t c h e d lesson in death and its teacher * * * eight dazzling eyes brooch low on... Continue reading
Posted Aug 9, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Writing "Life on the Mississippi"
Dedicated to Mr. Twain I wonder all the places you found him writing "Life on the Mississippi." In a dark-paneled library, in a chair on the third-deck of a paddle-wheeler, or just at home, inventing a confluence of waters and events only he could navigate. All of these places, I'm... Continue reading
Posted Aug 9, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Crow
Crow was walking across the mesa in a storm. He wore a long black coat and tall stovepipe hat. “I am lost,” Crow said, and spreading his wings, he flew into the dark storm clouds. Crow tumbled in the darkness of the storm clouds for a time until the storm... Continue reading
Posted Aug 2, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Blossoms
the porch at dawn listening for blossoms to open Continue reading
Posted Jul 28, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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How Should We Measure Loneliness?
I think first we have to examine whether loneliness is even an Event. I guess it is, it happens, but, at the same time, it doesn't. That's what makes it so odd and unquantifiable. Let's (I and the distant you) just assume that it is or there will be no... Continue reading
Posted Jul 25, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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They Lend Themselves Better to Prose
They lend themselves better to prose, the ones I know, but that's not what I do. They are too lovely and full of detail, too complicated, past description, really, for this scale. I would give you 500 pages as a start, if I was a Russian, and then go on... Continue reading
Posted Jul 23, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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death and dedication - by pay FreshOut featured artist Peter Spaulding
the static has shuddered, shriveled winked out the last hiss fizzled to soft silence my reception of this age-old syndication has been cancelled the ocean (of us) has swallowed it we don't need the leftovers of the big bang, anymore and now the guns are bent by a force that... Continue reading
Posted Jul 13, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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A Cycling Rengay by Eric Lohman and Nicholas Klacsanzky
This is a Rengay co-written by poets Eric Lohman and Nicholas Klacsanzky. Authorship on the verses alternates, beginning with Eric Lohman. Enjoy. A Cycling Rengay by (c)2016 Eric Lohman and Nicholas Klacsanzky morning bike ride among squirrels gathering memories father's pannier heavier with my souvenirs sun's rays through every dewdrop... Continue reading
Posted Jul 13, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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The Stars Were a Gap
The stars were a gap. Everyone who ever looked up needed a story to fill it. No one can explain where the Maya or the Inca got all that whole-cloth, but they did. Things are different, we understand them now, but the stars are still a gap. Tell me a... Continue reading
Posted Jul 9, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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A Day in the Psychiatric ER - Senryu Series (c)2016 Eric Lohman
at seven a.m. I have not begun to reap -- harvest of crackheads cracks of light in the barn wall -- open hospital beds crackhead talks to everyone but me -- alone light and silence unbroken -- staff chatter empty unit new patient the spit mask asks for a... Continue reading
Posted Jul 8, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Across Eleven Summers
Across Eleven Summers (c) 2016 Eric Lohman there was the first summer, 2004, after we moved to Georgia we found you by the pool tied up in the tennis court abandoned -- we took you home after I put my seal of ownership on you by being dumb enough to... Continue reading
Posted Jul 2, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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crabgrass crawls across my lawn -- claw sized hole...
crabgrass crawls across my lawn -- claw sized hole in my mower #haiku Continue reading
Posted Jun 27, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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One Million Years for Photons (by Eric A. Lohman)
Posted Jun 25, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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How Do The Blues Know? (by Eric A. Lohman)
How do the blues know the downward turn of a junkie's form, sagged on the sidewalk against that fence,... exhaustion personified? I heard in their melody a descent in fourths, the chords the basis of loss, of giving up, of not having strength to try anymore. The push back against... Continue reading
Posted Jun 25, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Cleaning Stalls (by Eric A. Lohman)
Maybe it was the morning after your first surgery, in the freezing cold - I went out to the barn to take care of it for you and I realized with sly smile spreading over my face as slow as melting ice cream, how much I love you. I will... Continue reading
Posted Jun 25, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Falling (by Paul Chapman)
The nets in place Every thing in place for you We are a caring society We look after those who are in misery... That’s true But not for you You do not belong Socially excludable You don’t look right You are disabled You act funny You are on the street... Continue reading
Posted Jun 25, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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riding time (reverse nonet/nonet) - by Eric A. Lohman
in morning riding time,... my writing time, the trail knows my mind -- leading me past branches of thought and alder, slash pine entwined with sprockets, whirring cogs in time, emotion catches me up and I am held in its glide path still and silent, beheld and held to course... Continue reading
Posted Jun 25, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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Nightshift Staffing Problems (by Eric A. Lohman)
It's 10 p.m. on a Tuesday night and the sky is black. Where are the stars? The few I can see clocked-- in to this night shift, seem to be hanging around the break room and under the exit sign, by the door. Only Mars is high over head, his... Continue reading
Posted Jun 25, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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The Snow (by Eric A. Lohman)
It's hard to think of winter in the spring-- the end of spring, just before summer, the coating of snow having long since melted away, explosions of life being everywhere. Likewise, winter remembers little of spring, her bony, croned hands doing their best to curl around a memory like a... Continue reading
Posted Jun 25, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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How I Lost Wimbledon (by Alvah Allen)
for my niece, Celie This was back when she was just a little thing, no taller than a racquet or maybe just slightly. It was the year I had my best shot. I don't even remember now who I was playing, let's say it was Borg. Regardless, I had made... Continue reading
Posted Jun 25, 2016 at Fresh Out: An Arts and Poetry Collective
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