Sam A. Flanagan

Every year, an old friend visits, Knocking on the morning door Before the chickens go out. Just for a day, Maybe two. The old rivers of light and heat, Much alive, cry  In their thirst for night, With the promises of fading evenings liquored In the scent of blackberries, Gone stale and forgotten in the […]

On the plane,  Next to me; Her book is Arabic, while The big fellow in front; Tattoos all over, hugs his daughter, Whispering thoughts, To her demurred, shy smile lighting  The seats where we sit next To an old man from China going To see his son after some twenty years: Typing Chinese characters into […]

I barely remember seeing the night, Like an old, dry Autumn Not going away. Help me turn this knob, Sliding back, To the waiting moon, Eating at sunset’s table. Let us turn this season, Facing the wind: Fading,  Faltering, Disappeared. Now come help us mend this place, Spilling our anxious tears as one, To gently […]

The daily bread,  Given on this day, Cast in poppies And blooming blackberry corners, Everything sprawled and covered. Just over the hill,  Nights feed on themselves: Fickle contests of fading light And crickets. Here, the din of thrush, Trickles of water, And a last, hushing turn of leaves On a vanishing breeze, Where doors open […]

Suddenly, the leaves are all gone. The storms gave ample notice: Ignored. The alders will now paint the day’s luster, On a rare afternoon, posing As a cruel cheat of Autumn, Dripping spoonfuls of honey, Across the big bends of a fresh river. Evenings are still two months out. Here, morning’s curfew still remains As […]

The world tilts far enough now Where summer is almost a secret, And lifetimes can easily pass in the still air. During our walks, then, Over brilliant orange, gold and new sky, Her sadness came to be: Neatly placed Into the yielding grasp Of a freshly fallen maple leaf. Then, sealed into a shiny blue […]

The afternoon holds just enough. Life and dying, Should be familiar In the narrow, empty spaces Hiding, In the confusing mass of briars, And dried or mildewed berries: Take your pick. Meanwhile, the shadowed visitors of place Sneak back home. Somewhere, this stretch of time, Memories turn, Stretch further, Longer Than the stories Our present […]

Speaking softer now in a still lingering light Measured in long peeks out the window, Until the life of darkness Resumes the ongoing day: Slipping, Stretching, Into something else. Some of us lost the light Before we were even able To sequester its sparkling splendor In some imaginary pause. I walked right past that bus! […]

Overhead: the soaring sounds, Calling. Down here: The edgy electricity Jostles limbs, Loosening blackened blooms And thickened tassels Of tiny pears to the back porch Wind chime chatter. Damn these winds! To stir stale oceans, Stomping seasons, And lifting life anew In their leaving. Sam A. Flanagan

The River is now a great bridge The one constant that stretches morning Across the entire day Folding it neatly Gently Back into night… In between, freshly poured green water Water of life, Calling water Water that hides things And rarely reveals them. Even the rocks revel in their newfound tones Shouldering their neighbors with […]

Low, pink clouds surprise. A glowing refreshment, Before the long exhale Of a wearied man having trudged so long Through dust, Succumbed to the dull stone, Scraped in thorns, Pasted in stickery sweat, To a vista: visited before, Briefly. The slow release into newness, And old places returning. This thirst will not go, It’s scratching, […]