Wednesday 8 May 2024

Three Poems by Joan E. Cashin


Morning Rush


Clouds in the sky, tugging, 

leaping into the dawn 

like birds gone fey, gone, 

laughing and diving into the sun. 


Traffic in waves, surging, 

collapsing, is this what we meant, 

crossing the bridge alive with intent, 

racing, the race nearly done. 


The unsettled souls flinging, 

flailing across the serene 

stone of this bridge, did we really mean 

down the long highway alone? 



Plastic Bag Stuck in a Tree


It begs for interpretation, definition:

is it a brown flag, lashing back and forth, 

calling for a lost country, 

a lung wheezing in and out, 

or a captive bird, wings taped, 

crying for help? 


It is all of these things, 

and none of them. 

Detritus from a warming world, 

and another warning, unheeded. 



Lives of Former Athletes


The bright morning is over, the team is gone, 

the solo afternoon is here. 

Decades of dyed hair and budgets lie ahead, 

early marriage, bad marriage, neglected children, 

feeling betrayed as their bodies thicken

and decay from within, how did this happen, 

they can only wonder, the heavy breathing 

after a single flight of stairs.  

They labor through the ordinary days, 

slow and sad, at the mercy of time, as 

they dream of dolphins leaping over water.

Joan E. Cashin writes from the Midwest, and she has published in many journals, such as RIGGWELTER, ARIEL CHART, AMETHYST REVIEW, POETRY MONTHLY, and WRITING IN A WOMAN'S VOICE.  



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