Lothlorien Poetry Journal

  NEL VOLTO DELLA GUERRA   Dipinge il pittore l’ombra bruciante del male. Attaccano tanti cobra dalle fauci spalancate un volto senza armatu...

  I know the Sea is grieving I know that the sea is grieving in the middle of a waterlogged winter. I feel sea fever at the end of December,...

  Lilacs (for T.R.)   I’m not sure how long it’ll take, but it won’t be pretty, and I don’t need your help doing it. Do not feel ...

  Sovereignty on The Sunday Before Easter I found a dirty pound coin today, One that I only sometimes knew I had. Not one of the fresh min...

  The Woman Is Off Her Meds   She planted all the pills in her new garden. She hopes that they will come up daffodils.   The man o...

  Millennial     The train arcs into the station, the platform roof is bronzed with a morning lick of rare sun, the arc makes sunshi...