Lothlorien Poetry Journal

You   If Camus said so, I'd leave my fingertips in the furnace, a mimic of my pencil’s failure;   if Hemmingway said so, I...

  SUN DAY     It is Sunday, the sun spills into empty streets, I stop by the beach on the way to the hospital, a volley of laugh...

  Shaking Hands with the Dead     A childhood tale     The leaves are quite still And hold dimpled moonlight in their folds   We...

  Place   I knew the gloaming before I was born. Rediscovery beyond my mind’s gray space. My eyes closed, I visit memory’s mea...

  GOD MYTHOLOGY CREED new sins, old ones derived from bankrupt mores. Tenets to prop up atom by atom, a new religion banded, n...

  Ashes of Cedar Logs   Hip roofed, low at front, bedrooms in the loft dappled light , shade, sweet chocolate box door of heavy wood...