Dec 29, 2022 | Gus Stevens, Terza Rima, Winter
Winter makes wonder which summer will wake me last before I under? Grey will rain outlast this stink, sink, sourful mood when wince-wind will past. And I blood, burn, brood— what was said and wished unsaid— fat, fresh, fill from food. Pull the push loose thread; pluck...
Dec 10, 2020 | Aging, Commissioned, Grief, Gus Stevens, Irregular Rhyme, Mom, Winter
She appears in the glass like a watermark and her image in the window tells the score. Her eyes, reflected, look blinkered, tired, sore as she scrapes the dishes clean. Inside: herself. Outside: the dark, and this old face between. It seemed just weeks...
Apr 14, 2020 | Bible Story, Gus Stevens, Irregular Rhyme, Quatrains, Seasons, Spring
I believe in the resurrection. With its birdsong and flowery filigree, springtime is a useful simile, but the meaning moves in only one direction. It is a life that was, and then was not: true flesh with dirt beneath the fingernails, an eye color that history has...
Mar 27, 2020 | Gus Stevens, Humor, Irregular Rhyme, Seasons, Spring
Day 1 You tell yourself that you are going to learn French. Instead you make coffee with milk and tell yourself it’s okay because they’ve yet to close the grocery stores; no need to break into the shelf-stable supplies. You tell yourself lies—that...
May 11, 2019 | Gus Stevens, Rhymed Couplets, Spring
They say to write what you know, but what if there is nothing left to show? Nothing to paint but green on green, and all there is to see—already seen. No fresh petals curl up from the dirt, and meaning hangs like an ill-fitting shirt: stretched and shrunken, thin and...
Nov 23, 2018 | Gus Stevens, Humor, Rhymed Couplets, Winter
This dull and wintry day is still a weeping grey. But with the turning of a dial perhaps I’ll force a smile by conjuring the warmth of June against this gloomy afternoon. Like a bored cat, I linger. I boil water with my finger. Yet, despite this warlock power, I...
