by Margaret Colangelo | | Poetry
This morning,of all the mornings,the moon woke me. I followed the lightof last night,and walked out to freshly plowed seedless mounds. Shadows castlike head stonesrowafterrow. And I,on this night,of all the nights,took a seed from my pocketand dropped it- in your...
by Margaret Colangelo | | Poetry
Some, find themselves on Sundays in Communionwith the leisure of a lazy morning,Cold wash first-but I work slowly as no one pausesto fold their quiet time into mine.Separates turn to onesharing sacred space.Woven baskets carried-constant...
by Margaret Colangelo | | Poetry
I walk out to the weekends’night sounds. Mostly stale stillnessbroken only by one roused rooster and a pond-full of mid-summers’ peepers. A car, then two pass by where I’ve been walking out through a season, then a few broken only by a boy, then two as a...
by Margaret Colangelo | | Poetry
We’re paralyzed by social numbing as they fight off hunger yet keep on running. Blood, exhaustion, lovers’ limbsall because of evil’s whims.Childrens’ laughs drowned out by drones and in defense they fight with stones.Rich in resilience, they’ve nothing left,Fuck,...
by Margaret Colangelo | | Poetry
I bought them for a dollar at the penny candy store.I asked you not to holler-you said you’d whisper “more.”I poured them in the cut glass dish.You said you wanted four.To eat them all, my only wish-But you, to settle scores.Now they’re gone, each sweet treat;I’ll...
by Margaret Colangelo | | Poetry
Our lives- stretched out like a canvas.Your days, home, lend the color.Fine brush strokes-dirt on tiny hands,smiles on sticky faces.Recollections- hang in my head like a gallery wall. Faint music on repeat, a freshly cut Fraser Fir,Memories-the many mediums of my...
