Lantern Leaf Press

Voyages Into The Fantastic

Category: Poetry (page 1 of 2)

Poem: Dark Dreams

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Dark Dreams 

Two crows in the morning,
a rabbit’s wrinkled foot at noon.
What will it take before I awake
from this enchantment, and
lay beneath the swirling grey?

To drop down for air and
rest, feeling the kiss
of the earth and warm,
embracing roots. To watch
the fears roll by and calmly whisper,
“that one looks like an elephant.”

From here, I will send up a kite
of hopes and watch the wind
race and scream, but feel nothing
besides a gentle thrumming in the string.

*by Rebekah Shafer

I was wracking my brain for something fun to share with you all while I keep working on release details, and it suddenly dawned on me that I just happen to have an October-ish poem.  Tre bien! (“Oh, Tish, when you speak French it drives me wild!”‘)

Cool photo courtesy of the amazing people at Pexels.com

Poem: Peter

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Peter

I can hear the stories that never
grow old. They sing with the voice
of a mermaid as the night fades
and the stars drift by.

One little star, second to the others
looks down on me and asks why
I am still here, straining
to grasp this shadow of an idea
and glue it to a page made slippery with hope.

I’ll tell you, little one of sparkling dust,
that though your world is shut to me,
I can still send others there.

*by Rebekah Shafer

Cool photo courtesy of the amazing people at Pexels.com

Poem: On Cleaning Mushrooms

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On Cleaning Mushrooms

You didn’t tell me what time
you would arrive tonight, so here I am,
holding mushrooms under cold water,
and hoping you’ll come soon.
There have been three cars outside
in the last few minutes, but no ring
on the doorbell.
Water slips over the smooth caps,
and swirls down the drain, threatening
to take the evening with it.
Wait a moment while I blot my resolve
with a dry towel, and select the sharpest
knife.

*by Rebekah Shafer

Cool photo courtesy of the amazing people at Pexels.com

Poem: Tickets for Two to Small

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Tickets for Two to Small

I picked up my pen to write a line or two,
maybe an epic, and found myself hovering
above the seamless sea of a crisp white page.
The pent up ink swelled forward
and hung, quivering at the tip.
A quick breath, a sudden flutter, and a single word
stared back at me from its built and forged home.
A single word, and, at the end of it,
a tiny, pointed exclamation point.

* by Rebekah Shafer

Cool photo courtesy of the amazing people at Pexels.com

Poem: The Line Begins Over There

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The Line Begins Over There

There is never enough time to
write all the stories that rumble,
steam, and puff through the corners
of my imagination.
Some must wait, ticket in hand, huddled
in the bookshop of the train station until
the conductor calls their name.

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