jamesbriankerr
New Poems: "Summer Swallows," "August," "Tabula Rasa"

Three of my poems are included in The Poet's Winter 2020 "Childhood" anthology. Here they are:
Summer Swallows
When the sickle has finished its work,
we swoop over the sweet-cut timothy
to see what prizes we can find.
What was hidden is now revealed:
a clutch of unhatched pheasant eggs,
smooth as washed sea stones;
golf balls; a long-lost frisbee;
a baby rabbit sliced in half by the blade;
a box turtle plodding through the grass
like a soldier in a ravaged land.
Grasshoppers leap at our approach.
Cabbage whites dance about our heads.
We share the field with crows, hawks,
blackbirds: an army of opportunists.
The hot June sun bakes overhead.
School is out and we are free – free!
The turtle’s little legs swim in the air,
seeking ground. We consider taking it
as a pet but instead paint a cross
on its back and send it on its way.
Summer Swallows
When the sickle has finished its work,
we swoop over the sweet-cut timothy
to see what prizes we can find.
What was hidden is now revealed:
a clutch of unhatched pheasant eggs,
smooth as washed sea stones;
golf balls; a long-lost frisbee;
a baby rabbit sliced in half by the blade;
a box turtle plodding through the grass
like a soldier in a ravaged land.
Grasshoppers leap at our approach.
Cabbage whites dance about our heads.
We share the field with crows, hawks,
blackbirds: an army of opportunists.
The hot June sun bakes overhead.
School is out and we are free – free!
The turtle’s little legs swim in the air,
seeking ground. We consider taking it
as a pet but instead paint a cross
on its back and send it on its way.
Tabula Rasa
I’d been reading Locke in my room,
trying to sense of it for a paper due,
when suddenly the day went dark
and a distant rumble drew my eyes
to a line of storm clouds advancing
from the west, blotting out the sun.
Lightning flashed – the window shook.
Homework forgotten, I watched the show.
Something there is about a storm
that seizes the mind and thrills the heart:
the lashing rain, the electric sky –
the wind that roars like the sea.
Afterward I ran out into the newborn light
that revealed the world fresh and dripping
like a naked child raised from the font.