After the Sea-Ship by Walt Whitman

AFTER the Sea-Ship--after the whistling winds;

After the white-grey sails, taut to their spars and ropes,
Below, a myriad, myriad waves, hastening, lifting up their necks,
Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship:
Waves of the ocean, bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying,
Waves, undulating waves--liquid, uneven, emulous waves,
Toward that whirling current, laughing and buoyant, with curves,
Where the great Vessel, sailing and tacking, displaced the surface;

City of Potholes by Kelly Roper

Zig-zagging down the road

Trying not to stray over the centre line
Or hit a curb
Or break an axle
Or flatten a tire
Or wind up in the next surprise sinkhole.
Driving in Toledo is not a sport
For the timid or the sane or the under-insured.

Fog by Carl Sandburg

The fog comes

on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Endless Self-Doubt by Kelly Roper

Am I good enough?
I'm not really sure.
In fact, I'm sure I'm probably not.
What made me think I could write this poem?
Everyone will laugh at it when they read it,
Or worse, they will be silent and hold their criticism in.
Or worse yet, they'll say exactly what they think and I'll be crushed.
Or worst of all, they'll tell me it's great but not mean it.
And even if they truly love it, I'll still wonder if it's good enough.

YOU TOOK THE LAST BUS HOME BY BRIAN BILSTON

you took the last bus home

don’t know how

you got it through the door

you’re always doing amazing stuff

like that time you caught a train

Real Silence by Atticus

I longed for real silence

the kind you can’t find

but stumble upon

in a cabin

somewhere

on a lake without a moon

where you hear the cigarette burn

and the candle flicker

and your thoughts

come alive

to dance in

the symphonies

of your mind.