Here are a few of Laura’s recent poems:<\/p>\n
A Call to Arms<\/strong><\/p>\n (Originally published in Fall 2008 issue of Trillium Literary Journal<\/em>.)<\/p>\n O bark the tree; leaf the book; Copyright 2006 by Laura Hershey<\/em><\/p>\n ——<\/p>\n five till five, botanic gardens<\/strong><\/p>\n (Originally published in Fall 2008 issue of Trillium Literary Journal<\/em>.)<\/p>\n purple salvia drawn by fragrance tiny wind of wing she sucks sweet like a flute player as she swallows dips happily Copyright 2007 by Laura Hershey<\/em><\/p>\n ——<\/p>\n Sentence<\/strong><\/p>\n (Originally appeared in the July 2009 issue of <\/span>Shakespeare’s Monkey Review<\/em>)<\/p>\n a sentence slips from me like silk this is an easy birth just quiet bursting forth though careless where my issue lands overdue control from dream into word I weaken Copyright 2006 by Laura Hershey<\/em><\/p>\n ——<\/p>\n Fishing Pier<\/strong><\/p>\n (Originally published in Gertrude Journal<\/em> #14)<\/p>\n Poles stand alone, fishing Between me and the sea All places precious, all memories wet. Copyright 2007 by Laura Hershey<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Here are a few of Laura’s recent poems: A Call to Arms (Originally published in Fall 2008 issue of Trillium Literary Journal.) O bark the tree; leaf the book; uncork the bottles, and stir the cook. Winter the worn, torn calendar. Spring the forgotten prisoner. Breach all borders; stoke all hopes. Quarter the soldier but […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-352","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/laurahershey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/352","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/laurahershey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/laurahershey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/laurahershey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/laurahershey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=352"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/laurahershey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/352\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":364,"href":"https:\/\/laurahershey.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/352\/revisions\/364"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/laurahershey.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=352"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nuncork the bottles, and stir the cook.
\nWinter the worn, torn calendar.
\nSpring the forgotten prisoner.
\nBreach all borders; stoke all hopes.
\nQuarter the soldier but disorder the troops.
\nDraft the breeze. Beam down the sun.
\nO pen your poetry, everyone.<\/p>\n
\ntiny fringed cones<\/p>\n
\nhummingbird hovers<\/p>\n
\nreed beak<\/p>\n
\nfrom color<\/p>\n
\nlike a fine wine drinker<\/p>\n
\nher fleshy thumb body<\/p>\n
\nshimmering green<\/p>\n
\nspun smooth raw-edged
\nunfolding now
\nbetween hidden lips
\nred banner spreading silk message of
\ntime passing
\ncradle rocking falling
\npower blood speaking<\/p>\n
\nno contractions no knuckled screams<\/p>\n
\nof roseflesh<\/p>\n
\ngraceless eloquent tissue
\nI revere the force it represents
\nrespect the torrent scattering
\nmy petals<\/p>\n
\noverstaying welcome
\nmocking man’s grid-block calendar
\noverpainting the lines<\/p>\n
\nis out of the question
\nperiod<\/p>\n
\neach shred emerges from larva
\ndraws breath
\npalpitates free of this nutritious enclosure
\nbares shocking colors
\ncrimson orange almost black
\ntakes flight<\/p>\n
\nrejoice for
\nit is my blood filling these wings<\/p>\n
\non their own,
\npropped against rails
\ngray weathered wood whitened
\nwith graffiti and gullshit.
\nFish guts slosh from full pails.
\nHere and there men
\nin nylon and fleece
\nkeep watch like foremen over workers;
\ntheir kids scramble amid buckets and bait
\nor sit hunched in hooded coats
\nknowing better than to whine.
\nThe pier cuts a long gray gash
\nthrough the belly of the Bay,
\na ragged cement seam
\nbetween me and the sea.<\/p>\n
\nsomething floats like flute music,
\nlands like a glance on a lost shore.
\nIts damp touches my skin
\nlike the makeup I wore to prom,
\nlike mountain campfire ash.<\/p>\n
\nOn this crowded concrete stretch
\nlet shorebirds bless
\nthe men, the kids, the poles,
\nand all the fish-gut mess.<\/p>\n