Read our
Current Issue
Summer 2008
Archives of our
"Dam Fine" Magazine
Subscriptions
Books of Poetry
By our poets!
Submission Guidelines
Poetry by the Editors
The Editors Bios
Home
Bill Roberts, last time we published one of his poems, explained he was a retired nuclear weapons expert who chose poetry as an escape from scientific lunacy. He has one wife, two dogs and three fantasies, one of which is to become a ballet dancer. Now he reports he has grown balder and bolder, a threat to all the senior ladies in his water aerobics classes. Apparently his priorities have shifted.
Growing Things
My grandmother's garden
Continued to grow,
Wilder and wilder,
Petunias and marigolds and
Pansies peeking through
Weeds grown so thick
The flowers looked like
Prisoners peeking through bars,
Thanks to abundant rain
And my grandmother's
Inability to leave the second
Floor where she was held
Prisoner in her room
Overlooking the garden,
Things growing wilder
As she too grew weaker,
Choked off from life,
Just like her precious flowers,
By wild, uncontrollable
Growing things.