A Poem for Ash

by Laurie Byro
Desert Moon Review
Honorable Mention, October 2016
Judged by Richard Krawiec


I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead
from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
D.H. Lawrence

Enter the poet

Just as I move from lip to urn, to coffee can for ease
in transport, the eternal butt mass produces more of us.

We imitate ghostly snakes, we writhe and grow
like a runaway dream. We are the mist off Capri,

the languid soul as it enters bergamot air, sea-salt
and goats drenching the pores on a rocky hillside.

A sooty diesel train rocks us in our death-crib then
we are spilled at the station. We are gathered

and cupped in an enemy’s hands, reviled and praised
all at the same time. One myth has us suffocated in

cement, unable to leave this place, forever bound
to all future dreamers. In truth, we are satisfied to

sleep in a bowl on a poet’s mantelpiece, a pinch
and sprinkle swimming in a Martini potion (and sometimes

morning tea), we taste like lapsang oolong. We are a last
spell as we conjure the unforgiven back to our lair.



  • March 2018 Winners

    • First Place

      Cuttlefish
      by Jim Doss
      Wild Poetry Forum

      Second Place

      Wings
      by Bernard Henrie
      The Writer's Block

      Third Place

      gutterball
      by Brenda Morisse
      Wild Poetry Forum

  • February 2018 Winners

    • First Place

      Nebraska, Summer
      by Greta Bolger
      The Waters

      Second Place

      Goldback Fern
      by Bob Bradshaw
      The Writer's Block

      Third Place

      Negotiatin’ Wi Demons (For wee Rabbie Burns)
      by John J. Williamson
      PenShells