Sharon Perkins Ackerman holds an M.Ed from the University of Virginia. Her poems have appeared in the Southern Humanities Review, Atlanta Review, Appalachian Places, Kestrel, Meridian, Broad River Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Salvation South, and others. Her second poetry collection “A Legacy of Birds” is available on Amazon and her third collection “Sweeping the Porch”(Pine Row Press) will be published early 2026.
More than one has said it: that love is of this world only the world of a willow reaching for a river as the river goes its way and of a nuthatch nesting in a beechwood tree as light devolves from day into night The true reckoning of this world is the way we come to know things twice in the wonder first and then the remembering the bitterroot blossom before it fades and everything else we lose but love anyway. A native of Baton Rouge, La., Michael Blanchard now lives in the Cadron Valley … Continue reading The Things of This World by Michael Blanchard→
Looking for Theopista who is called a saint, painted by Lippi who is called by Browning a brothel-john in monk’s clothing and, in the poem, admits his out-of-boundsness, and paints Job nearby with a label “Job” and made long love to a nun and got away with it because, rich Cosimo de Medici the Elder told anyone who would listen, Lippi was a heavenly form in fleshy flesh, no dray horse he. Looking for and finding the woman of the lost-luggage cab. And finding the woman of middle-age elegance pushing a wheelchair. And finding the … Continue reading A First Visit to the Uffizi by Patrick T. Reardon→
William Prindle has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2025 Poetry Contest The Orchardist’s Lament If I spent less time in unstructured circumspection and dreadful inference I might remember that circumference is nothing but pi times diameter and I might not have to rue the mismeasurements I make in fencing these apple trees from noisy birds and sneaky squirrels. I might not keep repeating what a dolt to myself as I continue to overlook my own advice and nurse my sore thumbs from recutting and rebending this eighteen-gauge wire, when all these years I could … Continue reading The Orchardist’s Lament by William Prindle→
John Thelin has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2025 Poetry Contest Pennies from Heaven Soon they will stop minting pennies. I will miss their crusty copper ridges, Abe Lincoln in profile, a calming image as he stares into a future he could never imagine over 150 years ago. Time stretches, an elastic band, for a while, then snaps back on itself, leaves a welt on a wrist that tries to flick a fishing line perfectly into a pond on a lazy summer day that can cloud over while you doze, wake to a smell … Continue reading Pennies from Heaven by J. R. Thelin→
I know at least four Virginia poets with books published this year so it seems timely to recommend some fall reading, gifting, or perhaps simply to raise awareness of our local bards. There is also the matter of reverence for place and all writing that is a reflection of our chosen hill, where our consciousness plays out, our miracle of aliveness, our thousands of breakfasts and tying of shoelaces. There is also, I confess, a splash of self-promotion. That said, I hope this list leads at least a few people into the mystery of one … Continue reading Local’s Corner by Sharon Perkins Ackerman→
If the river is a metaphor for life and death, for time, and loss of time, for the rise and fall of seasons, for disastrous floods that carry hope downstream and leave stinking mud in its place, what then, when a river dies? You can see the river from atop concrete steps with granite tread that lead from the cobblestone along the current’s edge to the manicured grass and pruned trees of federal land beneath the stainless-steel legs of the Arch. The Museum of Westward Expansion is closed for renovation. This river was once the … Continue reading Ephemeral Streams by Richard Stimac→
The working title for my forthcoming poetry book is A Furious Surrendering: Poems for Navigating the Unraveling. The title poem contains these lines: ……………… ….These days being alive feels like ……………… ….flank speed in roughening seas. ……………… ….These days we evolve at speeds ……………… … Continue reading These Days by William Prindle→
Spooned out formed by force of gravity diameter to be determined, from silver dollar to as big as a frisbee. Over burning embers, prehistoric ancestors flipped and peeled them off flat granite, their aroma luring cave dwellers from their hairy sleep. The same flapjacks I begged for at Bozo the Clown TV lunches when I ran home from school at noon and ran back at 12:45, tracking a mile burning off whatever I ate. Oh, circle of sustenance, you’ve been working class fare from B.C. to the 21st century or are you just the Mardi … Continue reading Pancakes by Cynthia Gallaher→
………………………………………….After Fragonard’s Les Hasards heureux d’escarpolette Fragonard’s lady sways among the clouds. while gentlemen pull at cords to help her float. An accidental shoe tumbles from stockinged foot. Ruffled and peachy skirts, pastel cushions bespeak her wealth and youth, her future set secure as the golden ropes she grasps and holds, her face as pale and smooth as a fragile egg. My brother hung our swing to catch a breeze to stop my mother’s racing heart for rest from housework’s plodding measured due. We’d sit and wait for beat to gentle down. I’d snuggle up … Continue reading Swings by Joyce Compton Brown→
I never sort my clothes. Sorry, mom. Sure, my whites gray and colors fade, but they all go into the same load. All share the same daily sweat and stink. I leave them clean in a basket all week and must sort what I may wear that day. I’m jeans or slacks. Oxford or tee. My socks match up—what’s beneath nobody sees. My machine rattles with forgotten coins, a pocket knife I never use, the odd bolt or rock I might pocket. Sometimes, I find crumpled bills, all crisp after dryer cycle, a surprise from … Continue reading Self Portrait as a Pile of Dirty Laundry by Jeff Newberry→
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