Fred Wilbur

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    Submissions for the annual Streetlight Magazine Poetry Award are open and I want to encourage participation from everyone, those new to our magazine as well as regular readers. The closing date for this […]

  • Sneerwise, I’ve seen better
    Dearborn, without the metal
    I’d go on to abort you like any other paperweight hitchhiking across my belly
    and just that fast
    Grace Kelly has figured out the new mat […]

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    This summer, I have performed two activities that strangely seem similar: shredding dozens of family documents and serving as a screener for a poetry manuscript contest.

    Many of our older readers […]

  • *Certain conditions apply.
    Statement is not an indicator of future performance,
    nor does it constitute any promise, guarantee or warranty.
    Cannot be combined with other offers.

    Void where […]

  • She was a day past presence, riding
    the jagged breath below the surface
    of consciousness, and I was running
    to make the next plane to Arkansas.
    My footsteps parted the ear-splitting
    everyday […]

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    I mix up the names of common furniture pieces
    like cupboards and cabinets, closets and shelves

    And bureaus. And Ursas, both major and minor

    Armoires. To know only of […]

  • Hunting Gems

    I don’t comprehend the chemistry of how geodes form
    but their creation makes enough sense for my layman mind
    to teach an abridged version to my daughter:
    Some rocks may look dull, b […]

  • Little Betrayals

    I was six
    I knew he had a quarter in his pocket
    I knew it was mine if when he roared
    who is the greatest grandpapa of all
    and the silver and Wedgewood china on table shook
    and the Irish […]

  • Fate is read in the routes
    of the snails that methodically
    spell their own names in the park.

    Leaves shrivel
    and shiver off of white birch
    trees.

    Alongside an old church,
    pigeons storm a sliver
    of […]

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    The old poet who thinks he is young remembers the young poet who used to be wise.

    Twyford James

     

    Though I had my suspicions last fall and tried to hope it along this spring, the venerable h […]

  • For my sake

    At dawn there are no residues left from last night’s shift.
    I offer no sympathy to the crawling hours
    of a newborn day.
    With fog I travel across the city
    to buy a large coffee with half-half c […]

  • Here Is the Paring Knife, Here Is the Metaphor

    to cut the damaged parts away. So bruised and all.
    Peeling the flesh of the torturer you become of yourself.
    Here is the skin off your hand. The skin off your […]

  • Fred Wilbur wrote a new post 3 years ago

    Incandescence

    Few will understand.
    Light bulbs, for heaven’s sake.
    But I was awash the night I found
    spares waiting to meet my need
    and remembered when need
    was swallowed by the dark.
    My little stash of l […]

  • Fred Wilbur wrote a new post 3 years ago

    I could have stayed married to David if he
    wasn’t so unwaveringly chiseled. If his deceptively supple
    face wasn’t so perfectly defined. If Michelangelo could
    have given me a dress that was low […]

  • Fred Wilbur wrote a new post 3 years ago

     

    In a recent batch of ‘reviews’ from an online magazine, I was struck by the variety of descriptive words used to evaluate the thirty-five or so poems. They ranged from “funny,” “strong,” and “moving” to […]

  • Susan Muse has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2020 Poetry Contest
     

    Clouds flatten against a gray sky

    and cover what had once been the color

    of bluebonnets only a moment ago.

    Suddenly […]

  • Wendy Jean MacLean is the 3rd place winner of Streetlight’s 2020 Poetry Contest

     

    Fenced in by the property owner
    the beehive hut
    of an Irish monk
    still stands
    as it has for fourteen […]

  • Charlotte Rea is the 2nd place winner of Streetlight’s 2020 Poetry Contest

    So proud you must be, atop
    the fence rail, its flat
    black the perfect
    matte for
    your copper.
    Your telltale […]

  • When insomnia provokes my wife or I to walk the footprint of our house, we sometimes end up at our bookroom. Bookroom is an idiosyncratic idiom of our family as my grandparents used the term, logically enough, […]

  • Susan Muse is the 1st place winner of Streetlight’s 2020 Poetry Contest

    Peas are on.
    The kitchen smells of fatback
    and cornbread rising in a rush of heat from the stove,
    unfurling around me like those […]

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