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Word Fountain

The Literary Magazine of the Osterhout Free Library

Craig W. Steel, Spring•Summer 2017

Sunrise Psalm
Craig W. Steele

“Dawn was breaking over the horizon,
shell pink and faintly gold…”
—J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Dawn’s light chases Ephialtes’
shadows back into their secret
caves, dispersing them about my
yard, beyond the fence and down the
road in all directions. Glowing
pink in every puddle where the
gold-eyed Eos bathes her face, it
burnishes the dewy leaves and
grass until they’re glinting like fine
crystal, brightening my way today.

Continue reading “Craig W. Steel, Spring•Summer 2017”

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Marjon van Bruggen, Spring•Summer 2017

Sound Shadows
Marjon van Bruggen

Do you hear
the sound below the sound
of our footsteps?
The wiry black whine
of bluebottles sleeping
or the tiny sudden shock
as thorns emerge on the rose

subtle things,
I tiptoe in its shadows and listen—

the goldfish discussing
the coming contest
the delicate slurp
of drinking fireflies
and the dancing dust
in the center of sunflowers,
against the glint of granite. Continue reading “Marjon van Bruggen, Spring•Summer 2017”

Alan Harris, Spring•Summer 2017

Dead Man’s Hat
Alan Harris

I found this hat in the desert
the head it belonged to was nowhere in sight
I shook out the sand
and believe any bugs that had called it home
were thoroughly baked in the sun
along with the previous owner Continue reading “Alan Harris, Spring•Summer 2017”

Raymond Cummings, Spring•Summer, 2017

The Animating Spark
Raymond Cummings

When you turned away the sky fell apart for
just a moment before collecting itself. Doves
quit the refuge of Banaba boughs. Monarchs
descended into a yellow haze of irises and
lilacs. Fireflies slashed out like distant stars.


Jazz & Classical
Raymond Cummings

Here my recorder bore the brunt of the wind.
Night fell debased in chyrons. I’m much more
invested in a casual blues idiom, in melody,
Continue reading “Raymond Cummings, Spring•Summer, 2017”

Marilyn Pocius Shelton, Spring•Summer 2017

Anthracite
A Trilogy
Marilyn Pocius Shelton

1.

I hoist my hems for the devilish descent
Down where no bone reaches save my pen

I chisel by inches with the image of a pick
Picture of an axe, auger seen in no one’s eyes
But mine

Grandpa, when you lay down in a chink
Of coal, did you see your mother’s eyes
Rimmed with tears as she waved good bye
Rooted in her Lithuanian soil?

2.

Settling Accounts

After you pay for your carbide Continue reading “Marilyn Pocius Shelton, Spring•Summer 2017”

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