November 18-24, 2019: Poetry from Tiffany Shaw-Diaz and B. J. Buckley

Tiffany Shaw-Diaz and B. J. Buckley

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Tiffany Shaw-Diaz
shawdiaz@gmail.com

Bio (auto)

Tiffany Shaw-Diaz is a Pushcart Prize and Dwarf Stars Award nominee who also works as a professional visual artist. Her poetry has been featured in Modern Haiku, The Heron’s Nest, Bones, NHK World Haiku Masters, The Mainichi, and dozens of other publications. In addition, her poetry has been translated into German, Italian, and Chinese. Her first chapbook, says the rose, was published by Yavanika Press in 2019.

The following work is Copyright © 2019, and owned by Tiffany Shaw-Diaz and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

 

handle with care

please
do not incinerate
my remains into useless ash
or mix my skeleton
with the endless fog of layered
earth upon earth
clean my bones with reverence
dust them
shine them like the fine china
families pass down
generation to generation
and then gently use my bones
to drum out
a rhythm only the sea and sky
could comprehend

 

 


B. J. Buckley
wild4verses@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

B.J. Buckley is a Montana poet and writer who has worked in Arts-in-Schools and Communities programs throughout the West and Midwest for over 45 years, including nearly a decade as Writer-in-Residence at Sanford Cancer Center in SD. Her poems and reviews have appeared or are forthcoming in About Place Journal, december, Sequestrum, Green Mountains Review, Sugar House Review, Coal Hill, and Sky Island Journal, among many others. She has received a number of national prizes and awards for her work. Her latest book of poems is Corvidae: Poems of Ravens, Crows, and Magpies, Lummox Press 2014. She lives in rural central Montana with her sweetheart, dogs, and cats.

The following work is Copyright © 2019, and owned by B. J. Buckley and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

 

September, Fairfield Bench

Early morning fog –
grouse pick stones on the highway
verge – one lonely car

Coyote, his wet
nose buried in the carcass
of a roadkilled deer

Green tractor silent –
fields of corn stubble and turned
earth, dark crows calling –

Why scarecrow, I too
have dressed myself in rags – we
must be relatives!

Young men hefting bales
of hay yellow as butter –
Atlas, Hercules

Autumn. Three ravens –
three ghost ships sailing. Even
this bright wind, haunted –

Wild geese, eat all my
corn! If I’m hungry this winter,
I’ll feast on stars

Who can say I have
no one? Look – the moon with her
white arms around me …

 

 

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