Curlews, micropoetry written by Polly Oliver at Spillwords.com

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Curlews

Polly Oliver·July 1, 2019

English Poetry

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Curlews

written by: Polly Oliver

“Stop talking,” you said by the estuary’s edge.

You kissed me and told me to close my eyes.

“Let the sun warm your face, feel my hand on your waist,
The marsh birds are calling the air alive.”

And though I knew that forever could never be,
In that singing place, I touched eternity.

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Polly Oliver

JAN/FEB 2017 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com

Writing in the spaces between the hustle and noise. Poems published here and there, but nothing beats a poem brought to life in a live reading. Ex broadcast journalist (are we ever truly ex?), communications pro, mum, coast dweller.

Jim Bartlett

After a long career tinkering in telecommunications, Jim Bartlett switched to tinkering with writing fiction, both requiring a stretch of the imagination. In the course of putting his fingers to the keyboard, he's been fortunate to have quite a number of his stories featured both in print and online in several wonderful publications, including a story selected for "The Best of Fiction on the Web, 1996 – 2017" anthology. While mentally he strolls along a warm California beach with his wife and golden retriever (shhh, she doesn't know she's a dog), physically they reside on a special little island in the Pacific Northwest.

Reaper by Sharon Frame Gay

As an orphaned son of an orphan, I always see the glass as half empty. I picture the water murky and lukewarm, a waterline etched below the rim. Maybe with an ash or two floating at the bottom, because that’s what I do for a living. I deal with ashes. The remains of the deceased. No matter how those who pass away see their glass, meager or full, they eventually end up in a satchel carried on my shoulder.
My business card reads “Morton Stark Transport.” I’m called upon to disperse the ashes of the dearly departed and honor their final wishes. People hire me to escort the remains throughout the world ...

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