Nick Dietrich

The Thing About Oil Spills

Godfrey HolyOctober 16, 2019

EnglishPoetry0 min read

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The Thing About Oil Spills

written by: Godfrey Holy

I watch birds fly
bid them farewell as they perforate
the thin membranes of time,
as they injure the sky with their
wings and stoke the sun
with whispered chirps
And her screaming rays,
her fiery tongues of guile
I let crawl into my mouth
like heartworms,
let them lay eggs in my lungs
and have them choke my
point of view.
Someday my sunny breath will
fumigate all the monarchs from
your milkweed.

READ THE SEQUEL HERE

About
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Godfrey Holy

Godfrey Holy is a published author of several anthologies (In the Crosshairs, A promise of Doves among others). He has been a guest author in several other books. He resides close to Boston with his wife and three kids.

Latest posts by Godfrey Holy (see all)

The Thing About Oil Spills II - January 1, 2020
Desert Song - November 20, 2019
The Thing About Oil Spills - October 16, 2019

Ger White

Gerardine White (mostly called Ger) grew up in wild open country of West Limerick, Ireland. Her country life is represented in her poems and has a strong bearing on her core values and education. She inherited the skill of poetic rhyme from both of her parents and her Grandad – who were all fine poets and storytellers. Her education took place mostly in South West Ireland and the rest of it is gleaned from travel, from life, and from being an avid reader of all kinds of books. In recent years she has returned to poetry writing. This past year seeing her published in four Anthologies from Clarendon House Publications. She sees herself as a Spiritual person, very connected with life in all forms. She is happily married for past 20 years and currently lives in Sussex, UK. She enjoys healthy pursuits of country walks with a nice cuppa tea and chat at the end.

Resurrection by Suzanne Craig-Whytock

On the day that Budgie died, I was young and very sad. He was a pretty bird, always singing in his cage. Sometimes we let him out to fly around, and on that day, the curtains were wide open and he slammed into the glass hard. Momma put him into a shoe box and I cried as we buried him in the back garden among the lilies. The next morning, very early, I snuck out of the house and dug him up with a garden trowel because I wanted to see him one more time. When I took the lid off the shoe box, his eyes were open and his wings fluttered ...