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[sarahhenrypoetry]

Googling Heaven

My poem called "Googling Heaven '' was finally accepted for the Death issue of a series of poetry books. It's not gloomy. I steer away from stuff like that. Here's the poem.  

Sarah

I read about views of heaven

on the Internet. Some who

died technically wrote they

saw Jesus. He was glowing.

He walked with them through

a field of flowers and discussed

their lives. Others who died

said God sat on a throne like

a big CEO. Angels brought

the dead before him and lo!

Sinners were judged harshly

but soon forgiven. Saints had

been found innocent. All souls

would exist there for eternity.

I realized the stories told by 

survivors seemed like classic

myths spun by church goers.

If surgery fails in my old age

and doctors say, “We lost her,”

Jesus or God could appear to

signal the end. A mind does

funny stuff at times like that.

Google says it creates heaven.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

Dog vs. Owl by Sarah Henry

Dog vs. Owl

If you can hear the owl—he can hear you better.

If you see the owl in broad moonlight, he is sitting plump and satisfied on a heavy branch.

If you walk a dog one night and he notices the presence of the owl—with its ability to carry off small animals in its crushing owl’s claws—the dog strains at his leash, panicked, and drags you homeward.

The dog is serious. He steps it up. His toenails spark.

The owl becomes stereophonic— owl echoing owl. The scary voice grows louder.

You arrive at home. The dog barrels through the front door. He’s relieved as when he winds up at a vet’s and sees animals in the waiting room who match his size.

by Sarah Henry

Editor's Note: This poem's short lines and staccato imagery creates a suspenseful narrative that serves as a lesson to the reader—there is always someone bigger, stronger, smarter.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

The Passenger

poem I thought would be rejected was just accepted after 55 days.It will be in an anthology in Australia with the theme of "Older." All the other writers were accepted in one to 28 days so things looked doubtful. However, I'm very happy and told the editor I think this is one of my best poems!

We were both fifty.

We took a train to our

wedding. Soon I stood

on the marble steps

of a festooned church.

I was too old for that big

service. Our track didn’t

run through the rich,

fertile spot planted by

parents with their babies.

Young families grew like

late summer’s corn crop.

We discussed adoption

and chose a different

route. We traveled by rail

through toasting deserts

and saw the Rockies.

Land was not civilized

there. The trips stopped

when my husband died.

I surveyed our backyard

and did not stand on awful

steps made from rotten

railroad ties. Twelve

flanked two terraces.

The noon sun seemed pale.

The grass failed to thrive.

We never produced

an heir. I was too old

and didn’t care.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

My Aging Car

My poem called "My Aging Car"was just accepted by a snobby magazine in Pittsburgh. It will be passed out at a reading and then sold on Amazon.

Here's the poem.

Sarah

My Aging Car                                                  

The engine starts to skip on

Main Street. I go by a bank,     

the museum and the church.

Rosie’s Garage isn’t that far

away. Knock, knock the bad                  

engine says. I right turn at a

corner and quickly slip over       

a hill. My foot pumps on the

brake which starts squealing. 

Next I accelerate and the car

manages to struggle through

a green light. I notice a huge    

toy store on the left. Rosie’s

Garage lies ahead. The place

has the allure of a lush oasis.

I happily arrive at the garage      

entrance and pull into the lot.

The tired car comes to a stop.   

The four mechanics know my  

name due to the earlier issues 

I faced with the car. The head

gasket blew. They fixed gears

that refused to shift. They had

to replace burnt valves as well    

as the worn, rusty muffler and    

the badly leaking water pump.

They fixed the dead alternator. 

Problems might snowball but

I really want to keep my low-

functioning car which I enjoy

a lot despite the hard work of

maintenance. It appears brand

new as it did once in the Audi    

dealer’s showroom seventeen

years ago. That car resembles

me. I exist after many repairs.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

Fire

Hi all,

My tiny poem,  "fire" was just accepted and published by an online magazine called Five Fleas (itchy poetry). You can google the magazine and see the poem. The magazine publishes many good short poems which are 1 - 10 lines long.

Here's the poem. Sarah

Fire is smart.

It finds the cracks.

It knows things.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

Since We Traveled to the Shore

My new poem has just been accepted by an anthology which wanted poems on the subject of "loss." The publisher is Australian and he does print copies. He has published me twice before. 

Here's the poem. Sarah

I google your recent snapshot.

It feels like getting a sunburn.

You look young for an older

man but your hair has turned

gray as a car we drove home

from our last beach vacation.

I’m unprepared to study you

because no one is ever really

ready to witness an accident.

Pressing on, I observe an old

man who also appears in the

photo and imagine he’s your

close brother. The fellow has

bifocals and smiles so openly

his big wrinkles are showing.   

It’s possible he’s enjoying an

excellent long life. I note you

are planning to leave or have

now arrived. A soft cashmere

coat and black tie are tip-offs.

Next I watch an old Teutonic

woman. She might be a super

snob you married. I am extra-

jealous of her. Two little girls

stand in front of my bad rival.  

I suspect they function as the

granddaughters you certainly

would have been longing for.

The females are all smiling at

the camera. You must be very

distracted. I have seen enough

and don’t want to come across

more painful souvenirs online.           

I prefer to recall our swims in

the summers at a favorite spot. 

I have walked a plank of poor

luck for over fifty years. You

didn’t really go for me much,

friends said, just to be honest.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

Born in the Year of the Snake

Hi, my new poem was just accepted by an online magazine called Cacti Fur. It will be published in August. Here it is. Enjoy! Sarah

Born in the Year

of the Snake

I’m a snake with

an office. It’s my

hole. There I call

many businesses

to sell lots of oil.

I have a pint-sized

cactus with a pot

and a filthy desk.

I slide off at five.

I’ve been devious

and cold-blooded.

I faked my charges

for a trip abroad.

I imagined biting

a worker’s ankle

beside the postal

machine, making

her stockings run.

I buttered up my

boss at a Chinese

restaurant. A top

gun couldn’t tell

the stuff I thought

about. A snake’s

a creep, like the

devilish woman

in a noir movie.

I read the paper

fortune in a tiny

cookie. It struck

me as a warning:

beware the rage

of your enemies.

I didn’t foresee

certain problems.

They came next.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

French Bulldogs

I wanted a French bulldog

like famous Winston.

The dog got the Best

in Show. His handler

hoisted him upwards

swiftly after learning  

the judge’s score. He

needed to display the

fine dog he’d trained.

An audience clapped

loudly. Winston was  

awarded a big ribbon

with pleasant fanfare.        

I wanted a French bulldog

as lavishly pampered

as great Lady Gaga’s.

A crook shot her dog

walker, a scary felon.

A rough pair killed a            

breeder in a stick-up.

Thieves took a guy’s  

French bulldog from  

his vacant front yard.    

I would not leave my

own dog unprotected

like the softest target.

I wanted a French bulldog

but heard news about

the operation on their

skulls which runs one

thousand dollars. The

dogs scratch so much,

their skin is damaged.

They have infections,  

get stomach ailments

and bent spines. I felt

sorry for the afflicted

dogs with their rotten

health and lousy luck.

I wanted a French bulldog.

Then things changed.

I talked to a neighbor

when he was walking  

his bulldog. I offered

that those dogs are in

fashion. He noted the

Frenchies have really

caught on now. They

still endure the flaws      

which ruin the breed.    

The selfish sort have

tangled up the genes.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

The Owl

Hi everyone, my poem "The Owl" has just been accepted by Dipity Magazine, the big production place that published "Black Velvet" last December. They use videos and music. My poem won't appear until early February. I downloaded a Starbucks coffee menu to do my research for this poem. You'll see why. Here's the poem. Thrilled, Sarah

The Owl

Symbol of wisdom,

we enjoy him more  

than other thinkers.  

He calls to us from

a hollow oak while  

the full moon rises.

We can rely on his

shrewd judgement

and great intuition.

He says we like to

drink select coffee

at a fine Starbucks.

The owl knows his

way around. While

chasing after game,

he looks for hidden

targets and swoops

in to grab them up.

We’re like the owl

who is on his hunt.    

We crave Veranda

Blend, rushing off  

with the coffee, as    

the local smart set.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

Black Velvet

Hi, I am pleased to say that my latest poem, 'Black Velvet' was just accepted and published online by a new magazine. The magazine is called Dipity Literary Magazine. I hope you enjoy the poem. It took many days to write. The night progresses.  Sarah

Black Velvet

Black was the color

of the velvet skirt

I wore to attend

a lovely church.

A bishop gave

God’s blessing.

Black was the color

of the velvet dress

I wore to dinner

at a great hotel.

A harp played

in the balcony.

Black was the color

of the velvet pants

I wore to an art

show’s opening.  

A patron drove

a charged Tesla.

Black was the color

of the velvet shirt

I wore to lunch

in a penthouse.

It had a view

of Manhattan.

Black was the color

of the velvet cap

I wore to pose

for old selfies.

My head had

been swollen.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

EARTHQUAKE

Hi guys,My poem "Earthquake" was accepted by a journal this afternoon.  This magazine took it first..Here's the poem.  Sarah

In high school, I wrote to  

a pen pal from California

who made me feel alone.  

She detailed information

about her exciting world.

By then, I had lost touch

with friends much closer.

My pen pal said brightly

she went to rural picnics

all year round and urban

barbeques. She dined at

a blowout on the beach.  

I envied her good times  

in a happy social scene.

I gathered the girl didn’t          

wish to adjust her course

during this present phase

and flee from California

before an earthquake hit.

I thought about upheaval  

[sarahhenrypoetry]

Adult Chat

Hi all,

My poem called "Adult Chat" was just accepted to be published. It's about a fellow with a foot fetish, of all things. It's an odd poem.Here it is.

Sarah

To the man on the line,

it was a pressing matter.

He wanted to know

the shape of my feet.

What was the length

and width?

He needed to hear

the truth. So far,

it was only speculation.

He guessed my right foot

held some appeal,

but the left

had its moments.

If he favored one,

the other would be jealous.

How was my circulation?

Good?

He wanted to handle

and fondle my feet,

just so. Did I find

this subject ticklish?

Were my arches fallen?

I might be wearing clogs

or sandals, with a bracelet

around my ankle,

like his.

After four hundred

and sixteen days

on arrest,

he was going to leave

his house to vacation

in the Blue Ridge.

Virginia is for lovers.

The mountain scenery

would look romantic

in the spring,

Did I care to join

him for a peep?

[sarahhenrypoetry]

Mardi Gras Season

Hi all,

This poem has just been accepted by a brand new magazine called "Bluebird Word" and will be published on their website on Mardi Gras/Fat Tuesday which is March first this year. The poem was a devil to write and I just improved it a little yesterday so everything was down to the wire.Here it is.Whew!Sarah

1.

Clowns prance down streets.

Giants with stilts jerk past.

Trumpets sound. Men throw

beads from floats to topless

women like me. Flashing is

condoned. Good times roll.

2.

I decide to wear a loud boa

to be noticed in a restaurant.

My own is made of purple,

green and gold feathers. All

patrons recognize the classic

Mardi Gras colors displayed.

3.

The King Cake is my favored

dessert choice. Not baking, I

buy one from a nearby store.

I love the way the cinnamon

and icing taste. Digging out a

plastic baby doll brings luck.

4.

In New Orleans, locals dance

together at the King Rex Ball.

It’s their chance to celebrate

with formality. I’m a guest,

awestruck by the big event’s

glamor and great traditions.

5.

Mardi Gras season’s the best

stretch of life in the Big Easy.

I open the door to the whole

neighborhood. People wearing

masks sit at a table. They dine

on rich gumbo. Good times roll.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

After the Études

Hi All, 

My new poem called "After the Etudes" was just accepted and published online by a new magazine so I am very happy. Like all poems, it took some fussing to write. Here it is. Sarah

My piano lessons

began at age seven.

Recitals scared me.

Performance fright

didn’t last forever.

I practiced hours of

music drills during

my college training.

I passed time with

musicians but few

other people knew

my name. All said,

“There is no fame.”

Not discouraged, I

longed to play solo

in concerts as a big

celebrity but I still

hadn’t arrived yet.

I bought a bust of

a musician which

rests on a pedestal.

Big and awkward,

the object’s trouble.

I don’t know where

to place it. Décor at

home will stay bare

until I find a niche.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

A Bed of Roses and Helicopters

Hi All, After much ado my latest poem has just been accepted by a magazine which is going to publish an issue called "Blades." Here's the poem. Sarah

I have a placid garden.

It holds a bed of roses

and a crystalline pond

where gold koi swim.

Fine statues adorn the

spots at the perimeter.

A hired hand cares for

the blooms. He waters

them and fertilizes the

soil with compost. He

prunes branches using

special garden shears.

Above us, helicopters

rush to hospital roofs.

They convey patients

from dreadful scenes

and make big rackets

while they fly around.

I don’t hear the sound

of their blades turning

in horrid emergencies.

If trauma does appear

here, it will be like an

invasive bug or blight.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

Book of the Month

Hi guys,After much fussing my new poem was just accepted today by a print magazine called WINK (Writers in the Know). They like all subjects but they can't be more than 32 lines. They really like poems about the writing life, One of my other poems was published there once, "The Man of Letters at Starbucks."Here's the poem.Happy reading, Sarah

Book of the Month                                                                              

i.

Due to peer pressure

from today’s crowd,

I boast ripped jeans

and shirts fashioned

with bell sleeves but

skip the wild tattoos.

I blow dry my locks

in the bathroom and

don’t stir up trouble.

ii.

I have a mother who

buys bigtime novels.

She reads a new one

each month. The last

was a family saga. It

detailed the rejection

of the worst member.  

The black sheep had

murdered a daughter.

iii.

My brother lives with

us. He went to prison

once. We condemned

the crime and fought

to ignore his excuses.

I’m worried he might

act like the character

in the dark bestseller

as the story unfolded.

[sarahhenrypoetry]

Helicopters

Here's the poem which commanded my attention in late April and early May. Happy reading,  Sarah

Making fast landings,

helicopters maneuver

to the expansive roof

of the parking garage

at my town’s hospital.

They bring in victims

from tragic accidents

and hazardous places.

I’ve heard how nurses

appear with stretchers

for victims on arrival.

They take the injured

away for trauma care.

Helicopters speed off

then and rescue more

from disastrous spots.

I’ve begun to ski lately

so a helicopter may be

like heaven’s skyhook

one day and lift me up

when an avalanche hits.

It will fly far above the

slope below as the cold

snow is crashing down

and head to the hospital.

Death had been a threat

on the frightful ground.