Tag Archives: M. J. Iuppa

By August, the air grows heavy—everywhere, a milky haze of overcast—the sun smolders behind clouds. And here, now in fields and along roadsides, chicory sprawls in its barbed wire defense, keeping invisible boundaries visible. Lake Ontario settles in its cold … Continue reading →

The world seems weary in isolation. It complains of not being seen or heard; yet, our meadow, full of goldenrod, will never be as lonesome as crickets simmering in another steamy night. No august stars streak across Ontario, igniting a … Continue reading →

All the rain I have dreamed,    all of its steadiness, its down- pour squeezed from swollen    clouds sweeping low—rushing quicksilver—a thousand pings    of light, of dark water trembling in its blunder—    my words curl up like garden snails balancing on … Continue reading →

In this age of the Ash disappearing, we are stunned by the wood’s unrest, seeing the multitudes leaning, side by side, like refugees reduced to lines, collapsing in- to each other, and nothing can be done. No wind, or rain, … Continue reading →

Low tide, end of May, Sligo’s “shelly” river reveals its catch among rocks & reeds. Gulls drift lazy overhead—stillness trembles in shallows below—a flicker is enough to ignite hunger in one gull descending to pick the river’s pocket—fish or eel, … Continue reading →

            ~ Glencar Valley, Ireland, 2019 Fog in the valley, then searing sunlight. A bouncy lane to a glacier lake. Water without wind, a slow-moving sky. Remote—impression of Alps—a raven watches us—glistening in this vastness. M. J. Iuppa’s fourth poetry collection … Continue reading →

            Not yet mid-March, and it’s sixty-four degrees, I can hardly contain my desire to stop at the side of the road & walk empty-handed over old ties, over tracks that separate gravel lots from beaches to stand before Ontario’s chilly … Continue reading →

In your hands, the scissors snip with a precision that is and isn’t exact. My silver curls fall away from my head in slow motion and tumble down the length of my body, falling beneath my kitchen chair that sits on … Continue reading →

I want to pass time in bed with its mess of quilts and pillows & luxury of breakfast—toast, I presume—and brewed coffee, and an egg, soft- boiled, poised in its porcelain cup; and the daily news with its debate and … Continue reading →

By virtue that’s inherent—a pursuit of happiness—he tells me, the garden is set to grow in thirteen raised beds. We wait, wanting the best of everything, but in our own bed, we doubt what we have done. All night, silence … Continue reading →

Rising in morning’s half-shadows, in the purr of rain caught in the back of the gutter’s throat, I gather ripe tomatoes sitting in flats on the porch and bring them in to be processed in the steamy kitchen where pots … Continue reading →

Opening the lid of the box that I’ve forgotten, I hold my breath like an actress about to discover a trust that has been kept miles from the truth. And, my God—I lift the letter gingerly & read how I … Continue reading →