Ann LaBar
Writer and Poet

Poetry

Still working on this,

just need to shape it into the form of Isle of Innisfree.

Right. Easy, Peasy


(Some apologies to WB Yeats)

I will arise and go now, joining everyone
where we are alone and never alone,
compelled by the primal fear that I’ll become
the outsider left behind. 
O Lawns Unmown,
O Minor Illness, O Vague Insinuation, O Details—
"Should I have thai gazpacho or chips for dinner," Opine 
Our monkey minds loosed in the cloud, chasing tails, 
considering the universe in their assholes, flinging whatever they find. 

Where is the sacred in the dinner plate or the nine bean rows?
Thoughts not blithely tossed into the noisy milieu,
but instead the bean row contemplated, the saucer considered,

the universe found in the small half moon
of an old woman’s thumbnail 
that sets us on the same ground with the same song 

Only sung in different keys--
Its universality a choir in discordant harmony.

--by Ann LaBar Russek

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