Poetry: Toward Evening

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Poetry: Toward Evening

by Roy Scheele on May 2, 2011 · comment

On Shakespeare's birthday the apple blossoms burst open like candles on our ancient tree. It was their white that caught my eye at first, full of a waxy light that came to be shell pink or coral when it reached the edge

Poetry: STILL

by Roy Scheele on April 20, 2011 · comment

A single crow, in grass, astride the ribcage of a doe, as though it rode the timbers of a hull. The wind picks at what's left with every pass.

Poetry: TRIMMING THE APPLE TREE

by Roy Scheele on April 5, 2011 · 2 Comments

The smell of the branch's former life was sweet; the blade quivered as if beneath a spell. The sawdust sparkled as it lightly fell, spinning like motes and landing at my feet.