Tipton Poetry Journal
Lightless Clinton Inman Each year the light is less We can barely see it now The faint necklace of The Milky Way. The old ones were wrong You know with their waxed fingers Pointing up like abandoned adobe. Yet you know better in your cubical gardens And half moth-eaten moons You have arrived in Handcuffs.
Clinton Inman, born in England in 1945, graduated from San Diego State University in 1977, is a retired high school English teacher in Tampa Bay where he lives with his wife, Elba.
Solstice Jim Wardell Not quite overhead , the sun pauses a moment. Our day was short, too lightly forgotten in mists of the longest night. Who could remember?