THREE POEMS BY HELEN LOSSE - POET OF THE MONTH February 2011

Here Above the Frost Line, we are celebrating the poetry of Helen Losse as POET OF THE MONTH in this her birth month.  Your comments are welcome.


























A Duplex For Wrens  by Helen Losse

When I wanted a birdhouse,

Daddy built one.  We hung it

from a branch of the maple tree.

A rusted hanger keeps it there,

though it rocks when the wind

blows.  And a dusting of snow

on its lavendered roof glistens—

coldly—in the light of

a haloed moon.   No one occupies

the duplex for wrens.  Despite our

hospitality, they always winter

further south.  The leaves

turn yellow and off they fly,

while fickle birds leave apartments

in disarray.  The remnants

of an abandoned nest jutting

through the northernmost door.

A well-crafted perch—

once painted green—

has faded and fallen to the ground,

landing with the common sticks,

hiding under frost-tipped leaves.

first published in Tacenda and later in my chapbook Paper Snowflakes (Southern Hum Press, 2006, OOP)

Railroad Flowers

by Helen Losse

The plants growing by the railway bank are

five feet in height, prolific in bloom.

A late-afternoon shower freshens each blossom.

The blue sky darkens at dusk, when the sun is

swallowed by the earth, far, far away.  A ’bo hops

a boxcar, springing up from the ballast beneath two

shiny rails.  The Great Evening-Primrose   

perfumes the air, entices a pollinating moth.  

The earth’s silver moon kisses yellow flowers.

Under such softness, the railroad flowers open fully:

An act performed nightly from June to September.

But by morning, the blossoms have closed in their rest,

and lovers of a different persuasion,

who perused the night with radios and listened for

the whistle of a train, greet the dawn with its

waving engineers and have their cameras ready.

first published in Southern Hum and my chapbook Paper Snowflakes (Southern Hum Press, 2006, OOP)

History Lesson by Helen Losse

After the rain

has fallen into the graveyard, I

hear the hidden wings of an owl

in the lonely, country grove.

Fallen leaves—

wet, brown, & curled—    

lie on the hallowed ground

or sit on the tombstones nearby.

Jittery shadows blow—moving

darkly—in the cooling evening

breeze, beneath the indelible slit

of a late October moon.

The once-trapped raindrops are

descending from moving branches

in silver-bullet cascades,

refurbishing foot-shaped puddles—

carelessly left—

next to a freshly opened grave.

And under heavy brush and behind

a picket fence, the loosed water

pounds a black, ’30s sedan in

a  fertile setting for resplendent legend—

concerning Bonnie & Clyde—complete

with an accent of goldenrod, of rust. 

first published in Spillway Review and later in my Better With Friends (Rank Stranger Press, 2009) available from the author or Amazon.com  

http://www.amazon.com/Better-Friends-Helen-Losse/dp/1599481952/ref=dp_return_1?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books

Helen Losse is a Winston-Salem poet, author of four collections of poems, including Seriously Dangerous (Main Street Rag, 2011) andBetter With Friends (Rank Stranger Press, 2009) and the Poetry Editor for the online literary magazine The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature. Her recent poetry publications and acceptances include The Wild Goose Poetry Review, Main Street Rag, Iodine Poetry Review, Blue Fifth Review, The Pedestal Magazine, ken*again, and Literary Trails of the North Carolina Piedmont. Her poems have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and twice for a Best of the Net award, one of which was a finalist.