Fullbeard Lit

                  Stephen Fuller *** Poetry, Essays

                  One Way Aisle, a COVID poem

                  At my grocery store there is only one way Through the produce section. Make a mistake passing the apples And you are stuck outside the garden…

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                  My little wren friend, alight on the detritus  Collected here for compost or, later, when dry, Burning.  That branch where you perch seems As good as…

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                  I found it, the path I needed, Less the doubts and questions, Inside woods I knew I knew.  Now, that done, snow begins  Falling in small…

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                  Leaves, petals and stamen Down on knees she traces The texture of a flower  That emerges to spite her. Palimpsests under foot Words cemented whose Return…

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                  ‘If you, too, were as eager for the salty brine…’ a poem

                  If you, too, were as eager for the salty brine As her hovering on a shell above foam like a Spector of what might become if…

                  Socrates Calls, a poem

                  I imagine, sometimes, not all the time, but often enoughFor you to think me weird, which,In all likelihood, you did before This admissionThat Socrates talks to…

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                  I choose not the firecat, insteadA bobcat, though still it bristlesIn the way of clattering bucks.If being the bobcat, I mustStand with hair up on my…

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                  As the Canadian Geese Fly Over in Formation

                  What does the man say when he wears a gold lamé ballcapAfraid to commit to the grilled cheeseStraddling the picnic bench, bellyDipping over the side of…

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                  “Like white lace crumbled in night’s hand,” a poem by Stephen Fuller

                  Like white lace crumbled in night’s hand The snow fell to earth, a warehouse For memories each toile and cordonnet  Wove between picots melting away into…

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