is how we breathe, a light, delicate, clean breath, bathing the tonguewith a core of earth,the way sliced apples taste on a crisp fall day George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, […]
nature
The Mouth of a Tiger Lily 2
drawn from the soil forever, forced by the tamed winds to grow prostrate, there is a morbid hiddenness lurking inside George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, essays and letters have appeared in USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, Havana Times, South China Morning […]
The Mouth of a Tiger Lily
Once drenched by ferocious rains, steeping in sealable, blood orange petals with dimples of peppercorn spots on the skin,in a milk pale vase, in a country kitchen in the falldrawn from the soil forever, forced by the tamed winds to grow prostrate, there is a morbid hiddenness lurking inside George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, […]
Distillation: 2
Having grown bored with wisdom, resting by an old fence of fist sized rocks, chalk whiteas baby powder, the young man leans back and shuts his eyes, recognizing the subtle earthiness of not knowinghow a few drops of water spins sugar nests from grain. George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. […]
Distillation
Having grown bored with wisdom, resting by an old fence of fist sized rocks, chalk white as baby powder, a young man leans back and closes his eyes, recognizing the subtle earthiness of not knowing how a few drops of water can spin sugar nests from grain. George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, […]
Samsara
Bestowing only impressions of sorrow, in the butter soft leather light of new fog,a royal procession of swans announce themselves. Birth and death. Nothing is attached for long. George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s […]
The Chickadees
do not land in my palm because they trust me. I am a phantom they barely notice. They sense my body heat, the blood coaxed through my thin veins like tree sap, and they hear my vibrations, the way Beethoven coped with going deaf, stopping long enough to bathe their tawny-colored tongues with seed, crushed seashells of safflower and thistle, […]
Creation
Long after therules of magica lush smoke of pipe tobaccorises from thedried leaves prayers cast inthe blackand oily birth light George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included in such publications as the Hazmat Review, Moria Poetry Journal, Chronogram Journal, Ampersand Literary Review, The Angle at St. John Fisher College, and 3:16 Journal. George’s blogs, essays […]
The Sturgeon
The mechanics of suffering is not so daunting to understandit hurts for a while-gums and bellies pierced byan unseen passion… and then it is donethe savory-sweet, cherry cough syrup scentof death dries and disappears, leavingonly impressions in the ample depth of sand George Cassidy Payne is a poet from Rochester, NY. His work has been included […]
A Mountain Prayer
I kneel so that I may remember thiswithout words, this mountain withouta wasted breath speaks and I want toremember the way I felt listened to. So I close my eyes and breathe in the aromaI smell peeled apple and peppermint, mossand dried roses, orange blossom water in my throatand I taste the words of the […]