At big box, books slouch voiceless

from Petri dish shelves

sullen, refusing eye contact.


Give me indie

where Emily and Pablo

whisper together, Beats snap

Shel yells and Buk

delights in ripe beer farts.


Here even the dust murmurs

and you are welcome

to sit on the floor

and yield to Whitman’s whisper:

contribute a verse.



3/13/14        Marge Merrill


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Autumn Portrait Postcard

Ten days ago we blazed
guzzled water by the gallon, limp
from the effort of staying cool.

Early corn, blueberries, tomatoes
zucchini–the bounty of the field
fills the table.

On Payne Avenue northbound
before the curve
a lone tree samples Autumn

We’ve only just begun
to commit poetry postcards.


For the August postcard poetry fest

(c) Marge Merrill 8/1/13

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Written on the first anniversary of that terrible September day

For the Ghosts


Revenant remnant, come
be warmed by candles
our confusion sets as touchstones,
unifying signals of grief unresolved.

Dear snuffed souls, walk with us,
while bells in honor toll.  Understand
our blind eyes to colors flown,
deaf ears to martial bugle calls.

Your soundless questions scream for an answer:
Nothing has changed!
Hatred pours poisoned semen upon the world still.
Minds warp, twist and close–
the reason why we will choose
not to learn what history comes to teach.

Children of the ashes,
you are the fruit of a hatred sewn long ago;
eye for an eye,
genocide for genocide,
incineration for incineration,
snatched from hope, dreams and love
by the mindless power of Hate.


(c) 9/11/2002      Marge Merrill

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What the Heck is ….Weck?

What the Heck is ....Weck?

“Weck” is a Kimmelweck roll.

“Beef on weck” is a hot roast beef sandwich. ummm, tasty!

(c) Marge Merrill

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Gerald Manley Hopkins

“And many standing round the waterfall
See one bow each, yet not the same at all.”  — Gerald Manley Hopkins


Three Sisters Islands

Upstream, away from the rainbows
and water intent on that one great leap,
the three sisters
stripped down to boulders and moss–
in the machinery of silence
there is jazz.


for the Postcard Poetry fest


(c) 8/2013   Marge Merrill

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Postcard to Judy Jensen

Grandma Henry

I say nothing, there is nothing
to be said, not today.
Tomorrow I shutter my eyes
against the glare
accept you think me snow,
all recalcitrant womb.

Watch now, my clever hands,
crochet pen and ink thread
tapestries of winter,
mutual discontent.

For the August Postcard Poetry Fest

(c) Marge Merrill  7/22/13

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Postcard # 5

“The first one is for the clock and its song
which is the song’s name.”  — Another Beer by William Matthew

Only Beer

Beer had no answers only questions
a lamp, a tiny light to fight
the unquiet night.

Beer launched editorials
over euchre, hamburger
cold salmon; beer battered
verbal punches I learned not to incite.

India pale, work booted lagers,
occasional two fingers
defunct brand analgesia on the front porch
with Mel Allen and the boys of summer.

whistled songs
beneath street lights.

for the August Postcard poems~

(c) M. Merrill  7/25/13

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