Charleston Currents – Palmetto Poem

PALMETTO POEM: The Christmas Apron

By Marjory Wentworth, contributing editor

Unfolding my grandmother’s apron, tucked
deep in a box of Christmas decorations,
I rub my hands across the wrinkled
cream colored cloth as thin as gauze
and the bright red and blue boxes circling
the hem and see her standing at the stove
wearing her Christmas apron, stirring pots
on every burner, a turkey already roasting
in the oven, plates of gingerbread men
cooling on the counter.

by Palmetto Poem · 12/07/2015 · Comments are Disabled · Features, Palmetto Poem

POEM: Written at the North

By Samuel Henry Dickson

I sigh for the land of the Cypress and Pine,
Where the Jessamine blooms, and the gay Woodbine;
Where the moss droops low from the green Oak tree,
Oh! that sunbright land is the land for me.

by Palmetto Poem · 11/09/2015 · Comments are Disabled · Features, Palmetto Poem

PALMETTO POEM: Music of doves ascending

Music of doves ascending, by Marjory Wentworth:
Yellow crime tape tied to the rod iron fence
weaves through bouquets of flowers
and wreaths made of white ribbons,
like rivers of bright pain flowing through the hours.

by Palmetto Poem · 09/14/2015 · Comments are Disabled · Features, Palmetto Poem

POEM: In Season

Palmetto Poem author: Originally from Vidalia, Georgia, home of the world’s best onions, Katrina Murphy is a poet and baker living in Charleston, S.C. Both of her English degrees are from Georgia Southern University, and she is active in Charleston alumni events and planning.

by Palmetto Poem · 08/03/2015 · Comments are Disabled · Features, Palmetto Poem

POEM: “Officials Are Optimistic He Has Been Killed”

Palmetto Poem, by Gilbert Allen: Driving, I barely hear—because
on Route 291,
beside the Greenville cemetery,
this afternoon’s big wind

by Palmetto Poem · 07/06/2015 · Comments are Disabled · Features, Palmetto Poem

POEM: My Poems

Joanna Crowell: “He asks, ‘What do you with your poems?’

“I play with them. I fight with them. I flirt with them. I avert from them. I dress up for them. I am stripped down by them. I skinny dip into them. I dance naked on them. Yeah, I even get jiggy wit’ em! I sing the blues out of them. I pour the joy back into them. I open my French doors for them. I abstain from them. I get wet waiting for them. I am a drunken fool for them. I take twelve steps toward them. I am sobered by them.”

by Palmetto Poem · 06/01/2015 · Comments are Disabled · Features, Palmetto Poem