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	<title>Wolf Moon Journal A Maine Magazine of Art and Opinion &#187; Poetry</title>
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	<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com</link>
	<description>The Maine Magazine of Art and Opinion</description>
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			<item>
		<title>LIGHTENING</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/07/lightening/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/07/lightening/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 29 Jul 2010 13:00:15 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Megan Richardson</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=1287</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[It had been too hot,
sweltering,
when a dazzling fog crept in,
shielding us from the heat. 
It was calming at first,
but somewhere in the night we felt a shift,
a tremble,
as the cool breeze blew into a fierce wind. 
We could feel the house shake,
and just before it started to rain
an explosion of light cut through the mist.
It was extraordinary.
 
 
Megan [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>THE SEASON’S LAST MOWING</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/05/the-season%e2%80%99s-last-mowing/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/05/the-season%e2%80%99s-last-mowing/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 27 May 2010 14:02:25 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Claire Hersom</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=1284</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[It’s Autumn
and the lawn has grown odd stubble-like
grass down to the road in  
sections of spindly struggling things
sticking up stiff, choking for air.
 
I’ve pulled the cable on the side
of the mower, pumped the bulb to prime,
once – twice &#8211; three times.
It sputters.  Dies. 
I lean down, peer into the abyss
of red metal encasement
in search of The [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/05/the-season%e2%80%99s-last-mowing/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>TOURIST</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/05/tourist/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/05/tourist/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 03 May 2010 14:44:10 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Cheryl Wood Ruggiero</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=1274</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[They cannot believe
I find Maine’s coast exotic.
They drive along it, my resident friends,
with groceries&#8212;
scents of strawberries, coffee, and soap
thick in the car above the warm smell of oblivious dog. 
No, no,
I’m fine.
You eat.
Let me walk.
Lobster from these waters
I can find at home,
thaw in my landlocked kitchen,
and butter with pastured sunlight. 
The shore between restaurants is grubby
with shards [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/05/tourist/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>SKELLIG BIRDS</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/03/skellig-birds/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/03/skellig-birds/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 23 Mar 2010 14:47:56 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Paddy Bushe</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=1254</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Puffin
Hilarious, yes,
But that sad clown spends winters
Completely at sea.
 
Fulmar
Looks like the others
But it spits independence
And will not be gulled.
 
Shearwater
Those aerobatics,
Skimming the froth off the waves,
Live up to its name.
 
Peregrine
When its tapered wings
Stir to plunge from the high ledge
Fledgling hearts plummet
 
Rock Pipits
They’re grey against stone
But they cheep and wag their tails,
Mad for attention.
 
Choughs
Shrieking a cancan
They display [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>TALISMAN</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/03/talisman/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/03/talisman/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 04 Mar 2010 03:43:34 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Sherry Ballou Hanson</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=1248</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[There is dignity in a ledge
Falling straight to the sea
Granite holding chunks of splintered quartz
And mica blinking back the sun,
Strength in the compass points
And rocks scrubbed clean in wind
Like martyr’s bones.



Writer, poet and teacher Sherry Hanson lives in Brunswick, Maine, and loves the sea. Her major creative space is near old Fort Popham at the [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>STONE</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/02/stone/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/02/stone/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 05 Feb 2010 17:33:45 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Elaine Laura Kleiner</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=1171</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[All things are stone:
the shells of dead crustaceans,
the shattered hearts of mountains,
molten core that rises from volcanic throats,
deep earth’s crust, the granite breath,
quartz and feldspar.
 
Stone is memory of a star,
whirled away into oblivion—
first red, then blue, then spun
as fine as nothingness itself.
 
Stone of caves, of pyramids,
marked by human touch and tread,
stony moon which felt men&#8217;s [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/02/stone/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>PATIENCE</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/02/patience/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2010/02/patience/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 03 Feb 2010 16:10:34 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Marcia Brown</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=1155</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[There.  We’ve broken the back of winter,
my mother used to say on February first,
standing above the sink, knocking
coffee grounds out of the basket, pale
blue eyes taking in the frozen landscape.
And there was no impatience in her saying it,
as if settling into some entre-season of waiting,
that was as it should be. 
Then she’d turn and fill our [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>USING SEX TO SELL AUNT NELL’S FRUITCAKE</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/using-sex-to-sell-aunt-nell%e2%80%99s-fruitcake/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/using-sex-to-sell-aunt-nell%e2%80%99s-fruitcake/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 22 Dec 2009 17:40:43 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Alice Rohman</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=958</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Forget everything you know about fruitcake
The scene – a warm kitchen in soft focus
Picture the backside of a curvy baker
bent over a tabletop chopping
                nuts 
Close-up of wrinkled pecan and walnut lobes
so close to smooth almonds and
Macadamias
Candle light glows
through measuring cups full
                of orange liqueur, dark honey and rum 
Imagine the fragrance of ginger, cloves and cinnamon
Pull [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/using-sex-to-sell-aunt-nell%e2%80%99s-fruitcake/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>THE PLYMOUTH ON ICE</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/the-plymouth-on-ice/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/the-plymouth-on-ice/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 22 Dec 2009 17:29:43 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Thomas R. Moore</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=963</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[On frigid January nights we’d
take my ’48 Plymouth onto
the local reservoir, lights off
to dodge the cops, take turns
holding long manila lines in pairs
behind the car, cutting colossal
loops and swoons across
the crackly range of ice. Oh
god did we have fun! At ridges
and fissures we careened,
tumbled onto each other, the girls
yelping, splayed out on all fours,
and sometimes [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/the-plymouth-on-ice/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>LOKI</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/loki/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/loki/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 22 Dec 2009 17:22:14 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Don Robbins</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=967</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Did the old ones know
their polished copper
held The Trickster? 
now he is everywhere
metal plastic glass
still water 
even underside
of visor
in my Toyota Corolla 
where a glance is worth
at least a chuckle 
the joke is on us
it always was
 
 
Don Robbins, born and educated mostly in Maine, is a retired high school English teacher living in Sidney. He writes regularly for the Hallowell [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/loki/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>THIS STONE</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/this-stone/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/this-stone/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 19 Dec 2009 18:00:31 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Arnold Greenberg</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=972</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[From Sisyphus
Dear Stars, this Stone is more than stone,
 more than weight against my arms,
 my shoulders, my neck—
 more than a stone
 my legs must shove,
 my hands must grasp,
 my lungs must grunt into—
 more than a moan
 inside my soul
 that comes from knowing
 there is no escape from where I am,
 from who I am.
This is the burden of my being here,
this [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/this-stone/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>COMPARATIVE STUDIES</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/comparative-studies/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/comparative-studies/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 19 Dec 2009 13:43:58 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>William J. Joel</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=956</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[And how did they write
 back then? Fluidly?
 Or in bursts, punctuated
 by the pauses in the
 life of the candle’s flame?
Or did the incessant need
 to dip the quill into the well
 endow the process with a rhythm
 that easily translated into the word?
In this age of ephemeral thoughts
 it’s so easy to just [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/comparative-studies/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>FLIGHT</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/flight/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/flight/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 16 Dec 2009 16:19:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Anne Britting Oleson</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=961</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[                                                     
 At sundown I see my neighbor out,
stopping in the woodshed
for an armload to hold me
through this first snowy night
of the darkening year.
 
Overhead, a racket of shouting:
directions in a primitive language,
no doubt, and we slip out
into the trackless yard
to see the geese flying low,
in a black V against blacker sky.
Easily the last remaining flock
to leave us [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/12/flight/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>TATIES AND TEARS</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/02/taties-and-tears/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/02/taties-and-tears/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 28 Feb 2009 12:50:37 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>M. Kelly Lombardi</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=366</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Poetry by M. Kelly Lombardi]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2009/02/taties-and-tears/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>NOSTALGIA</title>
		<link>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2008/10/nostalgia/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/2008/10/nostalgia/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 13 Oct 2008 22:33:36 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Robert M. Chute</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wolfmoonjournal.com/?p=473</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[
Sliced bread torn in pieces,
dumped in a bowl. Bread drizzled
with black molasses. Bread white
as the milk that flooded it, milk
fresh from Mary-Ann, our own
crinkle-horn cow. A special treat
for me when I was four or five.
Trying it now I wonder how,
or if, I ever savored it. The problem
may be this watery, pasteurized
milk, or the molasses, not [...]]]></description>
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