All copyright © 2003 remains with the authors.
All copyright © 2004 remains with the authors.

Sharon Brogan

On television, war, murder,
head-on collisions. In the garden
daffodils, chickadees.
Heavy machinery turning dirt

in the neighborhood park.
Window washers, tree-
trimmers, grey snake sliding
across the path. All Spring's

workers. Crows riding uncertain
winds. Mosques and synagogues

exploding. Here, in this small
city, streets cordoned off

an entire
afternoon --
bioweapon bomb scare.
And the woodpecker drilling,
drilling the power pole.

Sharon Brogan


creamy daffodil
scent of clematis

spawning ~ rippling reflections on stone

of photos
hoping for one

snapshot of
this perfect day

Sharon Brogan


night rain
brings this
green day

with mist
wet scents

the lawn

pear blossoms

the mountain

cling to spring
darkness comes

white blooms

in this
quiet night
garden oh

how i miss you

Sharon Brogan


yesterday open-toed sandals
and opening tulips old lovers

come to me in dreams this morning
fresh snow whitening the mountains

coats and winter boots retired too soon
the paper tells me bull trout and cutthroats

will find more water flowing through
the losing reach between the mainstem river

and spawning gravels green exploding
skies above Iraq elderly ladies show off

their May-Day hats plasticly enflowered
and a noted scientist provocateur is remembered

as a nucleus of dissension are there rivers
are there tulips in Fallujah, in Najaf?

Sharon Brogan


Dim, humid day. Ominous.
The car won't start. The sweet
autumn clematis did not survive
winter. Bruising photographs,
naked prisoners hooded and taunted
by pretty young soldiers. Full moon
over Mount Sentinel; the garden rich
with scent, palpable, tangible. Two
sparrows dance on the wood fence,
much cheeping and tail-fanning.
A friend tells me we are all sadists,
all carnivores. The bleeding heart
goes on blooming in its shaded bed.

Sharon Brogan


at the altar
an old woman
counting breaths

Sharon Brogan

Note: I haven't put the extended poem here, but it's up at Sharon's blog.


The car won't start
and the toilet keeps
                          fractured dreams
running. The parakeet
died. White fur all along
the river- bank, but no
blood, no bones. Broken
                         limbs glasses. Garden
pavers scattered
with petals of lilac,
mountain ash,
                         strewn across
rain. Iridescent
black bird ravishes
                         a twisted
the feeder. Shrill
whistles and ravenish
clunks. Dark rising
river, muddy, foaming.

Sharon Brogan


ill to
write a snapshot

Sharon Brogan


a week of grief
and broken things

but then the moon
filled out round

& this bright
birdsong morning

Sharon Brogan


something like that blue
cloud, thunder rolling
through our valley, hail
in the flower beds, or this
lukewarm tea in the Chinese
mug on the brass table --

something like this sun
or this gnat on the page,
scents of solomon seal
and cigarette smoke entwining
in the garden, wind rustling
the birches --

something like the neighbor's
dog barking at the noisy pickup
and rap music from a radio,
somewhere -- black pavement
gleaming after rain, something
like that -- this solitary life

Sharon Brogan


the sun is out
but it's out there
and I'm in here
bills piled high
on the glass table
hard ground

the rose unfurls
day after day
it opens itself
pale petals gold
heart to the sun
to the worm

Sharon Brogan



the longest day
ends pink-

into the dark

whatever vehicle
brought me

is lost or
won't start or
has no brakes

grey concrete
even the foxgloves

the budding

Sharon Brogan


they said the trees
might fall and take
the dike down with them

all the willows, the birches
even the ancient cottonwood
young eagle's perch

gone from the river

Sharon Brogan


The Neighbors Debate

When discovered by the social worker,
the yellow rabbit was nibbling blooming
dandelions, violets and clover
on the neighbor's lawn. The growly, circling

cats did not disturb it. The rabbit hopped
up to the cats and touched twitchy noses.
The cats dashed, lickety-split, and dropped
into hunting-jungle-tiger poses.

The neighbors schemed. Chased & caught & caged,
unperturbed, the rabbit washed its face.
The prison guard said "Let it go." "Not wild,"
the social worker warned. "And think, the child

who lost it, crying all night," the day-care
worker sighed. The rabbit combed its hair.

-- Sharon Brogan


Poetryetc is a listserv relating to poetry and poetics which provides a forum for poets to debate their critical and creative work. The list has over the years run a number of projects for its members, of which Snapshots has been the most enduring.

Every Wednesday, Poetryetc members were invited to post short poems on any subject or in any form they chose. The idea was to make a poetic collage of instamatic “snaps” of that day that reflected the international membership of the list. The project has generated an astounding number of poems.

The first two runs, of six weeks each, and the first ten weeks of the third run, are archived at Wild Honey Press under Poetryetc Project. The rest - amounting in all to a run of a year - are archived here.

Poetryetc, like its affiliate Salt Publishing (, was founded by Australian poet John Kinsella. Salt is managed by Christopher Hamilton-Emery (, while Poetryetc is owned by Alison Croggon ( Poetryetc is now archived at and anyone interested can join from that url.

To contact the listowner: Alison Croggon

These pages are designed, maintained, and hosted by Rebecca Seiferle, the Editor of The Drunken Boat. To email.