Noel Smith
Air Head
My mind soars. It swoops and darts like a chimney swallow going oops, oops. It cannot settle, not on Christ, Buddha, Mohammed, not even on The Daily Observer or the car mechanic. It wafts way out there over the harbor in its hang gliding rig watching the pelicans banking in while the car which carries its gear goes clank, clank.
|
Noel Smith's poems have appeared in many journals including Yankee Magazine, West Branch, New Letters and Shenandoah. Her manuscript, Twisting Sourwood
was a finalist for Tupelo Press' Fifth Annual First Book
Prize. She has been nominated three times for a Pushcart prize.
She lives in Pomona, NY. email: Noel Smith
|
|