Fall 2019, Volume 27

Poetry by Cameron Morse

Philosophical Water

Acorns pop off the charcoal
hood of Mariah’s Hyundai Accent.
         Dreamy September wind pulls
one of Lili’s long black hairs from the fabric
of my skin, the nape of my neck, the flesh
of my flesh.

                    I pluck it, return her
to nature. Every poem is a nature poem.
A trail of ants traces the crack between bottom
step and patio below me.
                               I finger a little
water in an orange 1/3 measuring cup, extracting
motes of dirt, bits of grass. Sip.
Thoreau calls water the philosopher’s drink.
I don’t know what my philosophy is.
Only that there is no unnatural substance.

Stolen Moments

What are you looking for, little
fly, landing among arm
hairs, tickling

my arm? It doesn’t
really matter any more what 
I make of this life.

Raindrops spangle
the tomato cages with tiny light
bulbs. Muscles relax

I didn’t know were tightened.
A sob somewhere wants not to be
suppressed. What are those

bothersome birds called, those
blue jays shrieking?
I have earned my stolen

moments, my trysts
with the Sunday morning traffic
of eternity, house sparrows

sounding out of the arbor
one or two words in the
phonetics of rain.




BIO: Cameron Morse lives with his wife Lili and son Theodore in Blue Springs, Missouri, where he serves as poetry editor for Harbor Review. His poems have been published in numerous magazines, including New Letters, Bridge Eight, Portland Review and South Dakota Review. His first poetry collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press's 2018 Best Book Award. His latest is Terminal Destination (Spartan Press, 2019). For more information check out his website.