Tag: folded word

A Meeting of Minds

They sit around the table, ten women, their years stretched between fifty-five and eighty-three. They take a mug of tea and a shortbread biscuit between their stiff fingers and they wait a while.

Five-Point-Two Miles

And so, I went walking car dodging, road hopping, side walking past a greyscale alley. You went with me, held me back when foot slipped into traffic and life flashed memories. She went with me, yelling about walking exactly two-point-six miles to the sea….

autumn light flashes…

backlit red maple leaves glowing against shadowed bark

autumn light flashes my son blending sounds into words ©2018 by Jennifer Roman Jennifer Roman lives in Millstone Township, NJ with her husband, identical twin boys, and dog, Chewie. She has been published in Frogpond, Modern Haiku, The Heron’s Nest, Presence, Mothers Always Write,…

Wishbones

close up of dew on milkweed fluff

haiku and senryu by Ben Moeller-Gaa calligraphy by JS Graustein 142 pages, 5×7 paperback ISBN 978-1-61019-243-9 Sustainable Edition: print $16 limited to 100 copies, numbered silver-white endsheets available to pre-order at the bottom of this page launches 15 November 2018 ISBN 978-1-61019-116-6 Global Edition:…

Old Apple Tree

old barn where forest shows through gaps in the boards

Old apple tree low and round, trunk so squat you guess the rest is standing underground. Sunken barn beside the road, waving boards cut short by fire, or lowered by the years. Apples tart and dry, building falling down, along the graveyard road just…

Folded Field Notes: MIGRATION

Folded Field Notes : Join our community based writing project exploring the ecological theme of “migration.”

Our 2018 Fall List

front of fall 2018 catalog

Folded Word is thrilled to announce our forthcoming titles from amazing poets this fall: FRAGMENTS: From the Lost Book of the Bird Spirit – poems by Karla Van Vliet, September 2018, ISBN 978-1-61019-242-2. Set to the music of bird flight, sight, and song, these…

Lopping Them Off

pruned branch weeping sap

Persimmons proclaim their youth when bitterness puckers our jowls. Few mature into sweetness. The unskilled arborist prunes the branches, partially severed, kerfs collapsing, tearing bark from the trunk. Decay enters into unclean cuts. Stubs sprout suckers and obscure the tree’s interior from sunlight. At…

The Continental Woe

tea in glass mug reflecting the sky

surviving on peaches and tea what weary wanderer will walk for peaches and coffee ©2018 by Justin Haenel Justin Haenel Lives and writes in Vermont. He dabbles in it all, but gravitates towards the briefer poetry.

A Story Festival

On a small patch of green beside the library in this close community on the hill, once a year we tell stories in a marquee while the sun blazes, the rain beats and the wind howls.