A former English teacher, Helen Losse of Winston-Salem, N.C.,  is a poet, the author of two full-length books, Seriously Dangerous (Main Street Rag, 2011) and Better With Friends (Rank Stranger Press, 2009) and two chapbooks, Gathering the Broken Pieces  and Paper Snowflakes.  Her recent poetry publications and acceptances include Main Street Rag, Iodine Poetry Review, Blue Fifth Review, The Pedestal Magazine, ken*again, Referential  and Literary Trails of the North Carolina Piedmont.  Helen’s poems have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and twice for a Best of the Net award, one of which was a finalist.  She is the poetry editor for the online literary magazine The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature.


Spin, Spin, Spin

The world’s gone where
in a handheld basket?

People with crosses have
various purposes.
We know most are dangerous,
except for the chosen few
God actually likes.

I think not.  But what do I know?
I’m just an old soul
wearing nerdy glasses.

Aren’t most of us rather
forgettable in the long run?
And maybe even if the run is

The earth spins, yes?

Spin, spin, spin,
and we have lost the faith of the daisies.
Sweet hickory smoke floats like violets—
or maybe violence—on the wind.


After He Fell

An outcrop of granite-like rocks
form a second access to the nearest falls.

Wispy clouds write words of warning
onto clear, blue sky.  A double rainbow

forms in ice-like mist. Purple horizon
drinks most of the sun.  Lost,

I forget the path where stream fell
from cliff—the place from which

the child will fall to brokenness.
Affected bones soon pulsate,

and the boy will wait alone
in standard moonlight and ordinary time—

the cry from faith-filled lungs
reaching a white-hot star.

Reprinted, with the poet’s permission from, Seriously Dangerous (Main Street Rag, 2011)


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