a poetry e-zine










Poems By David Landrum

A Gift of Stone Pigeons


After the mastectomy we bought

you stone pigeons. At the antique sale

we saw them and said, “Just the thing,

the very thing.” The concrete birds


were round and rough and

almost shapeless, smoothed

by years of elements scouring

their stone—snow and frost


and thaws and rainy days.

The sun had done its work;

at night, hard stars

and heaving of the earth.


They might have once been painted

blue. Now only a faint tint

holds on the grey wing-shapes

and on the scallops carved


to suggest feathers. All else

is lithic grey from beak to tail,

smooth curve of back,

raised head to tucked-in feet.


They set down to define your flowerbed.

They perch, they roost,

rooted, content in soil, become

the proper guardians of the place


where your plants flourish

(as they always did).





Solemn Children


The boy who came to buy ice-cream

where I worked: he chose

with the seriousness of

a diamond merchant—no-nonsense gaze

at the flavors underneath the glass,

no smile anticipating sweetness on his tongue;

the girl in blue whose portrait

shows her wary, censorious,

nothing of childhood in her eyes;

long dress, her hair pulled back,

and darkness in her unprotected look.




David W. Landrum’s poetry has appeared widely in such journals as The Blind Man's Rainbow, Up the Staircase, Evansville Review, The Dark Horse, and many others. He edits the online poetry journal, Lucid Rhythms, www.lucidrhythms.com.


Copyright 2011  Chantarelle's Notebook