Three Poems by Roy Adams


by the mud-brick
house mending
the spread-out tunic
on her lap

short-clipped black
hair frames her round face
and dark eyes bright
as she sews she sees

the flow
flickering fast
over rocks hidden below
waves rippling past

a man in uniform
waving as he goes
on his way to where
there are other

glittering muses
muses how much longer
this one will be

Rounding Third

Your mostly absent pop
builds you a soapbox buggy.
The handbrake works on flat,
not so well on hilly.
The street at block’s end starts
on top of a steep slant
with a crossroad at the bottom.
You plunge your crate.
Approaching flat, you yank,
keep going, flat out.
The two-ton truck
coming from your right
brakes stomped –
makes a murderous noise,
misses you by a nose.

Teach Yourself

From the high board, repeat rotations,
however undeserving.
Backflop, backflop, backflop,
backflop, backflop.
Finally, a full one. You head
for the water as you should but . . .
on a collision course with the previous jumper
who is, at this moment, floating to the surface.
Congratulations: you have serendipitously
invented a splashy routine for
cracking necks, crushing spines.


Roy Adams is a semi-retired Canadian professor who has been focused on poetry for the past six years. He has been published in a wide variety of literary magazines and anthologies in Canada, the U.S. and elsewhere including: Vallum Contemporary Poetry, The Fiddlehead, Feathertale, Hamilton Arts and Letters, The Curious Element, Typishly, Tower Poetry and Eunoia Review.

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