Cynthia Jobin Poems
- The Parking Lot I fear the parking lot like fish. Not
- Words Cannot Express the hearse at the head of the parade
- Gramp He has become a thought I take for Sunday rides, ...
- Ruins Of Dawn The morning after we have had words. The sea ...
- Ontolog Feather in my hand: crisp leaf that skitters ...
Raised in the foothills of New Hampshire's White Mountains, attended a variety of New England schools and colleges (Master's in art education, PhD in metaphysics) Teacher of various subjects: French, English, Calligraphy, Aesthetics, History, Research Methods. Retired adjunct professor, Massachusetts College of Art.
Currently publishes a poetry blog: littleoldladywho.net at wordpress.com more »
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Ruins Of Dawn
The morning after
we have had words. The sea is
in a cup of tea.
Almost the sound of falling.
A tear on a piece of toast.