Carol L. Gloor 




Eight Quakers gather in front
of the federal building.
They empty a suitcase of signs, like
Fund Human Needs, Not War and
End the Endless Wars.

They come every Wednesday.
They are all sixty or above.
They stand for an hour,
11AM to noon, while most pass by
growing old bent over smart phones.

There is little response,
an occasional thumbs up or V sign,
one screaming Get a job!
The Quakers stand silent,
speak only to the homeless one

shouting confused stories, who wants to join.
They tell him Yes, please come.
The next meeting is at Martha's.
Noon comes; they pack peace in suitcases.
They have done this for twenty years.

They will be back next Wednesday.





A blue heron coasts
over wetlands, wings extended,
gliding smoothly.

                        In the beginning . . . the earth
                        was a formless void and darkness
                        covered the face of the deep,

No darkness today, just July sunlight
and a coasting blue heron,
wings floating, head outstretched.

Looking for fish:  it finds, dives,
lands in a nearby tree
to devour.

                        while a wind from God swept over
                        the face of the waters, and God separated
                        light from the darkness . . . called Night,
                        and there was morning, the first Day.

Today is the millionth,

No wind from God
sweeps over the face of these waters,
just backwater breezes.

No sudden separation. 
We already know the sun
will set at eight. 

Still,  something about
the outstretched wings, feathered light,
the easy, gentle flight . . .




Carol L. Gloor's poetry has been published in many hard copy and online journals, most recently in the hard copy journal Trajectory, and the online journal Helen Presents.  Her chapbook, "Assisted Living",  was published in 2013 by Finishing Line Press, and her full length book,  "Falling Back",  will be published by WordTech LLC in 2018.