Obviously, poetry is a big part of my
life. In addition to novels- in- verse,
I write free verse and, sometimes,
more formal poetry. I'm also a
member of a great poetry group,
Ash Canyon Poets. We meet every
Friday night, to critique each
other's work, talk poetry and
basically unwind.
Poetry
Sliver
for Haley

How does a single blade
of grass catch the eye?

Is it a blink
of light, mirrored in the wet

orbs of morning?
Is it how the sedge

thread bends
beneath the weighted flight

of a bumblebee or a grasshoppers
camouflaged cling?

Perhaps it is a shadow
of tomorrow, something

forewarned in green
silhouette, or a slice

of memory, thin as a paper
cut, yet haunting.

Bordering holy.
You are that singular strand

in a billion, the one that pulls
the eye to a sliver

in the otherwise unblemished skin
of an ordinary meadow.

            Ellen Hopkins
December sinks

like grief
through flannel
and sinew, burrows
into the depths
of my bones.
Neither stew
nor bourbon
knows the way
of thawing marrow.

Come, lie
with me,
blanket me
in the thin heat
of skin drunk
with need evoked.
Haunt my bones
with ghosts
of late September.
                            Ellen Hopkins

My poetry chapbook, Stones Set
Deep in Sand,
is available.

Warning: some adult content!
Contact me for more info
The Weight of Thirst
for Bill

The playa is still, emptied
of even the thinnest
soundsthe murmur
of creeping sand; pillowed
spin of tumbleweed; susurrus
of feathers trapped in thermal lift.

The well is dry, drained
to weary echo above
desiccated silt.
Thirst swells, bloats
every cell until the body arcs
beneath its weight.

The page is blank, scrubbed
of metaphor, flawless
turn of phrase. Parched
within the silence, hungered
in a desert without words,
I am stranded in your absence.


Ellen Hopkins



   


 
That Time of Day

sunlight splashes
eastern hills, spills blue
into gray, and the kitchen
frames snapshots: steaming
mugs and marmalade toast;
pencils fine-tuning homework;
papered German shepherds
and barn-bred tabbies, on kibble
watch. Hurried reminders
preface half-planted kisses,
a volley of slams and the crush
of sudden silence.

That time of day,
I open the French doors, step
lightly across thin ice veneer,
coffee fogging the sage
tinted air. I look to the mountain,
its ochre, olive and indigo
palette hushed against cerulean
sky. A hawk banks, bold
in early hunt and far
across the valley, traffic
stirs the morning. Somewhere,
I know, time clocks are punched
and bells empty playgrounds.

That time of day,
I bundle up in solitude,
borrow the wings
of the red-tail. Soar.

                            
Ellen Hopkins
Into the Ether


As evening leans
against morning, she grows
tired of the wait, folds
up her heart again.

It isnt the first time
shes opened it, gingerly
peeled back the flaps
like a time-brittled envelope.

Inside is a listpromises,
withered; hours, crushed
into ether; unanswered
questions; desire, decayed.

He will not come tonight.
She closes her eyes, feigns
his touch. Skin remembers
what the heart must forget.

                    Ellen Hopkins