Most Read Poets of 2018 at North of Oxford

The following list consists of the 15 most read poets as of December 2018 determined by readership at North of Oxford.

A Poem by Kristina Krumova

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/11/15/a-poem-by-kristina-krumova/

3 Poems by Byron Beynon

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/10/14/3-poems-by-byron-beynon/

2 Poems by Lilah Clay

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/08/15/2-poems-by-lilah-clay/

Voices by Linda Stevenson

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/06/15/voices-by-linda-stevenson/

Uncle by Michael A. Griffith

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/10/14/uncle-by-michael-a-griffith/

In the Mirror by Byron Beynon

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/02/15/in-the-mirror-by-byron-beynon/

Winter Tune-up by Charles Rammelkamp

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/07/15/winter-tune-up-by-charles-rammelkamp/

Lectures on Poetry by M.V. Montgomery

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/07/15/lectures-on-poetry-by-m-v-montgomery/

One day, her hands became birds by Arlyn LaBelle

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/03/15/one-day-her-hands-became-birds-by-arlyn-labelle/

Temple of Jupiter by Jeffrey Cyphers Wright

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/09/14/temple-of-jupiter-by-jefferey-cyphers-wright/

Bait by Daniel Casey

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/03/15/bait-by-daniel-casey/

2 Poems by Edward L. Canavan

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/01/15/2-poems-by-edward-l-canavan/

2 Poems by John D Robinson

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/01/15/2-poems-by-john-d-robinson/

2 Poems by Carl Kaucher

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/05/15/2-poems-by-carl-kaucher/

Leave by Tony Walton

https://northofoxford.wordpress.com/2018/01/15/leave-by-tony-walton/

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Uncle by Michael A. Griffith

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Uncle 

.

Arms tired, hands

like useless crane shovels

legs strong but stiff as

tree trunks. Your shoulders

.

have held others up, as

the cane you’d just as soon leave

at the Elks’ hall after bingo

supports you now.

.

Now you sit fiddling with

glasses three years too old,

eyes awash, blinking, reading about a man

who you voted for but wouldn’t now.

.

Now a car passes, its music thump-

ing like the metal press at the foundry where

you gave your best years,

your best blood.

.

Blood in your hanky, your

coughing, your dreams. You

tell no one. It is your job now to hide

such things, to protect

.

your family, your friends, the

few who are still here, who

still might worry, might wonder.

Tired, how tired too soon.

.

Too soon to go to bed, Jeopardy

isn’t half-over yet, and your son might

yet call. But you start to doze after the first

lightning round, the first can, the first

.

star appears low on the horizon.

Cloudy later on, a drizzle falls,

your son doesn’t call. You wake, neck

sore, chest heavy. Sluggish, down

.

the hall you get into bed, then lie

there, staring into the dark, sounds

of the bingo games and metal press

ringing through your head.

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Michael A. Griffith began writing poetry as he recovered from a disability-causing injury. His poems, essays, and articles have appeared in many print and online publications and anthologies. He resides and teaches near Princeton, NJ.

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