top of page

"At Lunch I Freed A Dragonfly" by G.H. Mosson

  • May 23
  • 1 min read

What’s that buzz as if paper being cut

when I exit the house to fetch some lunch?

I look up to spot a dragonfly

winging against the wood-topped carport.


I reach for my rake, with plastic tongs,

to nudge it to freedom. I try. It squirms.

Yet gentled toward the September sun,

it lurches and glints into the silence.





G.H. Mosson is the author of three books and three chapbooks of poetry, including Singing the Forge (Wasteland Press 2025), Family Snapshot as a Poem in Time (Finishing Line Press, 2019), and Questions of Fire (Plain View Press, 2009). His poetry and reviews have appeared widely in periodicals, and has poetry been nominated four times for the Pushcart Prize. He lives in Maryland. For more, seek www.ghmosson.com.

Recent Posts

See All
"gone" by David Bankson

Not the word but the space after. Not the weight but the lifting. This corridor has no clock, this waiting has no waiting in it, a fluorescent hum with a smell of, an antiseptic pause with a pause of

 
 
"pit hymnal" by Klara Pokrzywa

pit Star of this soreness I laugh myself awake, sling deep into the heave. Straight out of dirt road walking and at capacity—this being the back-alley way; the heartbreak; the running away constantly.

 
 
Two poems by Adam Gianforcaro

Abecedarian as Ars Poetica Already this feels too much. The way a line can break anywhere. Here even, if we aren’t careful. Too often I’m caught off guard, having dropped suddenly from the place I wa

 
 
bottom of page