LOIS GREENE STONE - POEMS

Lois Greene Stone, writer and poet, has been syndicated worldwide. Poetry and personal essays have been included in hard & softcover book anthologies.  Collections of her personal items/ photos/ memorabilia are in major museums including twelve different divisions of The Smithsonian.

Alteration          ​

​Words accept altered meaning
with physical aging.  Lonely, alone,
as teens, tends to be dramatic
emotions with desire for inclusion.
Advanced years allow fright to
find its way into the mind as one
of us will precede the other by
death.  Fear of failure is a young
feeling; fear of permanent loss
incomprehensible.  Lonely,
alone, will then last as long
as survivor’s life.

Emergency Room  ​

My fingers circled smooth
transparent plastic that
cradled my nostrils.  Could
I sneeze?  Would clips come
out?  Every twenty minutes
my arm was grabbed by
an inflatable cuff.  Pump,
pump, pump.  Whish.
Blood pressure.  Noise.
Hallway sounds of
wheeled trays on tile
floors. Clank.  Not
a trolley’s sound.
I liked trolleys.
“How are we feeling”
asks an attendant.
Can I say: scared


Summer/fall 2013    SNReview   ©2013 Lois Greene Stone
reprinted  Sept. 2016 Whispers

top floor

Slanted ceiling, missing
wallboard from supporting
beams, attics in film seem
stuffed with memories
and no longer used items.
Are noises the mind’s
tricks tempting us to
climb a ladder into
that space? Allowing
concealed steps to drop,
a sound in my attic
wasn’t an itch urging me
to peer into old boxes, but
merely a raccoon.


Eunoia Review      May 2018

Concealed yet permanent

I knit you a yellow wool hat
with grosgrain streamers to
tie under your infant neck.
No ultrasounds existed so
I selected a unisex color.
Later you wore wooly hats
hand made by my mother;
she always made a pom-pom
from the leftover yarn.  Your
silky hair received a nurse’s
cap, proper and white, and
you’d worn college mortar
boards twice before.  Bridal
veiling made you blush.

Your permanent Mommy
hat was invisible.  And as
your firstborn entered
university life, you wondered
if it was still in place.  Yes,
I noticed.  It’s still there,
but just smaller on your
head.

©2006 The Christian Science Monitor;
reprinted Nov. 2017 Eunoia Review

Inked Out

My mother
always wrote
in pencil...
Letters, speeches,
questionnaires,
schoolwork.
Was it her
trademark or
her way of
expressing we
vanish with
the glide of
an eraser?

Published Winter 2008   Shemom

With Kevin

Tiny fingers flung duck food
into the water.  “Why do stones
sink and boats float?”  He
challenged my learning
with such questions.  Ducks
paddled closer to the edge
pushing beaks into morsels.
We dropped some on the bank
to welcome birds.  He thanked me
for the walk along the canal
and feeding ducks.  Decade
later, fingers flung duck food
into the water.  The cracked
corn felt smooth and we
trickled some on the bank
for the birds.  Ducks paddled
competing for nourishment.
“Do you remember...?”  I
questioned.  His strong fingers
touched my hand.  “Not too
many seventeen year old
boys would enjoy feeding
ducks with Grandma,” and
now I thanked him for taking
me.

Dec. 2009  Shemom
reprinted spring 2013 The Lutheran Digest
reprinted Nov. 2015 Whispers