C. J. Sage is an American poet and artist, best known for her precise wordplay, internal rhymes, and lyrical poetry. Sage is also the editor of the National Poetry Review and Press. After taking her M. F. A. in Creative Writing/Poetry at San Jose State University she taught poetry, writing, and literature for many years at De Anza and Hartnell College. She works as a Realtor in Santa Cruz and surrounding counties. Sage resides in Rio Del Mar, California, a coastal town on the Monterey Bay. Sage has been a judge of the Dream Horse Press National Chapbook Contest since 2001.
She is author of three collections of poetry, most recently, The San Simeon Zebras (Salmon ... more »
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C.J. Sage Poems
Inside a snowy blanket which put the trees to sleep, I heard a fawn. Out past the window's ice coat in the morning, I found a sleeping fawn.
My love and I reside upon the belly of a bridge with heartbeats of the sky?--the drums upon the bridge. I've heard of songs that rise at night from pitch black oceans.
I am eagle; don't be fooled by red silk heels that sound so much like clanking clay on hardwood floors where you and I one night did lay when there was no heat left
Her back is an ecosystem, algaeic and wrapped beneath a canopy’s sun.
She was a coat of arms seasoned for the job -- tough and polished like tortoise shell. When the women were tougher,
The small white whales in packs of pods keep their pacts with us, the fated beasts.
Peripetia, Or Flowers For Everyone
How difficult it is to love the stupid in ourselves, not to mention the shortcomings of others. Each time I stumble from a pair of platform shoes, how clumsiness
San Simeon Hill Zebras
Drifters, if they could be. Sometimes, when they think no one is watching, they near the barbed wire.
The Egret Floating
I was suddenly back in bristles when I saw the egret floating, a stretched spline thrown down
Inside a snowy blanket which put the trees to sleep,
I heard a fawn.
Out past the window's ice coat in the morning, I
found a sleeping fawn.
There are men in yellow kitchens watching hands of
while men in orange jackets dream in secret, of
capturing a fawn.
When I was younger I was taught, but have forgotten,
When I am older I will learn, by necessity, the
light-footedness of fawns.
Someone left a lily on my doorstep, eggshell white
with speckled leaves;
the card of ...