About Eric Forsbergh

Eric Forsbergh’s poetry has been published in The Journal of the American Medical Association, Artemis, The Café Review, Passager, and The Journal of Neurology. He has twice won the premier prize of the Poetry Society of Virginia, the Edgar Allan Poe Prize. His second book of poetry, This Mortal Coil: Poems of DNA, is forthcoming. A retired dentist, he graduated from the John Leland Center for Theological Study with a Master’s level certificate in Biblical Justice. He is a Vietnam veteran, having served in the United States Navy on an aircraft carrier.

“Sargent’s ‘Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose'”

By |2023-04-01T19:02:44-05:00April 1st, 2023|Categories: Poetry|

              Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose was painted entirely               out of doors at this magical twilight time of day.               It’s a kind of Garden of Eden. Richard Ormond, Tate Curator It’s dusk, the softened hour. Two girls, absorbed, light paper lanterns, hems of frocks awash in grass, in unkempt strews and sweeps of green. [...]

“First, the Good News”

By |2023-03-23T11:28:31-05:00March 25th, 2023|Categories: Poetry|

Whole-genome sequencing of newborn babies               presents ethical quandaries.                                 The Economist, May 2022 You’re going to have a baby. You’ve wanted one since the pair of you fell in love with your custom reconstruction of an epic narrative: Odysseus drags himself, bloodied, from the surf. Athena, gray-eyed, wraps him in an unguent fog and [...]

“Burial At Sea”

By |2020-10-09T15:27:12-05:00May 26th, 2014|Categories: Memorial Day, Poetry|

Crisp in whites, eight men up, four on a side, slow-step  the horizontal coffin across the flat expanse of our carrier, toward the edge. The decks are quieted. Crews of men in oil-spotted work clothes give a wide perimeter. The air hangs vacantly, with no women present to stitch that familiar dense knot, that compact [...]

“My Wife’s Swim”

By |2023-03-16T11:13:07-05:00February 14th, 2014|Categories: Poetry|

You bent to pull your top, your arms so tan. I watched you from the cliff at quarry cove. Your bend of neck revealed, I felt like Pan, his belly in the brush, and then you dove. Your pointed feet were last to disappear. Arising with a stroke, you blew out air, driving through deepest [...]

“Winchester in October”

By |2022-10-02T08:42:40-05:00October 12th, 2013|Categories: Poetry|

Like honey on a ripened pear, a glow upon today remains. Let’s walk, not brace for winter yet.  Each unkempt orchard row will stiffen, cold, the frost like sharpened lace on this Winchester farm. Now, littered on bent brown-tipped grass, lie unkept apples, warm, half brown, and sweet.  Across this tangled lawn like blurry stars [...]

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