My poem, ‘Scarecrow Votes,” is up at Vox Populi, alongside Jenne Andrews’ call for revolution. Trump’s horrific separation of families policy must end! Thank you to Michael Simms for responding and publishing the poem so quickly.
Will the center hold? Read C’s poem for her opinion. I’m uncertain, but have hope.
See the dust
encrusted with dry rock
and you don’t think
water scouring sage brush
instead of brittle wind,
but it’s happened.
Block ice slouches
in the glass, dessert heat
demostrates the facility
of state change.
See a lazy wheeling hawk,
think gyre, gyre,
do things really fall apart?
Or just slump forward
Define a hole:
a lack of matter–
evil is nothing
but the absence
Say evil is nothing, see,
evil is nothing.
The hawk flies off.
Say in Bethlehem,
Say a clear blue sky
as if it belies
the existence of rain,
and when that hillside goes
pretend to be surprised–
say it, say it,
it couldn’t happen here.
No snakes here,
but a little voice
says the mice
do you prefer,
the one that
on your plate
or the one
under the house
“Politics” first appeared here in January 2017.
Ah, this poem by one of my favorite poets!
Sometimes I feel like I’m several billion dollars
worth of tax free income but all you want to do
is kill my high. Like I’ve just had a
poetry reading in an elegant theater,
attended by three hundred people,
which for poetry is big, it’s huge, but
all this guy with a poetry blog publishes
is a blurry photo of some sad bar where
ten drunk guys are nursing their craft beers
while I stand alone in a corner reading
my magnificent poem about how great I am.
That’s not how it’s supposed to happen.
And that’s why I didn’t have some other poet
read his work at my inauguration because
I’m the only poet worth reading nowadays
and I was too busy to read my own poems
while being inaugurated as the forty-fifth
and best president ever that day so screw you.
It’s because of people like you that…
View original post 377 more words
Heather Curran, teacher extraordinaire, tells us why she’s not taking a gun to school.
I went into teaching because I am relatively non-confrontational. Now, talk to my brother and he’ll tell you that I started everything when we were children. That’s probably correct. I can’t remember. Doesn’t matter. I’m not a kid anymore.
I’m an almost 46 year-old woman with two biological children and at least a hundred adopted. I believe in compassion and goodness. I believe in random acts of kindness. I believe in saying my mind when I see something or someone beautiful. I know that this might be weird. But if I see a beautiful person, I am going to say something. We live in a world saturated with unkindess, or at least we could. But not on my watch. Not in my corner.
I just finished teaching the Holocaust. I made a point of talking about people who chose compassion and goodness over atrocity and evil. My biggest regret right…
View original post 749 more words
What good is a rock
if the people fall, if truth
remains but no one
hears the long grass
rattle, and words
burst into flame
and gas, and life
poisons itself with
greed and the deficit
No body exists to bury.
I am trying to return
to a place of open
mouths, of nests and
groves left standing
despite their value
to the market. Which
pocket do I empty,
what song do I leave
yesterday, and today
flakes away into chilled
ash, carried over
rooftops and clouds,
never to be seen again.
Not imposition, but welcome. The way
cooperation welcomes coercion, turning the
tenor of the intended phrase, opening
the statement to interpretation, opening
a point without dissension, in the way
of politics, agreeing which fact will shape the
morning, which truth will determine the
next word and the subsequent, as if opening
the issue, claiming to have found the way,
one way, the only, but never actually opening.
* * *
A Tritina might best be described as the lazy poet’s Sestina, consisting of ten rather than 39 lines, with the end words of the first stanza repeating in a specific pattern in the subsequent two stanzas. The last line includes all three end words.
The last line uses the end words in sequence following the pattern of the first stanza.