Monday Poem

Wovoka (named Jack Wilson in English), a Northern Paiute, dreamedhe was taken to the spirit world and saw all Native Americans beingtaken up into the sky and the Earth opening up to swallow all Whites and to revert back to its natural state. He claimed that he was shown that by dancing the round-dance continuously,…

Monday Poem

Learn That First I've wondered if dawn is like birth and dusk like death and if we're given these metaphors to pique our curiosity as if to say nothing in this world is real. You are so naive, you think this is a dream? Yes, these are shadows. Socrates said as much in the agora…

Monday Poem

Then If it were thenI’d be seated on the step of the well house gazing at peach tree buds and the tales they toldof waiting, swelling, beinglistening with the lake at my back down and through the steep slope of woods across the street. I’d see its gleaming surface spark through voids of oaks and…

Monday Poem

TV, Bronx News 6/30/17 Gun again.In this case a pissed-offformer employeewith a not-so-extraordinarysense of personal privilege to take life by right, which in the American zeitgeisthas become popular asan act of self expression affordedby liberty through an amendment to law lucrative to private sector arms interestswho live by death through means of tiny explosionsof sulfur…

Monday Poem

Blots In inkwell times when quills were used (ends of sharpened feathers splitwhich above a writer's work twitchedas when a bird would scratch an itch)we scratched our hieroglyphs in night-black licks pausing intermittently to dip the split quill's endinto wells candlelit in nights as black as pitch We coaxed from shades what they might think.We…

Monday Poem

Beginning I’m thinking of cartoons that say the end is nigh on a sign held by a guy on a corner, rag coat, hunched, forlorn, whose years went south, didn’t pan out as he thought they would when he was a boy, the way they should’ve but never made it over a midlife hump when…

Monday Poem

The Free Exercise of At its center is a tree which wraps the garden in its entirety The roots of it run deep— some say to a molten core while some insist they exit the other sideto suck juices from a Southern Cross and that its sweet and sour blooms on this respiring side of…

Monday Poem

Okay, poets, we get it: things are like other things …… —A. R. & M. G. Ah, But Math is Like That Too When poets are so dissedby engineers and physiciststhey really should consider this: (4+2) is just like 6and keeping that in mind81’s like the square of 9and in case you think theseare a…

Monday Poem

Having Coffee i’m having coffee i’m dreaming I’m having coffee with Whistler’s mother i’m scratching a knuckle with my nose i’m not listening to my wife while gazing out a window i’m imagining our small distant sun rising over the horizon of Neptune i’m having coffee, paper cup with a heat sleeve i’m playing with…

Monday Poem

“The woolly mammoth vanished from the Earth 4,000 years ago, but now scientists say they are on the brink of resurrecting the ancient beast in a revised form, through an ambitious feat of genetic engineering.” — Hannah Devlin inThe Guardian Lazarus If the wooly mammoth becomes the new Lazarusreborn from an ice sarcophagusdoes it mean…

Monday Poem

Things We Learn Things come to usout of nowhere they come Surfers riding waves we learn the nuances of gravityits center-of, its bonding property,its Gs, its fatal promise, we learnhow to stand erect and, for the most part, stay that waylearn how to take a fallhow to shuck and jive through sticky momentsthrough disequilibrium to…

Monday Poem

On particle “action at a distance”: “…if particles have definite states even when no one is looking (a concept known as realism) and if indeed no signal travels faster than light (locality)… (and, as has) recently been discovered … you can keep locality and realism by giving up just a little bit of freedom.” This…

Monday Poem

..[Listen below] Pattern Language I take the sidewalk a step at a time,shards of its exposed aggregate form archipelagos,and there’s Jesus in a cloud, or is it Lao Tzuexplaining Is without a word Deep clefts in the bark of a tree just passeddefine the humps of Appalachians.I saw Scranton strewn along a gully on the…

Monday Poem

“All humans are genetically 99.9 per cent identical.” —Roger Highfield, Science Editor Great Wall, Tremendous Wall.Something there is that doesn’t love a wall one poet said imagining friendly neighbors working their way along that which stood between, resetting fallen gneiss and granite loaves and balls that had fallen to each to keep their wall intactwhile…

Monday Poem

Once Upon a Spacetime — to P. on our 40th anniv. . . . . . .A couple of hours before twilighta gibbous moon rose in the eastover the serpentine spine of the mountaina bright hole in a bluegrey scrim,just there without reason,as uncomplicated and expectedas a shard of granite on the slope of a…

Monday Poem

The past is inevitable.…………—Delmore Schwartz, Poet Hadn't Thought of it Like That Though likely, tomorrow isnot set This day’s loose ends twist in the windlike kite tails jerked in blue at the end of present’s stringbecoming codas no one can sing—the future’s not something on which you should bet Only Now sings real arias If…

Monday Poem

Love Kitchen —Mary Mraz Culleny, 12/8/17-3/2/03 The tsunami scent of yeast inundated our house the mornings our mother baked bread up through floorboards it came, up the stairwell it spread stirring our dreamselves alive— fresh loaves, bells for the nose their toll sent sleep from somnolent heads I’d written that thinking of her floured hands,sifting,…

Monday Poem

In Books when words make love sentences are bornthe world’s heft is changed by the weight of nouns,the hesitations of hyphens and commas, like the space between breaths, tell the rhythm of what’s new and what’s been, the dead stops of periods spell the end of what a breath holds,adjectives, like the blood blush of…

Monday Poem

Darwin's Surf…. —ode to cells Before metaphorical allusionswe are warm and wet.Seas surge within us. In little cytoplasmic bays, tiny ships of golgi moornear lysosome cays enclosed by permeable breakwater membranes that all rise and fall with nucleo tidesin ebbs and flows through generationsrendering noses pug or aquilineand eyes skybright or in colors of loam;…