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 Tzu explaining Is without a word Deep clefts in the bark of a tree just passed define the humps of Appalachians. I saw Scranton…

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;…

Monday Poem

Death of NGC 2440 although you are distant distant distant I can see by your last aura against a black further distance, the most distant distance… I can see by your billowing halo of expanding gasses fluffed like god’s pillow that you are ruled by laws that also rule terrestrial things I see the colors…

Monday Poem

“(Swifts) feed in the air, they mate in the air, they get nest material in the air. They can land on nest boxes, branches, or houses, but they can't really land on the ground.”— Researcher Susanne Åkesson Swift I’ve been airborne since Augustus layed the footings of the Roman Peace ……—in that alone I flew…

Monday Poem

Of Enlightenment clicking buttons of a remote I dream of enlightenmentof crammed refugees in boats I dream in flickering glow of screens I dream of enlightenmentof history that still careens I dream hearing sirens in the dark I dream of enlightenmentof popping guns in parks I dream seeing new corpses in the street I dream…

Monday Poem

Many Diamonds if I were to cross this bridge a thousand times no— I’ve crossed this bridge a thousand times along the length of its steel lattice rail through which my small daughter wanting to look down at small-town icebergs sailing in the swift spring surge had stuck her head, turned it just so, and…

Monday Poem

Don W. in Manhattan —eating the dust of 2001 Dining in Soho alone, a manserved by a girl with lip studs, nose ring, and serpent tattoo uncoilingfrom deep cleavage,sees the new man of La Mancha, in dim light across the room,seated with his back to the street: This new La Mancha mantopples a pepper mill…

Monday Poem

Now the bricks lay on Grand StreetWhere the neon madmen climbThey all fall there so perfectlyIt all seems so well timed……………….. —Bob Dylan. Wabi-sabi upon first hearing I knew the perfectionDylan wove that verse around(as if anything on earth could be so flawlessas to deserve the divinity of that word)which says:…………………could be here nowand so…