Poetry

Always Assessing Size

By on Sep 3, 2017 in Featured, Poetry | 1 comment

Between the size of a hummingbird’s skull and a whale, we take pride in being able to walk upright while thumbing a keypad and telling our friends what we’re seeing, thinking, planning, preparing to do. A hummingbird will not hesitate to attack a human being if it thinks it’s a threat. What a whale thinks as it sinks through the planet’s wet skin, no one knows. But, whatever it is, it makes them...

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Cleveland Haiku #385

By on Sep 3, 2017 in Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

  Abstract art— asphalt drops on the concrete sidewalk     This haiku is from an ongoing project (close to 500 now) about the place where the poet lives.

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Cleveland Haiku #384

By on Sep 3, 2017 in Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

Overheard— the career conundrum: life versus art   This haiku is from an ongoing project (close to 500 now) about the place where the poet lives.

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American Exceptional

By on Sep 3, 2017 in Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

There are rhythms running in my heart, wordless and sensuous as music, that, dreamlike, release images of mountains, massive, even grand, of prairies – especially prairies – immense, open, endless, American, and cataracts, rushing, tumbling, white, silver, sparkling as lifelines. In the caverns of memory, the skies of anticipation, the murk of the future, in treasured rubbish in the attic, broken streets of slums, flower beds behind keypad gates, I search constantly to find words for the energies anterior to words, for the e=mc2 of a single atom in the old wood of a pioneer’s...

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Emergency!

By on Jul 30, 2017 in Featured, Poetry | 2 comments

for Alexander Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease was the doctor’s primary diagnosis when, once a month, Danika materialized at the local ER, was stabilized with steroids and inhalers, and sent home. Chronic obnoxious monthly bills was the insurer’s prompt analysis when its own nurse reported, “Sure, she has COPD, but there is no reason for her to be in crisis every few weeks.” Unobtrusive exploratory talks by phone revealed to Christie, on the insurer’s outreach staff, that Danika was 76, lived alone, and went out little: “I get lonely … anxious. At the ER, they’re nice....

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Streets of Fall River

By on Jul 30, 2017 in Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

This city opens on the darkling west in granite and somnolence, the dawn behind it— sloping its tenements to the green bridge inviting Providence through Swansea, coughing itself awake, clearing an everyday blear with coffee and cream-cakes at the Terminal Bakery on South Main Street, a little before seven. It is freezing in February. The variety stores open clutching bundles of the Herald News, reshuffling their sundries down to the last can and candy bar you can find on the next block, too. These neat squares of Fall River, a hundred of them, same citadels beyond their second century...

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