Poetry

Approaching comet

By on Jan 17, 2021 in Poetry | 2 comments

Approaching comet speeds with icy gas exhaust as it nears our Sun in its faithful pilgrimage tithing cosmic gas and dust.

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To Pete Rose

By on Jan 17, 2021 in Poetry | Comments Off

Dear Mr. Rose: even though you told me to get lost when I asked you for your autograph, politely, at Shea Stadium when I was a teenager, I still hope you are enshrined in Cooperstown someday, because having more knocks than Ty Cobb or anyone else is almost as spectacular of an achievement as my mother teaching herself and her parents how to speak, read and write English as a first generation Italian American, in a chippy game of cultural assimilation where there was no seventh inning...

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Headlines

By on Jan 17, 2021 in Poetry | Comments Off

Oligarchies discard cartons of rotting produce in secret dumpsters across twenty-seven states withholding payment from migrants. Wraiths eat mold. Camellias bloom in acidic soil— gnarled, blackened with ash. Governors convey cases of bourbon to prevent viral contamination, the appearance of insensitivity. Activists quashed by the National Guard reorganize in abandoned airplane hangars, subsisting on canned tomatoes and roast beef. The nearly assassinated president revivifies, endorsed by state radio. Hospitals for Hollywood stars, skyscrapers, appear on the moon. Denizens die in...

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The Turn

By on Dec 27, 2020 in Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

Though my mother is long dead, my sister estranged, I cannot account for the specter. After over forty years, the image, the memory returns to me lately, haunting my afternoon routine, all its edges garishly distinct. The turn began at the end of summer, nineteen-seventy- two or three, the last tubing and camping trip with the Buskirk and Weaver kids, The Caves at Millwood, along the muddy Kokosing River. After one too many days of fun, fun, fun, of hotdogs and marshmallows, hair and tee shirts reeking of smoke, sticky nights in rank sleeping bags, no showers, no television, the mighty,...

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She Knew

By on Dec 27, 2020 in Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

Although well-versed in leafy academe, she knew they helped her not at all, those skills — to parse, to rhyme a scheme, to sketch a plot, to hear the dying fall of scribbled footsteps echoing in the growing gloom. Though of an age meetly deemed maturing, she knew that mice-like lines which grow along the very bottom of a page signified, at last, quite next to naught; that, frail or strong, old age should rightly rage through the lengthening night, should strive to flame and flare and cut the darkness clean to filaments of light. Though learned in the very rare and rarefied imaginings...

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Ahab’s Crew

By on Dec 27, 2020 in Featured, Poetry | Comments Off

  — Boarding School, 1980 October flares in western PA. In rumpled uniforms boys mock each other around the oak table, two chairs lean daringly on back legs. The schoolmaster shows up late on black mornings, the beret tipped wide on his high forehead and a tweed jacket dangling from his hunched shoulder. Twice he clears his throat, a voice more trusted than their own fathers, before reading out loud from Moby Dick. Thin smoke rises from the hot ember at his fingertips. Half-listening, they slouch with their hair hurling round their heads, look up at his moving lips, pausing...

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