Take this out, this spite, this hatred, this venom, take out those guns, don’t spit fire in a messy world, talk to the child, ever so mildly, wrench books out of hand oh unforgiving masters, dispense with justice, don’t split the atom, talk about disarmament in closeted rooms sign papers and let the table talk …
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The ‘reality’ is a maze Too hazy for my naïve Girlhood Fiction is worse Love ends in loss Or hatred I was once waiting for him The prince charming The ‘Mr Darcy’ But not anymore Now I’ve chosen The men of my world Derrida, Marx and Camus Whose arguments wipe my Humiliated tears Whose philosophies…
It’s been more than a decade I’m still learning how to be still apprentice to myself Still learning that to argue takes you nowhere, just a deserted road of rambling words, thickets of verbiage Still learning that any narrative seems to have the theme of not there yet, developing as the character discovers he or…
Late autumn New York City Translucent blue sky Cool Waiting for Darkness Universal Wilderness Let the leafless trees tell the story Going home to you A glass of wine Dinner in the stove Heartbeats Your Gaze This romance The post Going Home to You | G. S. Katz appeared first on Best Poetry. Go to…
Since the 1970s, Ken Bolton has summoned the spirit of the New York School in his life and poetry: erudite, conversational, playful, modern (as he writes in “Horizon”: “I never wanted to be postcolonial / or colonial just modern which is / the joke on me—but who wants to be a category?”) to fashion one…
he wears a costume and plays his part well changes quickly between scenes and transitions effortlessly sometimes he slips up his lines though causing some confusion in the show a brow might furrow when realization dawns that a performance is being witnessed a mere performance at some point you were drawn in from a bystander…
My mother’s plants flourished in our garden The azaleas and fragrant jasmine blossomed From their vulnerable transplanted state They prospered and assumed permanence With new roots and assured contours Like my mother I’ve learned to nurture And delight in the sight of new growth The post My Mother’s Plants | Stan Morrison appeared first on…
