We meet with stark denial The unspeakable unknown. A dire dullness creeps, Settles, swaths in sleep A dawning, drowning Dismal truth. Wild-eyed the urge To turn the page, to skim To skip ahead, past present Pandemic plodding (Just a peek!) To find out how it ends. Who cares? Who cares. Read slowly, savor sunshine. Put […]
I have a love-hate relationship with poetry, including my own. Too much of it is contrived, precious, melodramatic, and affected. This one, though, makes me laugh, and maybe cements my claim to being the only person who’s written a poetic ode to roadkill in sonnet form.
hendiadys Fluff and clouds, drifting, cross the sky. Birds play hide-and-seek in cotton-candy and whisps of fog, Their mothers call them home to feathers and nests, As sunshine and day retreat – and mine calls me to feathers and bed. homiologia and homoeoprophoron He is a little so-and-so, and so Will not amount to much, […]
Villanelle the Vote! The lady holds her torch aloft, warm welcome beacon to us all. Her steady message, one of peace, within a world that’s gone berserk, But whispers, “Use your right to vote, lest our democracy should fall.” Some cower in the shadowed corners; others rise in sunlight’s thrall Where hope, ideals, and wisdom […]
I thought, not for the first time today, that I need a little sand and sun. It’s been too long since I went parasailing, upside down, while watching dolphins play ping-pong with a shark. Or since I floated, laughing, unable to sink, in the warm salty water near Miami, smooth as glass and clear enough to see my toes squishing in the sand. And as I re-read the question, I thought, How can I not write a descriptive paragraph about the beach? But what came out, like a tiny hermit crab from a tiny painted shell, wanted to be poetry, not paragraphs.
Face facts: some are ruled by hope and some by fear. All are mortal, even you. Yes, even you, Comrade, with your hundred smiling Facebook faces. Each keystroke, rat-a-tat-tat, fires gunshots Branding terror, while jaded papparazzi Offer bounties for another shot, a One-time deal, exceptional, American Killings as natural as apple pies. Mitchell Allen is […]
Why on Earth in April? The poet T.S. Eliot famously declared: April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. The cruelest thing about it was expecting restless high schoolers, too fresh-faced to have experienced life, death, and all the memories between, […]