Tagged modern poetry

BILL YARROW

TURBULENCE Give all to turbulence. Give all to risk. Let the rich membrane rip. Turn the volume of raw squawking up. Invite riot. Seat tumult at your table. Punish politeness. Decorum is a villain, moderation an assassin. The only chance for happiness is to excommunicate all calm. Poem by Bill Yarrow / Photograph by Kait…

G EMIL REUTER

Winter Doldrums on Sabbatical It is the last Sunday of January in a winter that has been brutally cold. After a week of worry you call to say the birds have returned to the feeders. A purple finch, mourning dove sparrows are feeding again. On schedule the thaw has arrived, temperature has risen to 55…

DANNY P. BARBARE

The Freight Train To slow my thoughts I begin to work    like a train    on the roll I do my chores like washing    the clothes staying on track with my    moods carrying the freight down the    rails an engine happiest when it has a load    of cars. Danny P.…

HOLLY DAY

Ecdemomania the leaves fall from the trees and I find that my shoes won’t come off. I go out to get the newspaper, feel the chill on my face and I don’t know where I am. Overheard, birds forge ahead with such determination that I feel inspired to follow them south. Traffic snarls at me…

HOWIE GOOD

Epitaph If you happen to think of me when I’m gone, think of me as a high-velocity bullet shattering three inches of leg bone, or as a mispronunciation of the word “salacious,” or as the cyanide tablet that an American spy caught crossing the border should have swallowed but didn’t, think of me as a…

GARY HARDAWAY

Where is Everything that Escapes? How did I become this gray, decrepit creature in the mirror, splotched and sagging?   Whatever august grace and wisdom I imagined when young and harassed escapes the mirror’s crisp edges.   Limits We can apprehend beauty only by framing it with the photographic paper’s edge or the novel’s margins…

DAVID ACKLEY

Ghosts …ghosts still resentful, ghosts far from home… After Hwang Sok-Yong, The Guest   Mine are more benevolent, so I like to think, though it may be Yankee reticence that shuns the autopsy’s gutting, an old eye impaling— uncomfortable, that—for milder terms.   If they resent, they keep it close. I tell Fred and Harry…

JOHN GREY

Nature, It’s Time For Your Close Up I have an addiction to wildflowers. The bud I sniff, the petals I fondle, are my caffeine. More than an addiction. I’m outright jealous of the stamen that bolsters such beguiling beauty. Yes, there are times I’d prefer to be one of many in this cluster, the spinal…