T. R. Hummer: Think
It’s impossible sometimes to make your way
through the undergrowth—think of Desoto,
Think of Cabeza de Vaca hacking down briars
Stephen Dobyns: Can Poetry Matter?
Heart feels the time has come to compose lyric poetry.
No more storytelling for him. Oh, Moon, Heart writes,
sad wafer of the heart’s distress. And then: Oh, Moon,
bright cracker of the heart’s pleasure.
Richard St. John: The Tao to Disneyland 
Disneyland at last: The draw-bridged entry! Monorail!
Tom Sawyer’s cave. Gators on the Jungle Cruise. Natives
passing in canoes. Snack-bar at the Matterhorn.
Wendy Cope: The Waste Land
A Phoenician named Phlebas forgot
About birds and his business–the lot,
Which is no surprise,
Since he’d met his demise
And been left in the ocean to rot.
Carolyn Holmes Gregory: The Body
You know you are not in charge
of your body any more
despite its joyous odes
and incantations.
Meg Pokrass: Traveling Companion
The ratio of sad men to happy men was tilting toward sad. Single men were sad and claimed to not be attracted to people anymore. They changed their names and dyed their hair. They had dead cats. She was getting used to it.
Sean Connolly: Invasion
The low winter sun streaks through the streets and the dry hedges and barren trees shed a maroon dust. The birds go batty in Appalachia, celebrating an early spring, and … Continue reading