Trying the poetry challenge from Colleen M. Chesebro
A Senryu is essentially a Haiku, but instead of being about Nature it is about human nature.
I fixate on you As if you are in the room Instead of my phone
Poetry
My First Radio Show
How exciting to participate in a radio show! I was able to read the poem that will be in the collection Hidden in Childhood. Thank you to Gabriela Marie Milton for this amazing opportunity! Great poets and great poems š
Cover Update
Updated cover for the anthology that my poem āSelf of Steamā will be published in.
This is what you shall do
I read Whitmanās poem last night. Really a worthwhile read.
This is what you shall do:
Love the earth and sun and the animals,
Despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks,
Stand up for the stupid and crazy,
Devote your income and labors to others,
Hate tyrants, argue not concerning God,
Have patience and indulgence toward the people,
Take off your hat to nothing known or unknown,
Or to any man or number of men,
Go freely with powerful uneducated persons,
And with the young and with the mothers of families,
Read these leaves in the open air,
Every season of every year of your life,
Reexamine all you have been told,
At school at church or in any book,
Dismiss whatever insults your own soul,
And your very flesh shall be a great poem,
And have the richest fluency not only in its words,
But in the silent lines of its lips and face,
And between the lashes of your eyes,
And in every motion and joint of your body.
Getting Published
I’m proud to announce that my poem “Self of Steam” will be published in Hidden in Childhood: A Poetry Anthology!
Thank you so much to Gabriela Marie Milton for this opportunity!
Eclipse in a Dish
Subtle Part of the Forest
In his story, My student wrote: āour parents decided to move to a more suttle part of the forest.ā Yes, he misspelled the word. And he was misusing it even if he spelled it right. But I'm not taking points off. Because now I want to move To a more subtle part of the forest. A place off the path, But just off the path, A place that everyone passes But not everyone sees. A clearing bounded by pine needles and leaves. Within, giving loamy earth. The air is the mingling scents of green. Sun light rays down Defining trees Giving them their shadows. Forest dust shapes the sun shafts that shooting-star bugs plunge through.
Wires Tangle
Wires tangle Like lives Like loves. Electricity twists wires Like lies twist minds. Wires twirl into one another Like legs intertwined. Wires find each other Like the time Even on that first day You just know You'll be best friends Combined.
Autumn Glory
Leaves! I celebrate your splash of color Your delicate yellows Citrus orange Majestic Red I honor you, Because your changing hue Is the glory Of leaves dying. I will not forget your Verdant green Your spring and summer Wind dances Hushing and shushing together The brief glimpse of your Light underside. And trees I donāt blame you if You already shed your leaves. Iām tired too.
High Meadow Lane
I throw the empty drawers Onto the pile in the dumpster. I turn away from the refuse, And look up at the family home. Somehow, still, my house. With the āSale Pendingā sign in the yard. I have a key for the Realtor's lock. I enter through the back deck door Like I always did. Into the family room that I visited So many times Dadās been gone awhile. But the ghost of his recliner Still fills its emptiness. I say hi to mom Because sheās only been gone a month. Her recliner is still there, So I can picture her better I say āHiā again, and then I say, āBut youāre not here.ā I walk through the kitchen Into the dining room. We have emptied the house so totally, That the few drapes And the one cabinet hanging in its corner Glare out against blank walls I turn to the stairway. The stair treads that mom hooked With her childrenās profiles on them Are still there Secured with my fatherās nails. I step on the silhouettes of my siblings, Myself. Up on the landing, I lean through the door Of my sister's room. Cable cords are in a snake bundle under the windows Hemmed back by hollow space. Still my sisterās room All these years later. I turn to Still my room. It is for a little while longer. And always The persistent bed and desk Hold their space in the past. The dresser with the record player. Ghosts of my clothes sloppying the floor. For a moment I am him. Or me. The me back then. Slipping out of my sneakers Without untying them. Dreaming my way out of a hated Cage. Scribbling high school poems Laments Eulogies. Records spinning On the stereo Over and over so the grooves deepened. Typing poems, to be given to scattershot loves. Hours long phone calls with scattershot lovers. Tangling my fingers in the coiled cord. Even the great escape to college Was followed by the return at each break Head hung like a parole breaker returning to a cell. I come back to now. I shake my head. Those small turmoils Were so huge. It was hard, sure, But it was so easy. Dreams Iām still dreaming Bloomed in this room. Achievements I only glimpsed here Have been accomplished. Talking to me back then I say: āI made you proud. A lot of your dreams came true. I havenāt done all you wanted, but you know: Iām starting to believe thatās part of the point.ā Iām back on the stairs Descending through emptiness. At the bottom, I cry enough to feel like I got that part done. I pause in the family room. It is already changing. Becoming not mine. Not my families. Always ours. Not yet the new familiesā always. For them A space awaits.
Boz Bozeman 