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Tag: Poetry

The Purpose of Life is Life

The Purpose of Life is Life

Everything is ex There is no why We don’t have a clue We don’t have a rationale Beyond bad or good or great Fictions This is how we survive This is where it takes place My store of knowledge Is on East Main Street So the Thought Police usually Leave me alone   There is strength in numbers Fewer than twenty More than that and we have Problems and they Investigate They always investigate Big numbers Big figures Big loops…

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New Poem by Doreen LeBlanc

New Poem by Doreen LeBlanc

Arriving Home When I cross the harbor bridge, I’m home. In awe of intersecting sky, river, ocean, mountains sloping down to fields, wild roses, Queen Anne’s lace. I inhale them with all my senses. Arriving at the cabin, I catch my breath. We ran through these hay fields as children. Here my grandparents worked the land, sea and woodlands without rest. Now it is our summer haven. Afternoon sunlight streams into the kitchen. I look for the great bald eagle…

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Caves of the Thousand Buddhas

Caves of the Thousand Buddhas

Inspiration from Cao Jun’s  Hymns to Nature Exhibit   Volcanoes are ancient teachers Rising up from the magma Core of planet earth The effluent bringing forth  All the swirling elements of life Choking out gaseous  Fiery energy and chaos Creating oceans and rivulets Mountains and savannas  Landscapes for the tiger  Spewing lava and ash For the delicate lotus To break through  Reaching to heaven Painters and poets  Are modern interpreters  Of universal truths Written in calligraphy  Hidden deep within the …

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Enthusiasma Giganta Comedía

Enthusiasma Giganta Comedía

I dove like Gilgamesh Into the deep For the youth plant The one that got away The snake shed its skin Thousands of years ago Thousands of miles From great-walled Uruk Would this happen to me? Would I forget the gift Lay it on the ground To be snatched in a flash Like youth itself? There is no suspense To the journey We know how it ends But we act as if This time Because it’s me And not that…

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New Poems by Clyde Kessler: The Young Child’s Breakfast

New Poems by Clyde Kessler: The Young Child’s Breakfast

  AT THE PRIMITIVE CAMPGROUND IN THE GORGE A ghost cannot gather itself inside a tree, or a peregrine, or a creek, or heaven. It cannot draw stars through the window of a building in Beijing, or on a cabin near Woolwine with spring peepers chorusing music to fit the sky. It cannot revive its mind in a trout lily, as much as I wish. I can’t tell it my name. I can’t share one flapjack, smoke, or a sip…

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This is Not a Poem

This is Not a Poem

The Monkey Climbs a Tree I. With words come the square, the block Of sound, time and space With words, you fill the square And we bounce you hither and yon The block of time and space, ex nihilo Becomes something you see, touch, hear Smell if you’re advanced Taste if you leap beyond the possible II. An image does more, because it is The thing in a sense A copy of the thing at least But words can never…

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New Poetry by Natalie Crick

New Poetry by Natalie Crick

Sundown   That deluge of haze Just before sundown. Spring shakes Winter’s hand Goodbye. Now the day has truly gone. Street lamps glow A sodium pink When blue milk pacifies, The copper moon sliding up a sleeve of glass, Her luminous lake Drowning the city, A black felt hat against Heaven’s empty dome. An indigo deer slips back Through the shadow of night-green cedar, Loving, Teasing with promise. I could not look away. ___   At the End of Autumn…

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Wallace Stevens and the Mandolins of Spring

Wallace Stevens and the Mandolins of Spring

Rod Stewart’s Mandolin Wind   So, I’m up in the mountains again, and I’m reading Wallace Stevens — reading about him, reading his poems. I take music with me, listen to it before and after the readings. It’s very windy on the top of the mountain. Actually, the winds are ferocious at times. Merciless. And because I heard the Rod Stewart song in the car before I went to my place, my perfect spot, near the beautiful jagged rocks and…

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