Joseph M. Gerace
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‘Lightning Bugs’ by August Kleinzahler
A cruel word at eventide and night zips up like a spider’s retreat. Go back to your febrile needlework. We shall not be chasing lightning bugs in the tall grass tonight. Put the whiskey on the shelf and let us speak calmly of money. Source: Kleinzahler, August. Live from the Hong Kong Nile…
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from ‘On Secrets’ by Mary Ruefle
“When you are walking down a city street and not paying much attention—perhaps you are downtrodden by some confusion—and come suddenly upon a rose bush blooming against a brick wall, you may be struck and awakened by the appearance of beauty. But the rose is not beautiful. You think the rose is beautiful and so you…
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Norman Wilkinson
Wikipedia Poem, No. 459 objects of war as large as large as large as large as large as largely due to the number of morale ships in 1917 shipping ships in name only form this made it difficult the summer of 1917 shipping ships invented on ships shipping colours of summer shipping the name dazzled…
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Salty
Wikipedia Poem, No. 458 killed their bodies for five earrings me in the streets expensive me the streets setting fire taking me into the streets setting fire to warn worn like worms to worn tax collectors houses some attacked to protest and soak their chalky white skin in heaps of rebels emblazoned with carved jade…
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Two a Rhythm of the Mind
“6. Greek mathematicians did not think one was a number because the concept one did not involve number. To them, two was the first number. And the hybrid marriage of one, which was not a number, and two, which was, begot three, the second number. And from one, two, and three, all other numbers proceeded,…
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Poets Reading the News publishes ‘Agraphia’
A great poetry website, Poets Reading The News, has published another one of my poems, Agraphia, along with one my recent photos, Car 5 (above). I’m extraordinarily fond, and proud, of this poem. It’s about the way that war and violence affect one’s humanity. It begins with a quote from Gabriele de’ Mussi, a historian of…
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Elizabeth
“If you should dip your hand in, your wrist would ache immediately,” from “At the Fishhouses”, by Elizabeth Bishop
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Fuck You Fortune Cookie
Wikipedia Poem, No. 456 to recollect clean one’s head put out out of it forget forgot dismiss dismissed dismiss dismissing missing dismiss dismiss disrecollection of have no recall be un headless put out out of it forget dismiss dismissed disrecollection of have no more of wean one’s head put it out it goes let bygones…
wikipoem.org 