Tag: poetry
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Poe’s Pigeon: “Poop Galore”
My son asks how my satire of The Raven is coming along. It’s stalled, I say, and explain the problem. The first seven stanzas, more than a third of the poem, have nothing to do with the bird. Yet the inspiration to write this satire flaps all around me, every day, unavoidable reminders of their own absurdity:…
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Don Turkey & Key Lime Pie
Me bloggy familiars: recognize this? We made such pies a few years back. And we ate those discs of lemony lime so again Kodachrome the tarty goodness in oven-baked form. After Don Turkey loses his head we’ll top ‘em with cream. Whipping it first! (Did I say, Don Turkey, THE Donald Turkey? Pardon me, pardon…
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Phenomenal Women
On International Women’s Day, I’m thinking about all the phenomenal women I admire around the world, including the nameless, faceless, toiling women who sow and reap the corn they’ll dry and grind into the flour they’ll pound and cook to feed their families in between their hours at the river beating clothes against the stones…
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Poetic Feminist Rant
I talked with a group of poets yesterday. Poetry operates at a level beyond my ordinary grasp; often it reads like an excuse for lazy incoherence rather than stabs at truth. In yesterday’s case, the writers had forged their art around efforts to ensure equal rights and legal protections for women. The event rose above…
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Mending Wall
Robert Frost’s great poem, outwardly a critique on a pre-existing wall, arguably has little to do with the hypothetical wall being proffered today. But Frost’s wall stands for so much more, and the critique applies more universally than merely to stone piled on stone. The critique can be said to include any barrier that divides…
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Ozymandias and the Alter Ego
Dunking Ganpati into the sea is all about dissolution (more). Even so, witnessing his mortal remains embedded in the mud tonight brought to mind the enormous ego of past Lords: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck,…
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Mumbai Standstill
Who owns this day? This town? Nobody. The rains come across the bay, halt awhile, move along. They leave behind a soaked humanity, anonymous. The brightest among us are alien. Forbidding. ##
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Rhymes with Fake Gnus
1. Fake shoes. Also called flip-flops. 2. Fake brews. Non-alcoholic beer. Avoid at all cost. 3. Fake dues. No payment required. 4. Fake flues. Actually, you feel quite good but call in sick. 5. Fake ruse. This is the same thing as telling the truth. 6. Fake rues. Actually, you don’t care. 7. Fake poos. Better smelling than the real thing. 8. Fake…
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NINE
Mothers, fathers, Diamond’s calling: Little League begins. Sons and daughters, Grab your bats. Days are growing long. Pitcher, catcher, Batter, Ump: Eyes quick on the ball. Windup, pitch, Swing and hit, Field and throw and tag. Line to Center. Ground to short. Hit and run and slide. Bases loaded, Batter up, Knock it past the…
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Review: Shriver
Chris Belden’s Shriver might be called a book about a novelist who wrote a book called Goat Time which everybody seems to enjoy but nobody seems to have read, at least not entirely, including not the author Shriver himself. Add to this nonsensical loop a few day’s worth of swarming mosquitoes, a crate or two…
Ben East Books 