I’ve been making the time to write a poem every day, but I haven’t made time to blog. Here are the most recent three, two of them by pseudonyms I sometimes use.
Fool Me Seven Times…
And the air smelled like his sweat,
the bedroom listened for him to come back,
in the kitchen spoons and cups waited
for his touch. Fresh air and the green
stains creeping back over the ground
fooled me again. It’s good
someone continues his work.
Murmurs and nods and continual
acquiescence: he spent his clenched life
loosening all the tension from mine,
until even the walls hung slack.
And I took that for peace.
A spider repairs her web in the window.
— Dita Kroll, 4/6/2010
One cannot remember a great man alone.
Confused from killing, confused
from counting his loot, confused
from sex with how many women,
he couldn’t always remember himself.
We gave our shops, our homes, our children
to purchase these legends we share
over cold beans under no roof.
Even now, he looks down on us
from the stars, and smiles.
I tell you, it was worth it.
Now you tell me.
— Carl Bettis, 4/7/2010
How the Demaba of Lemuria Pass Their Time
we live on the beach where it always rains
debris of machines homes forests bodies
working together or apart we pick through
and assemble what seems to fit
then leave the saved and discarded
alike to the tide
— Rameshi, 4/8/2008