Tagged: jack gilbert

Poem: Life Sculptor

We don’t author our biographies. We sculpt them, chipping and chiseling, peeling back the onionskin strata accretions of time, calcified history. The layers of remaindered remnants. What’s been piled on previous to our arrival taunts just beyond our reach, like the inscrutable object of desire who can’t and will not ever requite our boundless love....

Poem: Beautiful World

Sitting on a bench beside a Scottish canal, watching the locks rising and the Lochs glowing he crossed his legs and placed his hands upon worn corduroy wales that had seen much of the civilized world. “It’s a beautiful world,” he said, smiling, an eternal boy peering from behind octogenarian eye-creases.  “It’s a beautiful world....

Poem: Invisible

The powerless feel invisible. A ghostly cipher jigs and shimmies, sending up flares, announcing the Annunciation.   The powerful seek invisibility. A malevolent cloud overhangs and shrouds, secreted in cracks, hidden from the light.   We evaporate and expectorate and obviate. No one sees everything.

Poem: Facts

  These are not theories, conjecture, reckless reckoning, supposition, hyperbolic hypotheses crooked as a triangle untangled by Isosceles. These are facts. Yet many of us prefer to pretend instead that the precise contrary is not a fairy tale but a fairly stale debate over which the irrational fantastical religious folks can masturbate. So I shall spell...

Poem: Our Sober Friend

What’s the point of being sober, he wondered if you still behave like a narcissistic drunk? Wouldn’t it be better for everyone, including him, if nothing really changes or changed? He could stay rooted in the toxic swamp that fed him amply, bloating his self-loathing to inoperable proportions. He should drink, he should be a...

Poem: Big Surprise

Didn’t he warn you? Didn’t she scorn you? Hadn’t they found you? Wouldn’t they astound you? You who couldn’t differentiate between abiding love and aberrant hate?   Time will obviate the degradation of your sensate mind and accelerate the assignation of honorifics, burrowing within the fissures of tissue held together by gravity.   Were you...

Poem: All the Others

The 2015 MK Spring Poetry Festival, April 20-30   Mother protector, father provider. Brother who helped the elderly. Sister who held children when they cried. Potential saints, condemned sinners. The heretic and the ignorant. The past-tense blasphemous visitors gone before He arrived to save them.   What of them? All the others. The ones who lived...

Poem: Lonely Girl

Splayed on her sofa like a hastily disposed corpse haphazardly stashed out of the way of more important harbingers of Life, she watches the screens, the big one on the wall and the little one in her demure hand, waiting for the next plot point, the next map point, the point of all her affluent solitude,...

Homey Prophet Speaks

Where you want to put it, fool? On the dark? All right. I’ll say it again: All right. All right. You know it’s gonna be all right. Everything is gonna be all right even when it’s not. Perfection includes imperfection. And that includes you, fool. So where you want to put it, my brother, My...

Poem: A Good Education

At the Middle School two driveways down the street, Hollywood safari vans tote tipsy tourists and King of Pop-culture purists to contemplate like jurists the Michael Jackson Auditorium, whose much-lauded eponym was sleek and slim, and boyishly indiscreet. At this school, Russian parents take parking spots and umbrage, when their children start to bleat about the...