Patterson Gap Poetry
Monday, November 20, 2023
The Fire
One spark an errant
future sent
careening as all
futures must.
On the hillside
the orchard stood
fruit ripe
as fire alight
forced
apple peddling
a way of life
far away
from mountain russets.
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The Editors
Declined,
not rejected
Can’t keep anything,
not selected
Paring their words
my skin still shed
I seem to have
lived in sin
excreta I’ve read
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That Bright Spot
A room of windows
western tending in a
northern facing house
To a small boy,
Huge.
So bright
during dinner
preceded by prayer
Uncle Rayburn
invoking
joined hands.
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Storms of Illusion
You know there are
moments
of clarity
When you cast about
for some
predictable plan
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Sunday, October 29, 2023
Return to the Wasteland
1.
Behind us
beyond the horizon
we left the wasteland.
Ahead
we steered
intuitively
to freedom instead
Of liberty
we often recited
an incantation
to strengthen resolve
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Random decay
Tick
there’s a falling away
Tick
there’s an ending day
Tick
there’s a word to say
whose time has passed
Tick
there’s a looseness inside
Tick
there’s a pain alive
Tick
where soundness before
you could ignore
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Saturday, October 28, 2023
Rage no more
Sing no more
in old age
for the rage
of the day
has passed.
Play no more
the great sage
for the weary
of life
will laugh.
At the moment
you think
you've lifted
the veil
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Poems are not Poetry, anymore Ms. Moore
Utterances perhaps sent forth
Looking for acclaim
in this world,
But no one I can find
writes a line of poetry
anymore, Ms. Moore.
I blame the war on rhyme,
Though not to rhyme
is not a crime, except
when it is.
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Paragraphs
When poetry
looks like paragraph
I can't
pretend to read.
Instead
I let the cat out
or iron
my long sleeves,
Or tidy
another room
or wait
in the gloom,
Until paragraphs
become poetry
behind
closed eyes,
soon.
12/11/10
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Storms of Illusion
You know there are moments of clarity When you cast about for some predictable plan
Poems are not Poetry, anymore Ms. Moore
Utterances perhaps sent forth Looking for acclaim in this world, But no one I can find writes a line of poetry anymore, Ms. Moore. I blame t...
Rage no more
Sing no more in old age for the rage of the day has passed. Play no more the great sage for the weary of life will laugh. At the moment you ...